Page 1 of Just for Me
1
NOWHERE TO RUN
There’sno elegant way to walk out on somebody with an enormous striped ginger cat in your arms. Unfortunately, Hayden Allen only realized that later.
He hadn’t been able to wait for the lift. Instead, he walked fast up the stairs of the flash Wynward Quarter apartments and knocked at the door, feeling the excitement rise in him like bubbles in a glass of champagne. It wasn’t tickets to Tahiti, but maybe it was even better, because it was personal. Anyway, it was too soon for anything like that. He knew it was too soon. Two and a half months—too soon.
He couldn’t help it, though. He had a hopeful heart. Broken too many times, but he kept coming back for more. This time, though … this felt like it could be the real thing.
He stood in front of the apartment door and willed his heart to slow, shifting the cat in his arms, because the thing must weigh about ten kG and was carrying around another half its weight in fur. Maybe this was a stupid idea.
Harden up. It was a brilliant idea. You just have to execute. Get out of your comfort zone and take a leap.He rang the bell. And waited.
And waited.
Julian had said he’d be staying home tonight when Hayden had mentioned he’d be working late. The plan had seemed perfect.
Wait. Obviously, Julian wouldn’t come to the door if he wasn’t expecting anybody. But he didn’t always lock the door, did he? Should he check?
Julian could be mercurial, especially lately. One day loving and affectionate, the next distant. Hayden had thought,Give him space. It’s a lot. It feels like a lot to you, too.Now, he tried the handle. Unlocked. Still, he hesitated. Was that too much, walking in?
Not with a gift, surely.
He pushed the heavy door open. He’d been right, he realized with outsized relief. There was music coming from the speakers in the lounge, the sultry, bluesy stuff Julian favored when he was relaxed—or randy—and the smell of something delicious wafting in from the open ranch sliders.
It was going to be all right. It was going to bebetterthan all right.
He kicked off his shoes with some difficulty—no hands—and headed out there, noticing the bottle of wine in the ice bucket on the kitchen bench along the way. Dinner and wine? That worked.
Julian was on the balcony, facing away from Hayden, dressed in shorts and T-shirt as usual, his lean body elegant even while tending to the oversized barbecue that was among his prize possessions, or, as he would say, “The one thing New Zealand does well, other than sheep, sailing, beaches, and a casual dress code.” A pristine white yacht pulled out of its slip in Viaduct Harbour below, the sky was the serene blue of late spring, the drifting white clouds were reflected in the water that slapped against the quays, and the scent of grilling meat made Hayden’s mouth water. As did the glass of white wine at Julian’s elbow.
Julian had the best nose for wine Hayden had ever seen—and he used it. He could polish off a bottle by himself and only become sharper, his wit more cutting. Taste too sophisticated for Auckland, maybe, which made sense, because he was British. British, with a glamorous flat, a glamorous boat, a glamorous life, a way of looking down his aristocratic nose that thrilled Hayden ridiculously, a thorough knowledge of music, the ability to order the best food in three languages, a case full of classic books that he’d actually read, and the quickness of brain to converse wittily about all of it.
Jane Austen’s version of an accomplished lady, in fact.
A plate of scallops breaded with dukkah waited on the metal benchtop, ready to be grilled at the last minute, but it was the paper packet with its white label that caught Hayden’s eye. First Light wagyu beef tenderloin, and the sizzle of the filets on the steel was making his mouth water. That and the asparagus ready to go onto the barbecue with the scallops.
He was already tapping Julian on the shoulder when it registered. Scallops and First Light wagyu? To eat dinner at home? Alone?
Julian had excellent taste, though. Excellent, expensive taste.
Julian turned with a smile that lit up his electric-blue eyes, the chiseled cheekbones and the shine of his blonde hair, as always, making Hayden’s heart beat faster. And then the smile left his face as if it had never existed. “Hayden. Dear boy. This is a surprise. Thought you were working late. Did you text me?”
“Wanted to surprise you.” Hayden shifted the cat in his arms. The ginger tabby had been purring all along, and now, he decided to vocalize. The sound that had charmed Hayden at the shelter, full of chirps and varied tones. “With this,” Hayden added. “Cat. For you. Like you wanted.”
Julian stared at the animal, then said, “It’s not the best time. I’ve got friends coming, as you said you were working. How about tomorrow instead?”
“Oh.” Hayden was aware of the cat’s weight, dragging at him. The thing was still talking, probably about scallops. Hayden hadn’t had dinner yet—he hadn’t even thought of it—and his stomach was telling him it was past seven-thirty. He was starved, in fact, and he didn’t know when you fed cats. What if he was starving the cat, too? He had a bag of food in the car. Should he go get it? Clearly not.
He’d been right. It was too soon. Too much, and too soon. He’d been stupid.
“Babe?”
The sound came from behind them. From inside those ranch sliders.
It was one of those moments frozen in amber. Hayden turned, feeling like his head weighed twenty kilograms, and saw him. Tall, muscular, and fit as hell. Crisp dark hair, brown eyes, drop-dead handsome.
Hayden recognized him. First, because he was an actor onCourtney Place,New Zealand’s favorite soap. Well, New Zealand’s only soap, but who was counting. And second, because he was Julian’s ex, whose photo Julian had shown him early on, telling him how he’d burnt the physical copy and broken the frame for good measure. “Burnt the deep-blue cashmere/merino/silk jumper he bought me, too, the one that matched my eyes, and sold the skis, which was all mad,” he’d told Hayden. “But, heigh-ho, you know I have to have my drama, and I didn’t want any reminders of the possible love of my life. Totally forgetting about the glory of that fabric blend, of course. The skis, now, I could live without. So much effort. He was such a materialistic boy, though, and to be brutally honest, there wasn’t much happening under the looks. Whereasyou,my darling, are all about what’s real, aren’t you? A wee bit earnest and boringly sincere, maybe, underyourlovely looks, but then, youarea Kiwi.”
