“Maybe I could work at your farm.”
Sure, he’d never worked on a farm before. And it would hurt his dad—and his brothers, and his uncles, and his mom probably—as much as any departure from the family business would. But maybe his dad would understand this more. Working on the land was kind of like working on the sea. Well—okay, maybe they were the actual literal opposites of theother, but Luca had time to work on the analogy. They both involved hard, ceaseless work. Working with your hands. Breaking your body. The kind of work the Yaegers understood.
“I’m sorry. Luca.” At Emerson’s first use of his name, Luca finally turned to see the man frowning down at the bar, his light brown eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t think you understand. I don’t have any money to hire anyone, for anything. I couldn’t pay you.”
Lucadidneed money. He had savings, but not a ton.
“Is there a place I could stay? At the farm?”
The idea came to him in a flash. He’d rent out his cabin. It was a good fucking cabin. It had an ocean view. He’d done it before, here and there, during longer Alaska tours. The Oregon Coast was thirsty for rental properties. He could make a killing. Or, at least, enough to cover his bills. Probably.
Emerson’s eyes lifted, his pale pink lips slightly parted. Luca realized, then, that it probably wasn’t a rational or appropriate thing to do, demanding to live on the property of someone you’d only met forty-five minutes ago. But Luca wasn’t feeling very rational at the moment. Luca was feeling a little ready to blow his life up. And byblow his life up, he meant,maybe attempt to disappear completely, and a queer farm felt like sort of the perfect place to do just that.
“I…” Emerson’s lips finally came back together. They were very kissable lips. Not that Luca should be thinking about that anymore. Hehadbeen thinking, for the last half hour, about how he would very much enjoy getting railed by this man, with his rough farmer’s hands and sturdy shoulders, or perhaps railing him—whichever Emerson would prefer—as a way of distracting himself from his own failures. Old habits, yadda yadda. But now that an entirely new game plan had stretched out in his mind, he had to put the kibosh on that whole train of thought.
“Yes,” Emerson finally said. An unreadable look passed over his face. “There’s a room in the house where you could stay. I could offer you room and board.”
“And board?” Luca held a hand to his chest. “Say less.”
Emerson’s mouth twitched. He had blue-ish-green eyes, a lightly freckled nose. The sunburn on his cheeks was complemented by the half-circles under his eyes, purple swipes of exhaustion. Luca had never been turned on by a receding hairline before, but the sparseness of Emerson’s dirty blond hair somehow only enhanced the kind lines of his face. The curves around his eyes and mouth. The sharpness of his jaw.
He had the air of a man who was both incredibly strong and incredibly tired. It made Luca want to test the limits of both.
“Are you just fucking with me?” Emerson asked.
“No.” Luca sat straighter, pushed his beer away. Stopped thinking about the lines around Emerson’s eyes. Kibosh kibosh kibosh. “I’ve never worked on a farm before, but I come from a long line of fishermen. I’m a fast learner, and I understand hard work.” When Emerson still looked skeptical, he added, “I’d like to help. I’ve been searching for something new for myself for a long time. Maybe your farm…is it.”
“You’ve never even seen my farm.”
“I could see it now.” Luca motioned toward the windows with a tip of his head. “Still some daylight out there.”
Emerson stared at him. Luca stared back, trying to communicate his good intent. It was a very difficult situation in which to not focus on Emerson King’s blue-green eyes.
“Are you an axe murderer? I hear serial killers are always very charming.”
Luca felt himself laugh. “I’m not actually that charming. I’m kind of a moody asshole, a lot of the time.” He winced, feeling like a douche. He didn’t want to be a self-deprecating cliché, especially to a potential employer. He didn’t actuallythink he was an asshole. Like, most of the time. He could’ve thought of better words.
The problem, probably, was that Luca could always use better words. He rarely found them, but he searched anyway.Hadsearched for them, for way too fucking long.
He just wanted Emerson to know that what was happening between them right now—how strangely uninhibited Luca felt, just then—might not be the norm if Emerson had the misfortune of seeing Luca every day.
“A hardworking one, though,” he added.
“I disagree. On the charming part, I mean.”
“You could run a background check on me.”
“I will.”
“You will?” Luca brightened, the smile spreading across his face before he could stop it. He hadn’t felt this eager since he’d swiped right on Dell McCleary nearly three years ago.
Farming. Luca Yaeger could totally be a farmer.
Maybe his dad would hate him ten percent less as a farmer.
Emerson looked toward the windows.
“You really want to see the farm?”
