Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Matt stood by the pool, surveying Owen’s garden.
There wasn’t much left to do now.
The last of the planting was almost finished, the roses had been pruned, and with any luck there would be another flush of flowers before summer was over.
The lawn was looking the worse for wear, but that was the inevitable result of weeks without rain.
With the hosepipe ban still in place, there was nothing Matt could do about it except wait.
This was Britain. In a few weeks they’d all be complaining about solid downpours.
Thank God the water feature simply recycled the same small quantity of water. A shiny copper ball sitting in a shallow basin, water bubbling out of its top. It produced a pleasant trickling sound that always had a calming effect whenever Matt sat near enough to hear it.
The housewarming was right around the corner, and once that was over, there would be little reason for him to keep coming back. The thought should have been a relief.
It left a strange feeling of emptiness in his chest.
The patio door opened, and Owen stepped outside, coffee mug in hand, his silver-streaked beard catching the morning light.
Matt lifted a hand. “Morning.”
“Morning.” Owen smiled.
The warmth in his voice, the familiar pleasure that seeing him always brought… It was enough for everything to feel normal again.
Matt walked towards him, expecting the usual greeting without really thinking about it. A hand on his arm, a quick kiss before complaining about the state of the flowerbeds or asking how the dissertation was going.
This morning, Owen merely lifted his mug. “I made you coffee.”
Matt glanced towards the patio table, where another mug sat waiting. “You’re spoiling me.”
“I’ve been doing that for weeks.” There was a teasing note in his voice.
Matt relaxed. “True.” He picked up the mug and took a sip. Exactly how he liked it. He grinned. “This is why I keep coming back.” He took the mug with him and wandered back to the steps.
Owen laughed. “I thought it was my sparkling personality.”
“That too.”
For a moment, it was easy to believe nothing had changed.
Then Owen turned towards the flowerbeds. “We should probably finish those before it gets too warm.”
“We?” Matt picked up the trowel he’d left on the patio wall.
“I thought I’d get my hands dirty for once. You know, get in practice for when you’re no longer around.”
Matt tightened his fingers around the trowel. There it was, a little reminder that this had always been temporary.
He forced a smile. “You make it sound as though I’m abandoning you.”
Owen rolled his eyes. “I’ll survive.”
“Barely.”
He laughed.
Matt walked over to the flowerbed. He knelt on the parched grass and took a good look around him. He estimated the job would last two more weeks.
He’d known from the beginning the garden would eventually be finished. That summer would end and he’d search for a job.
So why did the thought of it suddenly feel like something was being taken away from him?
“Can I garden in these?”
Matt glanced at Owen’s shorts. “They’re your hanging around the house shorts. They’ll do just fine.”
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.
They ate on the patio, the conversation easy enough on the surface. Owen asked sensible questions about his final chapter, and Matt answered them, explaining what remained to be done and how he’d planned to get everything finished.
Then he mentioned the train to Edinburgh.
“I’m going up the day before and staying with Eric. It means I can hand it in first thing Monday. And I haven’t seen him for months.”
Owen nodded. “You could do with a break too.”
Matt bit his lip. “I’ve already had one of those, remember? A certain island?”
“Yeah, but this time I won’t be around to distract you.”
And if I want that distraction?
Neither of them said anything for a moment.
Owen cleared his throat. “When are you going?”
“Saturday the twenty-second.”
He blinked. “I see.”
They both knew what that meant. The housewarming was that day.
Matt forced a smile. “It’s okay. I’ve already been to one of your parties. I think I got the best one.”
Owen’s mouth curved into a half smile.
“Besides…” Matt flashed him a grin. “After the way that ended, I don’t really think you could top that.”
He waited for the reaction. A slow smile, a wicked comment about the office sex. Something that would take them straight back to that afternoon and remind Matt that whatever else had changed, that part of them was still there.
Instead, Owen’s smile felt a bit detached.
Matt’s stomach tightened. He looked down at his sandwich and took another bite, forcing himself to chew.
Maybe Owen was tired. Maybe he was thinking about the housewarming. Maybe—
He stopped himself. Too many maybes.
When they’d finished, Owen collected the plates and carried them inside. Matt followed, expecting nothing more than a few minutes before they returned to the garden.
Instead, Owen reappeared at the patio door.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Matt did his best not to stare.
The words were perfectly ordinary. That was what made them so strange.
He’d lost track of how many times Owen had asked him to stay after working on the garden. Not every time, but there was almost always a reason. Another coffee, a film they’d both seen a dozen times. A beer on the patio. Dinner because he’d made too much food.
Sometimes Owen didn’t even seem to realise he’d asked. The invitation appeared between them as naturally as everything else they did together.
And now? Nothing.
Matt managed a smile. “Yeah. Tomorrow.” He picked up his bag.
Owen walked him to the side gate, but there was no hand at his waist, no kiss, not even a casual touch to his shoulder.
“See you.”
“See you.” Matt stepped through the gate. He kept walking until he reached the road before he let his smile disappear.
It wasn’t anything. It couldn’t be.
Nothing had happened. Nothing Matt could point to, at any rate, or even name. And yet, as he walked home, the thought he’d been trying not to entertain followed him all the way there.
Maybe the Isle of Wight had changed everything.
Just not in the way he’d hoped.
By the middle of the week, Matt had almost convinced himself he’d imagined the awkwardness.
Owen was still Owen. He made coffee exactly the way Matt liked it, and laughed at his jokes. He asked about the dissertation and listened when Matt talked through a problem he’d just encountered with the final chapter. Nothing had occurred that Matt could point to and say, There. That’s different.
Except there were all the things Owen wasn’t doing.
The touches that no longer happened without thought.
The kisses that had become shorter, rarer.
The invitations that no longer seemed to materialise just because Owen wanted another hour with him.
Little things, individually meaningless, but impossible to ignore when Matt remembered how naturally they’d once happened.
So maybe I’m not imagining things after all.