Page 76 of In at the Deep End

Owen glanced up instantly. “Finished already?”

He huffed. “No chance.”

“Well, you could always join me.” Owen jerked his thumb towards the pool house. “There’s beer in the fridge. And a lounger if you want one. Patio chairs too, if you prefer that.” Owen flashed that disarming smile. “Have a break. You’ve earned it.” His eyes twinkled. “I’m your escape route, aren’t I?”

Matt chuckled. “Did it show that much?”

The quiet was suddenly shattered by a series of squeals and whoops coming from the direction of Matt’s garden.

Owen smirked. “It could be worse. You could be there.”

A beat later, Matt was laughing.

“Okay, maybe a short break. Then I might do a different kind of work.” He peered at the paving below his feet. “These slabs aren’t going to clean themselves.”

“They’ve waited this long,” Owen said with a smirk. “I’m sure they can survive another half hour.”

Matt smiled. “True.” His gaze drifted back to Owen.

The yellow shorts shouldn’t have mattered. Neither should the easy way Owen lounged in the chair, one ankle crossed over the other, at ease in the sunlight.

None of it explained why Matt caught himself noticing ridiculous things. The silver threading through Owen’s beard. The way his forearms had browned in the sun.

When did I start looking this closely?

Almost as though Owen sensed it, he glanced up, their eyes met, and he gave Matt a warm smile.

One that lingered.

Matt’s chest grew tight.

Would he smile like that at anybody? The question came out of nowhere.

The fact he’d asked it unsettled him even more.

He looked away first. “I…” He cleared his throat. “I think I left my charger at home.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Matt tapped the pocket of his shorts. “I’ll be five minutes.”

“Take your time.”

He nodded, turned, and headed towards the gate, knowing full well the charger was lurking at in the bottom of his laptop bag.

He was going home because, for the first time in his life, he was beginning to suspect the person he couldn’t stop staring at was more than interesting.

And he needed a minute to get his head around that.

By the time he reached his front door, his heart was pounding. He went inside quietly, heard voices in the lounge, and crept upstairs. Once he was in his bedroom, he pulled open a drawer and stared at its contents, momentarily lost.

Jeans? Yeah, no.

Cargo shorts? Way too baggy.

Old football shorts? Absolutely not.

He rummaged through the piles of neatly folded clothing—and then he found them. Another pair of teal shorts, the ones he’d worn on holiday last year. A little shorter than his usual variety.