Page 179 of In at the Deep End

Owen looked good in everything.

They settled into a rhythm almost instantly. Owen dug while Matt planted, they passed tools back and forth without asking, and every so often one of them would point out a plant that needed attention. They talked about the weather, the garden, nothing important. Nothing that required either of them to look too closely at the other.

It was easy, comfortable.

Normal.

It wasn’t until they’d been working for half an hour that Matt realised Owen hadn’t touched him once. The awareness came so quietly that at first he dismissed it. There’d been no obvious avoidance. Owen hadn’t moved away from him or become cold. He’d laughed at Matt’s jokes, asked questions about the dissertation, and even nudged him with his elbow when Matt almost planted something in the wrong place.

Everything was exactly as it should be.

Except he hasn’t touched me.

Matt glanced sideways. Owen was concentrating on a rosebush, his expression thoughtful as he worked the soil around its roots the way Matt had showed him.

Since when has being occupied stopped him touching me?

The question made him feel uneasy. He pushed it away.

There was no reason for Owen to touch him. They were working. The morning hadn’t begun awkwardly.

Nothing was wrong. Matt was looking for things that weren’t there.

He bent over the flowerbed and reached for another plant. Whatever strange little feeling had stirred inside him, he could ignore it. There was no point making something out of nothing.

He knew why this seemed weird. The weekend on the island still felt as though it had changed so much between them.

Or perhaps I wanted it to.

He concentrated on the flowerbeds, and by lunchtime, they were almost finished.

Matt sat back on his heels and brushed soil from his palms. “I think that’s it.”

Owen straightened and gazed around. “You’re right.”

There was something almost wistful in his expression, but it vanished so quickly Matt couldn’t be sure he’d seen it.

“That’s a shame,” Owen added.

Matt glanced at him. “Why?”

Owen shrugged. “I’ll have to find something else to keep you busy.” The familiar teasing smile returned, and some of the tension inside Matt eased.

He laughed. “Then make it something interesting.”

Owen’s gaze held his for a moment.

Matt waited.

He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for. Another joke, perhaps. A suggestion that they could find something more entertaining to do. Or an invitation to stay for lunch, followed by an afternoon spent doing anything except working.

His mind supplied a far more dangerous possibility: lying together on a lounger in the afternoon sun, Owen’s hands warm on his skin, his fingers straying to where Matt really wanted them to go, the lazy intimacy of the island somehow finding its way back into an ordinary day.

Owen glanced towards the house. “I’ve got some sandwiches made.”

“Oh. Great.”

The disappointment that swamped him felt out of place.