Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
RYDER
I waved to Tap as he headed off in his ute, then pondered the tidy state of the compost piles by the machinery shed.
Even from fifty metres, I could see Thaddeus had done a pretty good job.
I don’t know why I was surprised that he’d cleaned it up.
It’s exactly what I’d have done in his place, after all.
Then again, I found people rarely went the extra mile, especially if it meant a little hard graft.
I wandered down for a closer look and was pleased to find it as neat as it appeared at a distance. Lord knew how he’d dug up the only ratty wheelbarrow left on the property; we’d commandeered the other two for the Cumberland job. Even I didn’t know where I’d stashed that one.
Taking the long route back to the cottage, I walked around the machinery shed and along the glasshouses toward the chickens.
Rounding the corner of the second greenhouse, I glanced inside and cursed at the scattering of glass on the floor.
Looking up, I considered the gaping hole in the glasshouse roof and sighed.
More damage from the storm. It was going to cost a pretty penny to fix. Money I didn’t have.
“Just what I need.” I stepped inside to better assess the damage, and beads of sweat instantly broke over my face. “Fuck.” I scanned the louvred ventilation system to find only half of it open and hoofed it for the monitoring panel, which appeared completely dead. Not a single light was glowing.
“Fucking useless waste of money,” I grumbled as I rebooted the system.
A few seconds later, the panel lit up, and a whir of cogs and levers signalled that the louvres were opening to release the built-up heat, thank God.
A quick look around told me I’d lost about a third of my vegetable seedlings.
I kicked the wall in frustration, which achieved nothing except almost breaking my damn toe.
Cursing up a storm, I abandoned the glasshouse before I did any more damage and headed off to feed the chickens.
That done, I trudged my way to the cottage via the garden path, coming to an abrupt halt at the sight of Thaddeus standing in my kitchen.
He was still in my clothes, busy stirring something on the cooktop while he swayed to the familiar reggae notes of L.A.B. ’s “In the Air.”
All the frustration I’d been carrying simply melted away, and I was totally charmed.
He looked so damn beautiful, the lighter tips of his dark brown hair almost golden in the evening light streaming into the kitchen, his dancing sinuous and enticing.
It was a glimpse of the man relaxed and comfortable in his own skin, believing he was alone.
I felt immediately guilty for creeping on him.
I was about to step away from the copper beech, which was hiding me from view, but stopped when Thaddeus scooped Ziggy from the floor and proceeded to dance around the kitchen with the dachshund on his hip and the spoon held to his lips like a microphone.
An occasional scrap of lyric made its way through the open bifold to my ears, enough to let me know the man shouldn’t give up his day job.
He did, however, deserve a solid ten for enthusiasm, and I was far too entranced to break the spell.
When the song ended, Thaddeus returned Ziggy to the floor and went back to stirring his pot.
Only then did it occur to me that he was likely cooking dinner .
. . for me . . . for us. The idea both rattled and thrilled me.
No one had cooked for me in my own house since James left, and to be fair, the slim pickings that man had dished up would barely have fed the chickens.
James cooked with singular regard for his own strict dietary regime rather than what a physically demanding job like mine might require.
Heaven forbid he put an extra kilo on his pretty frame.
And while I appreciated his discipline, I almost always had to follow dinner with a hefty supper while tolerating his disapproving looks.
“Ryder?” Thaddeus was standing stock still in the kitchen, his hand blocking the sun from his eyes as he stared into the garden. “Is that you?”
Shit. “Yes.” I began making my way across the lawn toward the deck.
Thaddeus wandered out to meet me, his cheeks on fire. “You saw all that, didn’t you?”
I grimaced. “Will you hate me if I say yes? I was . . . admiring your . . . talent.”
His eyes crinkled in amusement. “Liar. My mother says I can’t sing to save myself, and my friend JB says my voice is cheaper than paint stripper and twice as odorous.”
“Ouch.” I sat on the steps to take off my work boots. “I wouldn’t exactly say that.”
Thaddeus chuckled. “Oh, believe me, he’s right.” His gaze burned into my back. “Unless my singing isn’t the particular talent you were referring to?” There was coyness to his tone that surprised me.
Is he flirting with me? It had been so fucking long I barely recognised the tug in my belly. I looked up and met his gaze. “Now, there’s a question.”
Thaddeus didn’t blink, a flash of heat simmering just behind those beautiful eyes. He waited a beat or two, then smiled. “A question without an answer, it appears.”
