Page 29 of Just for Me
“How are you dressed differently?” Hayden asked. “How do we have bacon?”
“Went to the hotel and changed. And bought bacon. At Countdown, in the Wynward Quarter. Know who I saw there?”
Hayden forgot about his head, and about the office, too. “You’re joking.”
“Nah. Well, they lost their eggs and half their fruit and veg last night, didn’t they.”
“What did they do?”
Luke smiled. “Scuttled out like they were the rats and I was the cat. Very nice. You going to do that restraining order?”
Hayden felt, somehow, better than he had for months. “I think I already have one.”
They went for a walk to the Wintergarden at the Domain after breakfast, strolling along the track beneath pohutukawa trees decked out for Christmas in their brilliant red candles of blossom, then looking at orchids and banana trees in the hothouse and a riot of pink and purple lupine in the seasonal greenhouse. After that, they had a coffee at the café, sitting in the shade of an umbrella amidst the cabbage trees, palms, and beds of yellow iris bright as the sun, and watching a mother duck followed by seven fuzzy babies swimming after her, the last duckling in line straggling a bit until the mum quacked her hurry-up order. All of it lazy and slightly guilty, like bunking off school, only better.
“I’m meant to be drafting a contract for Fonterra,” Hayden said, not wanting to drink his latte, because the barista had done a swan on it in foam and it was too pretty to destroy.
Luke raised his eyebrows and took a bite of date scone, upon which he’d slathered a truly astonishing amount of butter. “Thirty percent of the world’s dairy exports, and the biggest company in En Zed. Your firm does their work, eh.”
“I know whyIknow that,” Hayden said. “How doyouknow that?”
“I’m a South Islander.”
“Not now, you’re not.”
“Close enough. So your firm does their work, and you do their contracts.”
“Well, this one, anyway. Not the senior partner, of course. Just assigned to draft it up.” Hayden felt a little shy. Nobody ever thought his work was interesting. Well, they had a point—itwasmostly commercial contracts. He couldn’t help it, though. He liked the precision of contracts, the way you had to use all your skill to get them exactly right. Possibly like accountancy, and very few people thought accountants were sexy. You never heard of accountant fetish wear, for example.
“Mm,” Luke said. “Sounds to me like you’re somebody there all the same. But then, I knew that.” He ate another bite of scone, and Hayden watched abstractedly as the yellow butter—New Zealand butter, churned from the milk of cows that grazed all year round in lush pastures—he knew that because of the Fonterra contract, but it would be hard to miss if you had eyes and looked around you—melted and pooled over the flakes of rich pastry, studded with hefty chunks of date.
Why were the things you wanted most always so bad for you?
Luke must have seen him looking, because he held it out and said, “Have a bite.”
“Oh. No. Thanks.”
“Why not?” Luke asked.
“Uh …” Hayden couldn’t catch hold of his thoughts. They would be there, nearly in his grasp, and then they’d skitter away again. It was extremely disconcerting. He had focus. He had analytical skills. That was nearlyallhe had. He clutched the edge of the wooden table, felt its solid warmth under his hands, and fought down the sudden panic.
“What?” Luke asked, his eyes sharpening.
“Nothing. I’m fine.” Hayden took a sip of coffee, then remembered the swan and got a painful wrench. Because of hiscoffee.
There was Luke’s hand, over his again. “What?”
“My brain’s not working too well.” Hayden tried to laugh, and found himself letting go of the edge of the table. Somehow, his hand turned, and now, Luke was holding it. In public. In Auckland. The courage of that moment … something tore loose inside Hayden’s heart. He felt the tears welling up, and couldn’t stop them.
“It’s all right.” Luke’s voice was deep as the sea, strong as the tide. “It’s a TBI. That’s what they do. That’s why you’re giving that clever brain of yours a rest.”
“Does it …” Hayden had to take a breath. “Come back?”
Luke smiled, just a little. “Well, so far. Least I don’t seem too stupid yet. Course, I’m not a brilliant contracts lawyer, just doing some pushing and shoving in the front row.”
“And captaining England.” Hayden had control of himself again. “As a prop. Are props captains? Isn’t your head usually …”
Luke smiled some more. “Up somebody’s bum? Nah. You’re thinking of the third row. Dunno why, but I am. Have a bite of scone, or tell me why you won’t.”
