Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 33474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
“Teach me to swim!” The words tumble out of me. I blame the night. And the fantasies that have come crashing to mind. They’re enough to, at least right now, dull the panic.
He turns to me, barely containing his grin. “We’ll make a plan. Lyle’s a patient teacher.”
Lyle?
“Ah . . . I’d rather”—not have him there, eyeing you up like candy he wants to lick all over—“he didn’t see me struggle.”
Robin nods. “Sure. I’ll get some tips on how to go about it and then it’ll just be us. Tomorrow?”
Tomorrow? So soon? I shiver. “How about next weekend?” I need time to mentally prepare.
“It’s a date.”
Those words. All the terror to come will be worth it.
I hope all the terror will be worth it. I seem to be hyperventilating a lot, and there are still five days to go . . .
I drag a hoe through the soil, loosening the earth in a new bed in Lyle’s backyard. Why is anticipation the worst?
I pause, tip my head towards the dark-clouded sky and breathe in the moist air. Two frustrated voices rise from the house. Lyle and his brother.
I’d turned up in time to see the show. The arrival of a scruffy teenager with a backpack of clothes and an announcement he’d be staying a while. Lyle had definitely been taken unawares, but he’d urged his brother inside anyway. Then he’d caught sight of me and flushed.
Naturally, I ducked my head and busied myself with the yard, but now I need to visit the wharepaku . . .
I clomp over the deck, making my steps heavy enough to warn Lyle of my impending arrival. I toe out of my boots and rap against the glass door.
The argument stops. Lyle lets me in, a frown cutting his brow, his lips pursed. His eyes don’t meet mine.
In the living room behind him, the brother is sprawled out on the couch, his dirty shoes on the nice upholstery and the remote in his hand.
He’s scrolling through Netflix with a stubborn, stroppy pout on his face. I’m familiar with that pout—I’ve seen it on Scott. Fifteen-odd years ago, I wore it myself.
I gesture to Lyle that I need the bathroom and pass through the tension to the hallway. When I’m done and washing my hands, their voices rise again.
“ . . . your fault,” the teen whines.
“I did the best I could for both of us.”
“Well, they suck. I’m staying here.”
“They care about your future. So do I. If you quit school, how will you afford to live?”
“I’ll crash here. Gardening looks easy enough. I’ll do that.”
I laugh under my breath. Shaking my head, I make a timely appearance and clap my hands. “Right. You.” The teen resembles his brother in the mouth and cheekbones. The eyes, not so much. But that could be because of the malevolent glare. “I’ll give you a taste of how easy it is. Paid, of course. Take yourself out back.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“A gardener. I’m offering you your first job.”
Lyle opens his mouth to interrupt and I cast him a ‘give me a shot?’ glance. After a moment’s hesitation, he steps back and folds him arms. “Off you go, Jordy. Follow Jase’s instructions.”
Jordy casts the remote to the floor, near-missing Lyle’s feet. Lyle hauls in a breath and I touch his elbow. Ignore it.
I put as much breeze in my tone as I can manage. “Head to the lemon tree.”
Jordy scoffs and drags himself out back.
Lyle pivots. “Sorry you had to see all that.”
“Equally sorry if I’m interfering too much. But . . . sometimes being set straight by an outsider helps.”
“Had experience with that?”
“Our neighbour. It was only when they had a good go berating me that it sunk in how shitty I was being.”
He raises a brow.
“It’s easy to be shitty to the people that love you most. You trust they’ll stay.”
“You reckon all that”—he gestures to the couch where Jordy had been—“was a show of trust?”
“A show of it, and a test of it.”
Lyle absorbs this, tipping his head back. “I’m not good at this stuff.”
“Mate, your patience is impressive. You’re doing all right.”
He huffs a laugh.
I say, “I also get how it’s harder, with a much younger brother. The dynamics are different. We don’t see them all the time; we want to give them everything they want, out of guilt for not being there.”
Lyle shuts his eyes.
I blabber on, hands slipping into my back pockets. “But discipline is sometimes the best gift you can give a kid. Even if it comes from a nosy gardener.”
He chuckles, opens his eyes, and scrutinises me with a cocked head. “I suppose you turned out . . .” He doesn’t finish, just gestures me towards the doors and Jordy swatting a lemon off the tree. “Have at it.”
I have at it.