And oh yes, we were very definitely flirting, and my body’s instantaneous hell yeah caught me completely off guard.
Then reality hit like a bucket of cold water to my brain.
Thaddeus was a guest in my home, younger by a good few years, and vulnerable.
Taking his bait would be a very bad idea.
I castigated my unruly dick and said, a great deal less forcefully than I’d hoped, “Not at the moment.”
Thaddeus arched an eyebrow, clearly amused. “At the moment, huh? So, not a definite no, then? Anything I can do to change your mind?”
Come a little closer. That’s all it would take.
Instead, I shot him a polite smile and said, “I’m flattered, Thaddeus, but you’re hurting, and I’m too old to be anyone’s Band-Aid or distraction or anything else, just to make them feel better.”
Thaddeus’s face instantly flamed, and I wanted to haul the words back into my thoughtless mouth.
He stepped back. “Wow. Way to put me in my place. I wasn’t suggesting a date, Ryder, just a bit of fun. But whatever. Dinner’s almost ready.” As he spun to leave, I leapt to my feet and grabbed his arm.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted. “That was unnecessary.”
Thaddeus hesitated, then slowly turned back, embarrassment washing through those big tawny eyes. “Sorry for what?” He looked somewhere over my shoulder, slowly shaking his head. “Being a dick?”
I snorted. “Yeah. For being a dick. I could’ve been nicer.”
He shrugged but still didn’t look at me. “I’m a big boy, Ryder. You don’t have to apologise for not wanting to fuck me.”
I huffed. “Is that what you think?” I moved in front, forcing him to look up at me.
This close, the twelve or so centimetres I had on him were highlighted, and for the first time, I noticed a small scar on his right temple.
I gave in to the urge to tuck an errant lock of dark brown hair behind his ear, and he leaned into the touch. I immediately dropped my hand.
“The last thing I want to do is turn you down,” I admitted.
“You’re the sexiest man I’ve met in a long, long time.
But I’m not that guy. The fuck-your-ex-out-of-your-system kind of guy.
At least not when it’s only forty-eight hours since you broke up.
Your ex was more than just a boyfriend, I think, right? ”
Thaddeus’s eyes found mine, and he gave another shrug. “To be honest, looking back, I’m beginning to question exactly what he was. Yes, more than a boyfriend, for sure. But it’s more complicated than that.”
I waited for him to explain, but it quickly became clear he had no intention of doing so. I changed tack. “I should apologise again for creeping on you just now. It was a jerk thing to do, but I’m so used to being on my own that coming home to find you cooking and dancing in my kitchen—”
“And singing badly; don’t forget that part.” He gave an almost smile.
“And singing badly,” I agreed. “To be honest, it caught me off guard, but in a nice way. I was enjoying the moment, I suppose.”
Thaddeus cocked his head. “You’ve never lived with anyone before?”
I grimaced. “I have. But it’s been a while.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Fair enough. On a different note, do you mind if I ask your age?”
I answered straight away. “Thirty-seven.”
His eyebrows popped. “Really?” He looked me up and down, and my belly did that squirmy thing again. “You’re doing all right for an old fella.”
I narrowed my gaze. “Watch it, pipsqueak.”
He laughed.
I shot him a narrow look. “Fair’s fair. So, how old are you?”
He straightened his shoulders. “Twenty-nine going on fifty after the last two days.”
I huffed. “You and me both.”
“Ouch.” He winced. “I’ll try not to take that personally.”
“I meant the council stuff, not your unexpected appearance.”
He grinned. “Sure you did. And now that we’ve cleared that up, although I’ve nothing against the honest scent of a hard-working man, you’ve got plenty of time to shower before dinner.”
I swallowed a laugh at being ordered around in my own house and enquired, “Exactly what is for dinner?” I tried to peer around his shoulders, but he moved to block my view.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” he informed me haughtily. “I’m no Jamie Oliver, but I do okay. You’ll have to trust me.”
And oddly enough, I did. “Fine, but before I go, there was no sign of the council again, I take it?”
“Nope. Nothing. I spent most of the day on my laptop, admiring your garden, and getting my washing dry. I’m using a couple of your chargers by the way.”
I nodded. “No problem. And don’t think I didn’t notice that you’ve shovelled the compost back where it belongs. Thank you. It must’ve taken you a fair while. You didn’t need to, of course, but I’m very grateful.”