“I think the living areas are self-explanatory. I’ll show you the bedroom later. Would you like a drink of something before we sit out on the deck? The house stinks of paint fumes. Sorry.” Looking through the French doors, the huge deck had a table setting and a couple of Adirondack deck chairs. It looked like the perfect place to sit and get some air. And some space.
I turned back to him, once again struck dumb. Dangling by his side, one of his arms was secured in a plaster cast. The other arm was bent up, his right bicep bulging out on full display, as his hand held the back of his head. The bottom of his shirt rode up, showing a strip of skin. He waited for my answer with a sheepish expression, as if he’d been caught doing something naughty.
Bicep. Strip of skin. Freckled face.
I was the one who should be sheepish. I had to clear my throat to stop from squeaking out incomprehensible sounds.
“Water would be fine, thanks.”
He left me and headed to the kitchen. I followed the paint smell into the lounge, curious to see what he was doing. My hand flew to my chest, pressing over my fluttering heartbeat. A magnificent mural covered the wall behind the couch, depicting a glimpse of a lake and jetty at the end of a forest path. I wondered if it was an actual place that he was fond of, or if it was a metaphor for life. Finding your way through the dark and difficult, to the light and sanctity at the end. It was truly beautiful. The detail was amazing even in its unfinished form. I almost felt the brush of leaves against my skin as I walked toward the water. A figure sketched roughly on the jetty was only beginning to take on some colour.
I heard the clink of a glass as he placed it on the coffee table. I put a pillow down on the couch where I planned to sit. My tail still hurt when I put weight on it. He noticed and grimaced, as he took a seat on the arm of the couch.
“Thanks for the drink.”
“No worries. I—I’m … Shit. I’m sorry for knocking you down. You turned so suddenly, and I didn’t have a chance to stop in time. I’ve felt like crap about it ever since.” He chewed on his lips, rubbing the back of his head again.
Damn, that was distracting.
I waved away his apology, and shook my head. “It was an accident. Not your fault. I wasn’t watching where I was going.” Leaning forward, I grabbed my glass and gulped down a few swallows. He watched me closely, staring at my mouth and throat with such heat in his eyes I forgot to breath between swallows, choking on the water. I coughed and spluttered. He was going to think I was a lunatic without even knowing about my curse. He jumped off the couch, slapping me on the back several times.
After regrouping, I steered the conversation to safer territory. “Thanks. The, um … the painting is beautiful. You’re really talented. How long have you been working on it?”
“Thanks.” He bobbed his head. “I started it four months ago. I got hit with inspiration from my muse.” The words were jovial, but the intensity in his gaze told me there was more to his statement. I grabbed my drink again and sipped carefully this time, making sure to look at the glass and not at him.
“Would you like me to show you the rest of the house?”
“Yes!” I practically yelled before he’d finished the final word. Heat swept my face again. Jesus, who am I? This whole meeting had been utterly ridiculous. I felt like I was back in high school. I didn’t want to be rude and leave before seeing the room, but my feet itched to bolt.
I followed him onto the deck and down another set of stairs leading to the backyard. Much like the front, it was dense with tropical plants, separated by a series of winding pathways. In the middle of the yard, a small pond and bench seat formed an oasis.
“Are there any fish in the pond?” I asked as he led the way down.
“No fish, but I think we have a family of frogs. They’re bloody noisy at night. Especially after it rains. Fair warning.” I barely heard what he said. The rear view of his broad shoulders and bum was very distracting. Another rip exposed the back of his knee. He had the body of a swimmer.
Shoulders. Bum. Knee. Jesus!
He unlocked a gate to the right of the stairs, and led me under the house. The vast area, broken up by thick wooden posts, was cluttered with boxes and various outdoor equipment. A couple of bicycles and a canoe hung from the beams overhead, and a washing line zigzagged across the ceiling.
Brad opened the door of a built-in room to our left and towards the back of the space. “This is the laundry and there’s also a small bathroom through there.” He pointed to another door past the washing machine and sink. I peered through, not wanting to squeeze past him again. “There’s a dryer you’ll probably need to use in the summer. I don’t know if you’re from here, but it can get pretty humid and wet. It’s hard to dry the washing, even hanging under here.”
“Why do I smell sawdust?” I wrinkled my nose, even though I liked the smell.
He stepped back and swung an arm towards a workshop in the front corner. A homemade bench was cluttered with tools and sawdust, standing beside a motorcycle tyre that peeked out from under a cloth cover. “I like to build stuff. It’s pretty grotty under here. I promise not to get your
