‘Looks good. You could never tell from a distance.’
‘Tha— Aaaaah!’ I go to thank him, but the word turns into a scream when I realise there’s someone theretothank.
I spin around on my haunches and overbalance, landing on my bum on the gravel, and look up to see Reece standing behind me with his head tilted to one side, admiring my handiwork. ‘Iknewthere was more to this story than meets the eye.’
10
‘Childish sense of humour or hardened criminal on the run?’ Reece holds out his hand to pull me up, and I slot my fingers around his and push myself to my feet, entirely lost on how to play this.
I was so worried about being caught by walkers that I didn’t for one second foresee that I might be caught byhim. ‘What are you doing down here?’
‘You told me to come down so you can check my leg, remember? I’ve just had a shower so it seemed like the opportune time. I apologise for interrupting your criminal activities.’
‘They’re not criminal activities,’ I mutter, even though they most definitelyare. ‘Criminal activities makes it sound so calculated. I was just…’ I trail off, unsure of how to get out of this without telling him all of it.
‘Look, everyone knows that toilet puns are the pinnacle of sophistication. I love a good one as much as the next bloke, but modifying a numberplate is a criminal offence and that seems a tad extreme, no matter how funny a numberplate that says “WEE” is.’
His words sound gentle and understanding, but I can’t bring myself to look at him because, if I do, he’s going to seeeverything.
‘You know you can tell me, right? No judgement here.’ He ducks his head until he can catch my eyes, and when I can’t avoid it any longer, he gives me a soft, encouraging smile.
‘Your taste in pyjama bottoms strikes again,’ I say to deflect attention from myself, but also because his trousers can’t be ignored. This time they’re orange and covered in cartoon dinosaurs wearing Hawaiian shirts and drinking cocktails.
‘I assume that’s a compliment, so thank you.’ He crosses an arm over his chest and bows to me.
I can’t help laughing, even though I envy his easy-going nature. If I’d just caught someone illegally altering a numberplate, I’d be demanding an explanation, sharpish. ‘So why only the trousers?’ I ask, because his long-sleeved T-shirt is plain black. ‘Why not go the whole hog and wear the matching top too?’
He gives it some serious thought and then answers with an undeserving gravitas. ‘I think the top is the difference between “charmingly quirky” and “complete barmpot”. If you saw me dressed head-to-toe in bright orange pyjamas covered in cartoon dinosaurs, you’d run a mile, whereas with the plain top, you just think, “he’s a bit of a weirdo, but he’s alright”.’
‘That is… very accurate.’ I laugh at his self-awareness, because nothing has ever summed up my feelings on Reece more succinctly.
‘Also, I haven’t got the heating in the pub working yet, so thermal tops come in handy when it’s colder, and for camping, obviously.’
It makes me wonder again about what he’s doing up there. So far he’s got no water to half the building, no heating, and he’s partially ceilingless after today’s antics. He doesn’t seem like someone who would slack off from work, and yet he doesn’t seem to be getting much fixed either.
We hold each other’s gaze and I realise there isnospin I can put on this that would make it sound any better, and that sense of wanting to be honest with him takes over again.
‘You’d better come in.’ I gesture towards the van’s door, trying to ignore the ever-rising panic inside me. ‘Let’s get that leg sorted.’
Reece ducks to avoid hitting his head as he climbs in the door, and then stands up straight and reaches an arm up into the extra space that the pop-up roof gives us now it can actuallybepopped up. ‘I like this. Nicer in here when you don’t get a concussion on entry.’
I climb in behind him and tell myself I’m admiring the cartoon dinosaurs and not ogling his strong thighs in those pyjama trousers. His hair is still damp from the shower, and he smells like shower gel and something warm that makes my stomach do a little flip, which it really has no business in doing, especially so soon after things ended with Jared.
‘Sit,’ I order, pointing to the bench seat where he’s sat the other times he’s let me re-dress his leg injury. ‘And don’t give me any of that nonsense about it being fine. I saw you limping earlier, I see you limping now.’
When he sits, I lean over to slide the table out and wait for him to roll his trouser leg up and lift his leg so it rests on the flat surface, and he tries to hide a grimace behind his perpetually cheerful expression. It’s a routine we’ve done a few times now, and I sit on my knees with the first aid kit, but this time, I’m trying to work out how to even begin explaining.
I carefully peel away the old bandage, trying not to notice how the muscles in his leg tense at my touch, and the way he’s watching my every move tonight, rather than looking away like he has before. The bruising is really coming out now and his leg is an impressive array of shades of blue and purple, and I can see the skin tightening as the wound starts to dry up.
His blue eyes are burning into me, waiting for me to say something, and I think he understands that I don’t know where to begin because he says, ‘So,amI harbouring a criminal?’
‘You’re in my van! I’m harbouringyou!’
He snorts at that, but quickly turns serious again. ‘Isit your van? Because, to be fair, I’ve met cardboard boxes with better reversing skills than you. It would make alotof sense if it was stolen…’
It’s my turn to snort when he unexpectedly makes me laugh, and I appreciate that his sense of humour is ever-present, even in the face of vehicle theft. ‘Define stolen?’
He raises an eyebrow. ‘Is it yours?’
