He croaked, “Who’s Grace?”
The letting agent cleared her throat and Noah whisked around, breaking their contact. “Yes?”
“The landlord has a counteroffer,” she said.
Noah tried to listen. Concentrate. “I’ll need to mull it over.”
Wade’s hand wrapped around his arm. “Let’s go for a drive, then.”
Wade’s growling stomach led them to a pub in the quaint town of Cubworthy for a late lunch. “The steak pie is supposed to be the best in the South Island.”
“That the only reason you hightailed it here?”
Wade refused to look at him.
“It was the best of the lot, you have to admit.”
A displeased grunt.
Noah tucked his head toward the menu and smiled. No matter where he ended up living, he was grateful Wade had accompanied him today. He ran a finger absently over the options, already decided on the steak pie.
Wade’s gaze on him prickled the hairs on his neck, heated his cheeks.
Softly, “Grace’s a friend.”
Menu options danced in front of Noah’s eyes.
“She, Luc, and I were a trio growing up. Now that I’m back . . .”
“You’ve reconnected.”
“Yes.”
They placed their orders, and still Noah couldn’t look at Wade. He focused on his shoulder, the wall covered in Cubworthy achievements, the platform being erected by loud-laughing staff.
Wade followed his gaze. “For karaoke later?”
“Probably.”
That heat on him again. “Do you like karaoke?”
“I’m a better listener.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I’m sure I’m not any good.”
“Still haven’t answered the question.”
Noah lifted his eyes and Wade locked onto them. “I haven’t tried.”
Wade looked surprised. “With a brother like Zach?”
“I let him take the stage. I’m just fine spectating.”
The waiter settled lunch before them, and Noah dragged his fork over the deliciously crusty top. “I imagine you’ve treated a crowd or two to some John Mayer?”
Wade flushed and the table rumbled with laughter. “I admit, he’s a favourite.”
The pies didn’t last long. They practically inhaled the meaty filling, drizzling it with rich tomato sauce, and cleared their plates of every last flake of pastry. Wade reclined in his seat, locking his arms behind his head, and smiled contentedly. The light on the fine stubble covering his jaw . . . The slant of his nose . . . The stray streak of engine grease along the top of his ear . . .
Noah itched to pull out his fineliner.
Wade dropped his arms and leaned forward, encasing Noah’s drumming fingers with a soft press. “You can draw if you like.”
“Uh, perhaps not.”
A frown.
I want to draw you.
Those fingers dragged slowly off his own.
Noah jumped to his feet first this time. “We should head back. I have an offer to accept.”
The Mustang wouldn’t start. It tried, but the sound it made at the turn of the key did not sound promising even to Noah’s uneducated ears, and a strong smell of petrol filled the air around them.
Wade hopped out and lifted the bonnet, but Noah couldn’t help feeling he wasn’t too upset about it. His humming carried on the fresh breezes and washed over Noah’s face. He freed himself from his seatbelt and joined Wade, who was studiously bent over the car’s interior workings.
Grime-covered hands deftly lifted bits and screwed them tight.
Wade turned his head to look at him. “You mind grabbing the top tray of my toolbox? It’s in the boot.”
Noah popped the boot and lifted the lid of the massive metal box inside. “Is this the one from my wardrobe?”
Wade took the tray from Noah’s hands and sifted through its contents. “This stuff’s worth more than I paid for this car. I truck it inside every night.”
Noah looked back at the chipped red enamel with new respect.
“Mechanics need good, reliable tools. Like this flex-head ratchet here.”
“Which does what, exactly?”
“Gets into tight spaces.”
Wade bent over the mechanical guts and tinkered.
Noah’s eye snagged on his form, his flexing arm muscles, the strength of his back, the sun gleaming on his denim-clad backside . . . His cock pulsed and he shoved his hands into his pockets, a small shift taking the edge off. “Do you think we’ll make it back to the letting agent before they close?”
Wade stiffened, then metal clanked and he pushed himself upright. A black smudge crossed his dimpling cheek. “No. No I don’t think we will. This’ll need some . . . time.”
Noah grimaced and jerked his thumb toward the road. “There’s a gas station around the corner, it had a workshop attached. I could see if they have what you need?”
Wade shook his head swiftly. “I’ve got this. Mechanic to mechanic, you know?”
“You’re the expert. I’ll walk you there.”
Wade hesitated. “Actually, I need you to stay with the car. No need to worry about the tools, then.”
“Okay. I’ll look after it.”
“Excellent.” Something in Wade’s expression was just a little . . . too cheerful.
“I’ll call the agent instead.”
Wade’s grin faded. “Maybe you’re not supposed to get that place.” He shut the bonnet, patting it. “Fate and all that.”
