Page 10 of Last Track

The humour softened in Galen's face. "That matters too."

"I know."

Galen nodded once and reached for the final bolt.

Martin held the timber while Galen tightened it. Their shoulders touched whenever either man leaned in, easy contact born from the narrow space and neither of them making any effort to widen it. They had spent hours close enough to feel each other move, and the pleasure of it had become quieter than the attraction, threaded through the work rather than interrupting it.

Martin had expected desire to be the difficult part. Instead, the greater danger lay in how natural the morning had felt: he could imagine another day like it without effort, Galen asking questions, passing tools, making Martin laugh when he had no intention of doing so. The thought arrived before Martin could stop it and carried none of the fevered urgency of lust. It was simply pleasant. That frightened him more.

Galen shifted his grip on the timber. The hinge slipped before Martin could warn him, and Martin caught both wood and Galen's hand beneath his own.

"Careful."

"I had it."

"You didn't."

"The outcome remains disputed."

The timber settled. Martin began to pull away.

Galen turned his hand before he could, bringing their palms together.

Martin stopped. The contact was warmer than it should have been in the cold field, Galen's fingers callused from strings and work Martin did not yet know enough about. Martin wanted to close his grip, pull him nearer, and finish what had begun beside Nina, but he did none of those things.

Jacks had settled Galen's wages, Peter had the van, and nothing Galen needed depended on what happened between them. Martin left the distance untouched.

"Was that 'you already are' meant to sound the way it did?" Galen asked.

Martin met his gaze. "How did it sound?"

"Like you were flirting with me."

"I was."

Galen's thumb shifted once against Martin's palm. His eyes searched Martin's face, and Martin held still while every part of him argued against restraint. Then Galen stepped closer and kissed him.

The first contact destroyed Martin's remaining faith in his ability to keep Galen at arm's length. He had known the attraction was strong. He had not understood how quickly Galen's mouth would turn the entire morning into inevitability.

Martin waited until Galen leaned into him before lifting a hand to the back of his neck. Then restraint became something else, the deliberate choice to meet what Galen offered without taking more than he gave.

Martin kissed him with the same concentration he brought to any task that mattered, though nothing in his experience had prepared him for the warmth of Galen's mouth or the quiet sound he made when Martin's thumb moved beneath his hair. The attraction from the field returned in full, sharpened now by the hours between them, by shared work and private music and the pleasure of Galen laughing beside him over a broken piece of farm equipment.

He did not only want Galen.

He liked him.

The recognition landed in the middle of the kiss with enough force to make Martin soften, and Galen answered immediately, moving closer as though he had felt the change.

A sheep struck the repaired hurdle with her shoulder.

The timber shifted.

Martin broke away and caught it with one hand, keeping the other at Galen's neck. Their foreheads touched while both of them caught their breath.

"That," Galen said, "felt judgmental."

"She's got standards."