Act 3 – Chapter 13
Opening his eyes, it took a moment for Marcus to focus. After days of sleepless nights, last night he’d finally slept right through.
Ribbons of bright light streamed through the cracks in his curtains, and Marcus watched particles of dust dance in their golden beams. He could hear the happy chirps of the garden birds, much louder than the distant calls of the gulls down on the cliff faces overlooking the seafront.
He felt calm today. Calm with a fuzzy warm feeling. Then he remembered why.
An image of Rowan’s dark eyes and his full lips came to the forefront of his mind. The kiss. His fingers raised to his mouth as he absentmindedly touched his lips.
It hadn’t been a dream.
Throwing back the covers, Marcus literally jumped out of bed, grabbed his mobile, and hummed all the way to the bathroom.
Turning on the shower to warm up, he realised his alarm hadn’t gone off yet. He looked at the time on his phone, and was surprised to see it was only five thirty. What was with these early mornings? Had his body clock reset itself or something?
Shaking his head with a smile, he quickly undressed and got into the shower. It was too early to go into work, as he’d done everything for the day ahead last night. He chewed his bottom lip as he thought about what preparations were left to do for the dog competition.
Thanks to Christine delegating jobs to friends and other residents from the bay, his load had lifted considerably. Really, all that was left for him to do, was on the actual day of the competition itself. Still, he didn’t want to waste the few hours he had spare that morning before he started work.
Marcus knew what he’d do, he’d sand down the newly scraped front door and window frames. He looked down at himself and shook his head. He was now clean. He would just have to shower again before heading to work.
After a quick breakfast of egg on toast, Marcus was outside the front door in his work clothes, sandpaper in hand, ear buds in, and his favourite tunes playing.
The sun was already high in the sky, and its rays warmed the back of his neck as he made a start.
Out with the old, in with the new.
A new start.
As he began sanding, Marcus couldn’t help but play out, scene for scene, what happened last night in Ruff to Regal.
Once again, he remembered the kiss, but then he remembered what Rowan had said.
Rowan had said, he would show up tomorrow.
But what had he meant by that?
What did, show up mean?
Did he mean for Atlas? For the competition? For Marcus?
Marcus tried to decipher the statement. But the longer he sanded, the more difficult he found it.
By the time he’d finished the front door, he was covered from head to foot in sanding dust.
He sat down in the shade on the small stretch of grass of his front garden, head back on the wall, eyes closed as he took a long drink from his water bottle.
When he opened them, the man he’d been daydreaming about was standing before him in old denim jeans, rips on the knees, and a white T-shirt that showed every contour of his muscular chest, clutching a plastic bag with, Old Po’s hardware, emblazoned on it in dark blue scrolled italics.
Marcus’s mouth dropped open.
Had this been what Rowan had meant—showing up at his house to help with decorating?
Marcus couldn’t remember if he’d even mentioned decorating that morning to Rowan.
He pulled out his ear buds and pocketed them as he looked up at Rowan with a puzzled expression.
Rowan answered the unspoken question on Marcus’s lips. ‘I was going to surprise you and get all your sanding done before you woke up. Clearly you are more of an early riser than me.’
Marcus scrambled to his feet. ‘Erm, not normally.’ He was gobsmacked. He noticed Atlas sitting near a bush in the shade. ‘Wow, did he choose to sit on my front garden himself?’
Rowan nodded, a clear look of pride displayed on his features.
‘Erm, you have a little something.’ Rowan reached up to Marcus’s nose and ran a finger along it, from the bridge to the tip.
Marcus suddenly felt like he was thirteen again, receiving attention from his first crush.
‘I really appreciate the help. It’s only the mornings before work where I find I have free time to do the house maintenance.’
Rowan pulled out a pair of gloves and a sandpaper block from the bag, pulling on the gloves as he moved closer to the window behind Marcus. ‘No worries. I have a free day anyway.’
Rowan began sanding the sill and Marcus settled on the opposite side of the window frame, mirroring him.
They worked in silence for a few minutes, Marcus glancing Rowan’s way when he was sure he wasn’t looking, so he could watch his bicep flexing. It was hot. The atmosphere was charged, and it felt awkward. The kiss hung heavily between them. Neither one wanting to broach the subject.
Marcus couldn’t stand it any longer. Rowan might like to be broodingly handsome, sultry and silent, but he was a talker—always had been—and always would be.
‘So... Are we going to talk about it?’
Marcus watched Rowan shuffle uncomfortably. ‘About what?’
Marcus stopped sanding and turned to face Rowan. ‘About the kiss, of course.’
Rowan turned away slightly, reaching for a higher part of the frame. Marcus wasn’t sure he’d done it on purpose to avoid looking at him. ‘What is there to talk about? We kissed.’
‘Is that it? Aren’t we going to discuss if there is going to be more to... to whatever this is? Or are we going to pretend it never happened?’
Rowan stopped sanding, his arm dropping to his side like a dead weight.
He slowly turned to face Marcus, his eyes soft as they met his.
‘It did happen... and it was wonderful...’ Marcus sensed a but, and braced himself.
‘I don’t know what to say, Marcus. Like you, I don’t know what this is.
’ He pointed in between himself and Marcus as he spoke.
‘I like you, I really do, and I meant what I said, I’ll show up. ’
Marcus sighed exasperated.
‘I don’t know what that means, Rowan. I get that you are here...’
Rowan took a step towards Marcus. ‘It means I’m here for you. I’m here to help you with Ruff to Regal until Georgina comes back. It means I’m here to help you with the dog competition.’
Marcus narrowed his eyes. ‘And us?’
‘That’s where the problem lies...’ Marcus’s breath hitched. ‘Like I said, I really like you, but my contract in Yorkshire won’t last forever.’
Marcus went still.
The scrape of sandpaper from further down the frame seemed suddenly far too loud, though Marcus had thought neither of them was moving.
‘Right,’ he said eventually.
Rowan’s eyes searched his face. ‘Marcus—’
‘No, it’s fine.’ Marcus looked down at the sandpaper in his hand, as if it had become fascinating. ‘Contracts end. People move on. That’s how contracts work.’
‘That isn’t what I meant.’
Marcus let out a small laugh, but it had no sparkle in it. ‘It is a little bit what you meant.’
Rowan said nothing.
That silence told Marcus more than he wanted to know.
He turned back to the window frame and rubbed at a stubborn patch of old paint, harder than necessary.
Tiny flakes drifted down onto the dust sheet below.
Out with the old, in with the new. What a lovely thought.
What a useless, complicated, ridiculous thought when the new thing standing beside him might already have one foot out of Seagull Bay.
‘You have a house somewhere else,’ Marcus said.
Rowan’s brow drew together. ‘Yes.’
‘And a work contract here.’
‘Yes.’
‘And when that finishes?’
Rowan looked towards Atlas.
The dog had stretched out on Marcus’s patch of front lawn now, nose resting on his paws, ears still alert but body calmer than Marcus had seen him outside Rowan’s side. A bee drifted lazily around the wisteria, and Atlas watched it without moving.
‘Then I decide what comes next,’ Rowan said.
Marcus nodded slowly. ‘And have you?’
‘No.’
It was honest.
Marcus wished it didn’t hurt.
He set the sandpaper down on the windowsill and wiped his dusty palms on his work trousers. ‘I’m not asking you to stay because of me.’
Rowan’s gaze came back to him, sharp and dark.
Marcus forced himself not to look away. ‘But I need to know if I’m making room for someone who’s already packed.’
The words seemed to land somewhere deep.
Rowan’s jaw tightened. ‘I haven’t packed.’
‘Metaphorically.’
‘I don’t do well with metaphors.’
‘You’re sanding a window frame with me after kissing me in my dog parlour beside a quiet zone we built together. I think we’re well past literal.’
For one brief second, something like amusement flickered across Rowan’s face.
Then it faded.
‘I don’t know how to promise something I haven’t worked out yet,’ he said.
Marcus swallowed. That, at least, he could understand.
A sound came from the garden—the soft chuff of Atlas shifting. Both men turned at once.
Atlas had risen to his feet and was sniffing along the little strip of grass beneath the front window. He moved slowly, nose low, taking in the scent of the cottage, the dust sheets, the paint tin, the wisteria, the place Marcus was trying to make his own.
Then he walked to the front step.
Marcus held his breath.
Rowan did not move.
Atlas sniffed the threshold, then sat.
Not beside Rowan.
Not behind him.
At Marcus’s front door.
For a moment, the entire lane seemed to hush around them.
Marcus looked at Rowan.
Rowan’s face had changed. Pride was there, yes, but so was something softer. Something almost painful.
‘He chose that,’ Marcus said quietly.
‘I know.’
‘He doesn’t usually?’
Rowan shook his head. ‘Not new thresholds. Not unless I ask.’
Marcus looked back at Atlas, sitting beneath the peeling blue-grey door as if he had decided it was a place worth waiting.
His chest tightened.
‘Well,’ Marcus said, because emotion was pressing too hard behind his ribs, ‘clearly he has excellent taste in property.’
Rowan huffed a laugh, but his eyes stayed on Atlas.
‘He feels safe here,’ Marcus added.
Rowan’s gaze moved to him then.
The look between them was too much. Too honest. Marcus almost reached for a joke, but stopped himself.
‘That doesn’t mean you have to,’ he said softly.
Rowan’s throat moved.
Marcus picked up the sandpaper again, needing something to do with his hands.
‘I’m not going to chase you, Rowan. I need you to know that.
I like you. More than is probably sensible considering the state of my front door and my emotional stability.
’ He gave a small shrug. ‘But I can’t be your almost.’
‘Almost?’
‘Almost chosen. Almost trusted. Almost part of your life until the next contract comes along.’
Rowan looked as if the words had struck him.
Marcus turned back to the frame, rubbing carefully now, smoothing rather than scraping. ‘I’ve spent a lot of time being easy for people. Easy to laugh with. Easy to rely on. Easy to misunderstand.’ He paused. ‘I don’t want to be easy to leave.’
For several seconds, Rowan said nothing. Then he stepped closer. Not enough to crowd Marcus. Enough that Marcus felt the warmth of him. ‘I don’t want to leave you.’
Marcus’s hand stilled.
The words were not a promise. Not quite. But they were the first thing Rowan had said that sounded like wanting a future instead of apologising for wanting one.
‘Then don’t decide today,’ Marcus said, keeping his voice steady even though his heart was anything but. ‘Just don’t act as if leaving is the only sensible option.’
Rowan looked at Atlas, then at the house, then at Marcus.
‘I can try that.’
Marcus smiled faintly. ‘Good. Trying is very on brand for us.’
This time, Rowan did smile. Small, but real.
He picked up the sanding block again and turned back to the window frame. ‘You missed a patch.’
Marcus stared at him. ‘I pour out my heart, and you critique my sanding?’
‘You said you liked honesty.’
‘I may need to revisit that policy.’
Rowan’s shoulder brushed his as they worked side by side again.
Not accidentally, Marcus thought.
Or perhaps it was.
Either way, neither of them moved away.
On the front step, Atlas lowered himself down, head resting between his paws, as if he had made his decision for the morning.
Marcus looked at him, then at Rowan beside him, then at the half-stripped window frame waiting to be made new.
For the first time in days, he did not feel as if he was making room for someone who might vanish.
He felt as if, perhaps, they were both learning how to stay.