Chapter 2
two
On the one hand, maybe Luca was falling back into bad habits.
See: being drawn, like clockwork, to the saddest man at the bar. No matter Luca’s best intentions to be the saddest man at the bar himself.
On the other hand, maybe he was finally taking control of his destiny.
“What do you mean?” Emerson King was staring at him. Luca could feel the heat of it on the side of his face. But Luca could only stare past Matt, out the front windows of the brewery. Past the overgrown grass, the corners of the intermittent buildings, to the ocean. “What kind of help?”
Luca forced himself to shrug, appear casual.
“Maybe I could work at your farm.”
Sure, he’d never worked on a farm before.
And it would hurt his dad—and his brothers, and his uncles, and his mom probably—as much as any departure from the family business would.
But maybe his dad would understand this more.
Working on the land was kind of like working on the sea.
Well—okay, maybe they were the actual literal opposites of the other, but Luca had time to work on the analogy.
They both involved hard, ceaseless work.
Working with your hands. Breaking your body.
The kind of work the Yaegers understood.
“I’m sorry. Luca.” At Emerson’s first use of his name, Luca finally turned to see the man frowning down at the bar, his light brown eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t think you understand. I don’t have any money to hire anyone, for anything. I couldn’t pay you.”
Luca did need money. He had savings, but not a ton.
“Is there a place I could stay? At the farm?”
The idea came to him in a flash. He’d rent out his cabin.
It was a good fucking cabin. It had an ocean view.
He’d done it before, here and there, during longer Alaska tours.
The Oregon Coast was thirsty for rental properties.
He could make a killing. Or, at least, enough to cover his bills. Probably.
Emerson’s eyes lifted, his pale pink lips slightly parted.
Luca realized, then, that it probably wasn’t a rational or appropriate thing to do, demanding to live on the property of someone you’d only met forty-five minutes ago.
But Luca wasn’t feeling very rational at the moment.
Luca was feeling a little ready to blow his life up.
And by blow his life up, he meant, maybe attempt to disappear completely, and a queer farm felt like sort of the perfect place to do just that.
“I…” Emerson’s lips finally came back together.
They were very kissable lips. Not that Luca should be thinking about that anymore.
He had been thinking, for the last half hour, about how he would very much enjoy getting railed by this man, with his rough farmer’s hands and sturdy shoulders, or perhaps railing him—whichever Emerson would prefer—as a way of distracting himself from his own failures.
Old habits, yadda yadda. But now that an entirely new game plan had stretched out in his mind, he had to put the kibosh on that whole train of thought.
“Yes,” Emerson finally said. An unreadable look passed over his face. “There’s a room in the house where you could stay. I could offer you room and board.”
“And board?” Luca held a hand to his chest. “Say less.”
Emerson’s mouth twitched. He had blue-ish-green eyes, a lightly freckled nose.
The sunburn on his cheeks was complemented by the half-circles under his eyes, purple swipes of exhaustion.
Luca had never been turned on by a receding hairline before, but the sparseness of Emerson’s dirty blond hair somehow only enhanced the kind lines of his face.
The curves around his eyes and mouth. The sharpness of his jaw.
He had the air of a man who was both incredibly strong and incredibly tired. It made Luca want to test the limits of both.
“Are you just fucking with me?” Emerson asked.
“No.” Luca sat straighter, pushed his beer away.
Stopped thinking about the lines around Emerson’s eyes.
Kibosh kibosh kibosh. “I’ve never worked on a farm before, but I come from a long line of fishermen.
I’m a fast learner, and I understand hard work.
” When Emerson still looked skeptical, he added, “I’d like to help.
I’ve been searching for something new for myself for a long time. Maybe your farm…is it.”
“You’ve never even seen my farm.”
“I could see it now.” Luca motioned toward the windows with a tip of his head. “Still some daylight out there.”
Emerson stared at him. Luca stared back, trying to communicate his good intent. It was a very difficult situation in which to not focus on Emerson King’s blue-green eyes.
“Are you an axe murderer? I hear serial killers are always very charming.”
Luca felt himself laugh. “I’m not actually that charming.
I’m kind of a moody asshole, a lot of the time.
” He winced, feeling like a douche. He didn’t want to be a self-deprecating cliché, especially to a potential employer.
He didn’t actually think he was an asshole.
Like, most of the time. He could’ve thought of better words.
The problem, probably, was that Luca could always use better words. He rarely found them, but he searched anyway. Had searched for them, for way too fucking long.
He just wanted Emerson to know that what was happening between them right now—how strangely uninhibited Luca felt, just then—might not be the norm if Emerson had the misfortune of seeing Luca every day.
“A hardworking one, though,” he added.
“I disagree. On the charming part, I mean.”
“You could run a background check on me.”
“I will.”
“You will?” Luca brightened, the smile spreading across his face before he could stop it. He hadn’t felt this eager since he’d swiped right on Dell McCleary nearly three years ago.
Farming. Luca Yaeger could totally be a farmer.
Maybe his dad would hate him ten percent less as a farmer.
Emerson looked toward the windows.
“You really want to see the farm?”
Luca stood. Was already pivoting toward the door before Emerson could object.
“Let’s go.”
Only once he reached the sidewalk did he allow himself to turn.
And there was Emerson, sticking his hands in his back pockets, eyes squinting toward the sea.
Luca almost bent over in relief, however hesitant that look on Emerson’s face still appeared.
Luca had simply plowed through the brewery in the brazen hopes that Emerson would follow.
Fast enough so that he himself wouldn’t turn chickenshit on his own plan.
But now that Emerson had followed, now that they were both out here in the daylight, now that Luca could get a good full look at him—
Well, shit. Emerson was short. Like, adorably so. Luca could plop his chin right on that balding head. Tuck that trim body right into his side.
“I should give you the address to the house,” Emerson was saying, the words slow and unsure as one hand withdrew from his back pocket, clutching a phone.
God, Luca wanted to stick his own hands in those pockets.
Emerson was lean, but Luca could tell, even from the side, that he had a good ass.
“Google Maps doesn’t always find it right when you just put in the name of the farm. ”
“All right.” Luca retrieved his own phone, resolving to cease further study of Emerson’s ass.
But instead of giving him the address, Emerson only stared at him like he wasn’t quite sure Luca was real.
“Sorry,” he said after a semi-awkward pause. “This isn’t, like—” He waved his phone in Luca’s general direction. “A way to—I haven’t really—I don’t—”
“I’m not coming onto you,” Luca stated, making the words clear. To this poor guy and to himself. “I am genuinely interested in working on your farm.”
Emerson’s shoulders relaxed at the same time his cheeks flushed. It was mottled, splashes of dark rose across his sun-worn skin, and Luca definitely didn’t want to trace the pattern with his tongue.
“Right,” Emerson said. “Thank you. Um. Okay.” And then he gave Luca the address, and with a mumbled “See you there,” turned and walked away. Luca studied the directions as he strolled toward his own car, grinning like a fully irrational person the entire way.