Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
“All right, fair. We can all just nod and smile.”
“It’s the kind thing to do. Won’t last long anyway, she can’t keep up with other things.”
“So do we ask about Jason?”
A scoff. “Don’t be so mean. You know he never takes part in these things. There’s no way he’d show up.”
“Honestly. Sage. How’d she end up with a name like that?”
“She’s a baker. It still fits.”
Laughter.
Carl’s stomach twisted.
The out-of-towner and his magazines. His ex marrying super-smart veterinarian Nick. A corner store stockpiling donuts and kitty Catbernet. Duds and dead ends.
These women laughing at Sage behind her back could have been laughing at him.
He abandoned the last of his beer, pulled up his flannel hood, sidled past the groupies, and balled his fists the entire way to the villa. There, in a haze of sympathy and self-pity, he yanked open Jason’s wardrobe.
Carl took his cleanly shaven jawline and styled hair towards Sage’s Street Greet, dressed in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. A glance in a shop window had him squaring his shoulders with confidence. The charcoal, the crisp white, the black tie. Sharp. He totally exuded accomplished.
But . . . jeez, it was a wee bit constricting.
The jacket was the problem. Sort of pinched around his biceps. Perhaps he could get away without it? The double-breasted waistcoat should still give off a slick air of the refined.
On the main drag, before turning into the Street Greet, he shrugged out of the jacket and a typical Wellington gust made off with it. He attempted to play chase, but there came the blur of bike wheels and all that tailored material cling-wrapped the rider, who swore under wool and silk.
Carl watched between his fingers as the helmeted figure continued riding, one hand pulling the jacket off and holding it by its collar. Yeah, that grip wasn’t lessening. Yup, the rider was taking off with it.
Looked like Carl would be replacing that one.
Never mind. The Street Greet . . .
He turned the corner and headed towards the end of the road. Like he’d stepped into some kind of alternate universe, evening sunset streamed down on him in glorious gold as he walked towards the gathered residents and their jaw-dropped mouths.
“Is that Jason Lyall?”
“The musician?”
“Oh my God. I go to all his local shows.”
“Ha, I go to the ones in Auckland too.”
“I need his autograph!”
“I want to hear him play.”
“I wonder what his favourite pieces are!”
“Those fingers!”
“Truly talented.”
Did they call him ‘truly talented’?
Wow, were they actually scrambling to make way for him?
“He usually keeps to himself.”
“Who lured him out?”
“Does he know Sage? Are they . . .?”
“No way she could know someone like him.”
Carl spotted Sage at the far end, on the edge of the crowd, her strawberry head cast down as if she’d caught all that too. She was starting to slink away.
“Sage!” Carl called out, and waltzed past the three bit—witches—from the pub. “Nice to see you again. How’s Leo?”
Sage looked up, blossoming into a smile. And gosh, how satisfying, seeing the mums sag into mystified puddles as he accepted Sage’s wide-armed, bouncy “Hello!”
Being Jason Lyall was rather intoxicating.
He smiled at neighbours and signed Jason’s name on t-shirts and notebooks and promised to help a few old ladies tune their pianos. Really, he couldn’t say no, could he? He’d simply put it off until the real Jason returned. He’d tell his brother helping out was good for karma.
He let Sage introduce him to everyone, and when asked by one of the witches to remind them of the story behind Tartini’s Devil’s Trill Sonata he begged off to ‘visit the bathroom.’
Sage ushered him to her place, calling into the house for Leo to come out. “Grayson is bringing your favourite apple shortcake! Made from the apples off our tree!”
When there was no response, Sage ‘huh’ed. “Maybe he’s already found him. I’ll go check.” And Carl was left to find the toilet on his own.
Not that he needed it. But he went in anyway and perched on the fluffy lid while frantically searching up musical histories.
On his way back out, he caught sight of Leo peering out from under the table. “Psst.”
Carl checked he wasn’t talking to anyone behind him and pointed to himself. At Leo’s nod, he crouched and waited.
Leo whispered, “Are they out there?”
“The neighbours? Yeah.”
“The other mums?”
Carl nodded again.
Leo shuddered. “I’ll stay here, then.”
Carl thought of the ones he’d met so far, and had to agree. “What about that apple shortcake?”
“This is a conundrum!”
Carl laughed. “How about I sneak some in for you?”
“You’ll come back?”
Carl winced, imagining all the other musical queries that’d come his way. “Fairly sure I’ll be hiding in the bathroom again soon.”
“I’m good at hiding. I can show you some better spots!” Leo brightened and crawled out from under the table. “First find Grayson. His shortcake is the best. The other mums try to make it but theirs is too sour.”