Page 18 of Lost In Someone

We reach his house, and my head is now full of questions. Ones I’m not going to ask Drew. It’s not his story to tell.

“I’m sorry, Brodie. I shouldn’t have said that. Please don’t think I’m trying to interfere.”

Who the fuck is Kate?

It’s past eight o’clock as I drive up to my house. It’s been a long day of clearing fallen trees after a stormy few days caused havoc. Now all I want is a scorching hot shower to wash away the filth and warm my aching bones. If only Brodie were free tonight, but he has classes back to back and won’t finish until ten o’clock. By which time I’ll probably be asleep with how knackered I am.

Tomorrow we’re going to the pub together for the first time. I’m excited in a way I’ve never been over someone. So different from the casual summer hook-ups with holidaymakers and Grindr or Tinder through the other months. But I’ve done that less and less lately. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I picked up anyone last summer.

Except Kate.

Fuck!

That bloody photograph. I told Drew there’s no way it could be mine. I’ve not seen her since and don’t have a clue about how quickly baby bumps appear. But I was with her a couple of times at the beginning of the summer. Yes, we used protection, but none claim to be one hundred per cent effective. What if something went wrong? If it did, why wouldn’t she contact me? Unless she was sleeping with someone else. Not that it matters. We never made a claim on each other. We had fun together. That was all there was to it. Enough for her to invite me to go travelling with her.

But I turned her down. I love it here in Calston Cove. This little town will always be my home. Being a child in a seaside town was like heaven. My parents were born and bred here, and we knew everyone. It was safe. I like to think it still is safe. Drew and I traipsed all over the countryside, made dens, rode our bikes. It always felt like summer. Kids tend to cut the bad weather and winter boredom out of their memories. I’ve always loved the sea the most, and surfing is still my favourite way to relax and clear my head. We practised and practised in all weather, and as long as the waves were good, we were on the water. We’ve got good at it. Not to say we don’t end up with a mouth full of sea and sand sometimes.

When my dad died, my mum didn’t want to stay, and I couldn’t blame her. Everything reminded her of him. When she decided to go to be near her sister in Plymouth, I moved back into the house I grew up in and have been here ever since. I don’t want to leave, and if I ever want my kids, I’d want them to grow up here.

This is my home, and it always will be. Even if Brodie wanted to leave? The idea niggles in the back of my mind. What surprises me even more is how deep my feelings are for him. What if I’m only an experiment to him? What if he’ll leave when he’s had enough?

Now I’m just being stupid. He’s agreed to rent Drew’s house. He’s staying.

Once inside, I kick off my steel-toe-capped boots and tramp upstairs in my thermal socks. My clothes go straight into a basket to take downstairs and put in the washing machine. As the hot water pounds over me, a loud groan of appreciation escapes me. My head clears of everything work related. I’ve banked enough money to see me through the next few months without having to work too much. The Forestry Commission bulked it out nicely. I can pick and choose my work. I’m always available to the authorities if, like today, storms have caused trees to fall. I do garden work, but I’m not having a lawn-mowing round or keeping the gardens of little old ladies free of weeds and pests.

As I soap my body, memories of washing Brodie in this same shower come back to me. He’s so open and honest. Telling me what he likes, what he wants to try and laughable things that gross him out. He has no idea that some of his no way acts will have him screaming for more.

One word.

Rimming.

Which is why rimming is now on the top of my list of things I want to do to Brodie McClean. Nope, not thinking of him here. I finish washing and scrub my hair to get the sweat from wearing a hard hat all day out of it.

Dinner is a reheated casserole I’ve cooked in bulk for these kinds of nights. My age is creeping up, and I’m not as agile as I used to be. Maybe I should attend Brodie’s yoga classes, although I can’t see myself bending into a pretzel and absolutely not in a class with my friends. With my dinner in a bowl, I drop down on the sofa, pick up the remote, and click on Netflix. I’m in the mood for something easy to watch.

I end up with some mystery series that turns out to be better than I expected. I watch a few episodes until my head droops, then pull my sorry, tired body up to my bed.

The trill ring of my phone drags me out of a heavy sleep. “’Lo,” I mumble, my tongue still stuck to the roof of my mouth and my head full of cotton wool.

“Ivan? Shit, did I wake you?” A bright, cheery voice apologises. Brodie. “I’m sorry. Go back to sleep. I’ll call you later.”

I rub my eyes and push up on the pillow. “No, no. S’okay. Gimme a sec to wake my brain up.” I yawn. “What time is it?”

“Half nine. I thought you’d be awake. I wondered if you wanted to have breakfast with me?” I hear the smile in his voice. He’s always so cheerful.

“Yeah, where do you want to meet?”

“Um, how about you open your front door and let me in?”

“You’re here?” The words come out as an unmanly yelp, and he laughs heartily. It’s a sound I want to hear more and more. I jump out of bed and grab my towelling robe from the back of the door. I take the stairs two at a time, barely managing not to trip, then steady my balance and walk to the front door at a calmer pace.

“You sounded like a bull coming down your stairs.” Brodie grins as I step aside to let him in. He kisses me with cold lips. He smells of frosty air and him—all clean and fresh. “I’ve missed you.”

“Hmm, me too.” I want to kiss him again, but he walks into my kitchen with a brown paper carrier bag in his hand. “You’ve been to Benny’s?”

“Yep, I’ve done ten K this morning, and I’m starving.” He unloads the takeout boxes, and the smell of bacon and French toast hits my nostrils. My stomach rumbles.

“Ten! Bloody hell, Brodie. Do you do this every day?” I’m never going to be able to keep up with him. A voice in my head tells me he’s not asking me to. It’s not a competition.

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