Marcus looked at him.
The noise of the pub seemed to dim around them.
‘About being eligible?’ Marcus asked.
‘About what you want.’
There it was. Quiet. Direct. Impossible to laugh away.
Marcus dropped his gaze to the pint in his hand, watching the bubbles cling to the inside of the glass. ‘No,’ he said at last. ‘Not in the wayshe thinks.’
He didn’t know whether his confession had gone over Rowan’s head. Or, if it hadn’t, how Rowan would react to him now. From past experience, men who didn’t understand him either disappeared, or began treating him differently until Marcus did the disappearing for them.
Maybe that was why he loved his new start in Seagull Bay. Most people didn’t know. No one judged what they hadn’t been invited to see.
Rowan didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t look surprised or uncomfortable.
He just nodded once, as if Marcus had handed him a fact and Rowan had accepted it exactly as it was.
Something in Marcus loosened. ‘I don’t usually correct people,’ Marcus admitted. ‘It’s easier to joke. Easier to let them think what they want.’
‘Easier isn’t always kinder to yourself.’
Marcus looked up sharply.
Rowan’s expression had closed again, but not completely. There was something there now. A crack in the wall. A glimmer of understanding.
Before Marcus could answer, Declan appeared in the doorway with a covered plate.
‘Pippa says if you haven’t eaten yet today, and if you don’t accept this on the house, she’ll come in here and embarrass you in front of Rowan.’
Marcus blinked, then laughed properly this time.
Rowan’s eyes flicked to the plate, then back to Marcus. ‘You haven’t eaten all day?’
‘Define eaten.’
Rowan shook his head, but there was the faintest softness at the corner of his mouth.
Marcus took the plate from Declan with a grateful nod. ‘Tell her, thank you.’
He looked back at Rowan.
‘Stay while I eat?’ he asked. ‘No community project. No questions. Just food and maybe five minutes where nobody tries to volunteer either of us for anything.’
Rowan hesitated. Then he pulled out the chair beside him for Marcus.
‘Five minutes,’ he said.
Marcus sat, suddenly far more aware of Rowan than the food in front of him. Five minutes, apparently, could feel like a beginning.
Chapter six
‘Oh, I so need this walk—maybe more than Atlas. I love my little parlour, but it’s felt more like a prison this week with Georgina not being there. Thank goodness the last client cancelled.’ Marcus admired the smart polo shirt Rowan was wearing, it pulled tight over his muscular chest, accentuating the curve of his pecs.
‘It’s a good idea of yours to get him to walk between us. Although you pointed it out, I did notice how Atlas favoured being on the other side of me on the beach.’
‘I knew you had, but I didn’t know whether you’d placed him away from me on purpose. I’m still trying to work out Atlas’s body language. I’ll never be at your level, but I need to read the dogs that come into my parlour. They all have their own personalities and unpredictability’s.’
