I sigh and drag a hand over the scruff on my jaw. “So what do I do?”
Jarred lifts his shoulders. “Talk to Mase. He’s a reasonable guy.”
Yeah, he is.If only I could find him.
Jarred says goodbye and leaves me to mull on his words as I deal with the driftwood.
The piece we finally found is not that far off the one I saw out back at Lola’s. The surface is fairly flat but either end has a cool jagged edge. The whole thing is covered in sand and bits of dried algae though, so I pull out the hose pipe and wash the dirt away.
The sand comes off alright but the algae is harder to budge and I end up grabbing the brush we use to clean the barbecue grill and getting down on my knees to scrub it away. It’s hard work but it’s the sort of satisfying manual labor that I normally find meditative. Instead, my mind keeps going back to Lola.
The fact Jarred picked up on it means I’m not hiding how I feel about her half as well as I thought I was. And my plan to keep my distance is becoming more and more shot.
Jarred is right, Mase is a reasonable guy—except maybe when it comes to Lola. I don’t think Mase is going to be thrilled if I turn around and say ‘by the way, I’ve been fantasizing about your little sister for the past seven years and now I want to make her mine.’
I get the opportunity to ask him sooner than I expect though.
I’m busy studying the design for the sign I swiped from Lola’s shop when a rustling sounds from the orchard.
“Ow, fuck.” Mase stumbles out of the trees, knocking a branch with his flailing arm and sending my apples flying.
I tuck the design away and go to him, looping his arm around my shoulder when he trips again. “Jesus Mase, you smell like a fucking brewery.”
He hums. “We should open a brew-err, brewery together. You and me Rome. We’d make a killin’.” He sways, almost dragging me with him. “Who needs the fucking military?”
I shake my head and try not to breathe in too deeply as I drag my drunken friend towards the stables. I stop beside the fence that houses the outdoor shower.
“Mase?” I wait till his glazed eyes find mine.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t hate me for this.”
His face scrunches up. Then I shove him through the saloon style doors into the shower and turn the faucet on cold.
“Fucking Christ!” he yells as the doors swing shut and ice cold water rains down on him.
“Don’t go anywhere,” I order before heading inside the stables to grab him a towel and some dry clothes.
When I come back out, Mase is standing outside the shower stall like a drowned rat. Drops of water run down his face and his shirt sticks to his chest, but his eyes are a little clearer.
I chuck him the towel and try not to smirk.
“Dick,” Mase mutters, pulling the towel off where it landed on his shoulder.
I shrug. “You were destroying my orchard.” I hang the shorts and T-shirt over the side of the shower stall. “Get changed and come inside. I’ll make you a grilled cheese.”
“Fuck yes,” Mase groans.
He disappears back inside the stall, his shoes squelching with each step.
I heave out a sigh and go back inside. I’ve never seen Mase this drunk before. Lola was right, he’s not okay.
I’m laying the cheese on the bread when Mase drags himself through the front door. He walks over to the other side of the island, his hands gripping either end of the towel slung around his neck. He’s got this tortured look in his eyes, like there are so many thoughts fighting for control and he doesn’t know where to start.
I pour him a glass of cold water from the jug in the fridge and slide it over the island to him.
He stares at it for a moment then picks it up and sits down on one of the faux-leather cushioned bar stools. “Thanks.”
