Page 19 of In Step

I couldn’t hide my shock. “Really? You don’t look it. You’re very—” I swallowed hard and looked away. “—well preserved.”

He snorted. “Makes me sound like last year’s bottled fruit.” He waggled his brows. “See what I did there?”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t give up your day job. Can I ask why you thought you needed to apologise? We pretty well covered it at the time.”

Abe arched a brow. “You work with Leroy and you know Judah, and you live on the property.” He shrugged. “I didn’t want there to be any awkwardness.” He scooted his chair around and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, forcing me to meet those haunting eyes.

He was so fucking beautiful. The marks of age were inescapable—laughter lines framing his eyes, the flash of grey at his temples and the silver in his thick stubble, crease marks on his forehead, and the confidence that leaked from every pore. An intoxicating and reassuring sense of being at home in his body and his thoughts in a way I couldn’t even imagine.

I was staring and we both knew it, but Abe said nothing and I couldn’t seem to drag my gaze away. I’dneverresponded to a man in the way I’d done with Abe, and for a second I wanted nothing more than to tell him exactly that. To know, even for a little while, what it was like to be the focus of this man’s attention. I suspected that would truly be something.

“You have beautiful eyes.” The words were out before I knew it, and hearing them on my lips was enough to break the spell. “I mean the two different colours. They’re... startling.”

He blinked. “I think I prefer the part where you called them beautiful.”

Warmth spread up my neck. “Nothing says a man’s eyes can’t be beautiful, is there?”

He stared a moment longer before a smile crept over his face. “Nothing at all. And it’s mostly genetic. Heterochromia. My father’s eyes were the same.”

“Were?”

“He died of bowel cancer when I was fifteen.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” I watched him for a moment, struck by a huge loss we apparently shared in common. “I lost my mum in a farm quad-bike accident when I was eleven.” I took a breath. “I still miss her like crazy.”

His eyes widened. “So, you get it, then. My dad lasted almost eighteen months. It was a tough time. I know it sounds bad, but there are times I can barely remember what he was like before he got sick. And to be honest, it was almost a relief when he finally went, and we didn’t have to see him in pain any longer.”

“It doesn’t sound bad at all. It’s just real life, right? No one gets to judge anyone’s reaction to loss from the outside. Every person’s experience is different.”

He stared at me with soft eyes. “You’re right about that. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“One sister. Jacklyn. She’s a couple of years older than me and lives in London. She’s got a son, Bobby. He’s eight.”

“Are you close?”

My gaze slid to the bay and the happy families. “Not really, although I’d like to change that. I’ve...” I hesitated. “I’ve never met my nephew or... spoken to him.” The ensuing silence wrapped around my throat in a tight squeeze.

There must’ve been something in my voice because Abe stilled, and the children’s laughter fell away, leaving a one-metre circle around the two of us. And when I looked up, Abe was watching me, like he could see the tear in my heart, and for the scariest second, I wanted to tell him everything.

“That must be hard,” he said.

I shrugged. “It is what it is. I’m working on it. How about you? Any siblings?”

He said nothing for a few seconds, clearly debating whether to press me on the switch, but then nodded. “A brother, Conrad. Three years younger than me.” He fell back in his chair, stretched out his long-muscled legs, and downed the last of his coffee.

I finished my own and set the empty mug on the deck, letting the silence draw out, sensing he wasn’t done.

“Mum was devastated when Dad died.” His words were soft, hesitant. “They had this big love-affair type marriage, and when he died, it was as if we lost her as well. She barely left the house for a year, hell, she barely left her bedroom and there’s only so much takeout you can eat. Dad’s insurance kept us afloat and eventually Mum went back to work after about eighteen months, but it wasn’t easy.” His voice choked, and without thinking, I reached over and squeezed his hand.

“I’m so sorry.”

He looked startled, but when I went to pull away, he locked fingers and held on. “Looking back, I can see all the signs of depression were there, but no one picked up on it, and her doctor was a jerk. But it meant that being the eldest, I was pretty much it as far as keeping the house going. And what with school and shopping and cooking, and keeping an eye on Conrad, well, let’s just say it’s not something I recommend for any fifteen-year-old. If it wasn’t for my dancing I’d have gone under, I think.”

“I get it,” I said. “When Mum died, I was number-one farmworker, cook, and general dogsbody. Dad doesn’t do domestic.”

This time it was Abe who squeezedmyhand. “Losing a parent when you’re young is a special kind of hell, isn’t it? And that’s before any practical considerations.”

I couldn’t look at him, couldn’t lose myself in the kind of understanding and care I knew I’d find in his eyes, my walls shaking, too fucking scared of what might come out if I opened my mouth.

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