Page 64 of Home Grown Talent

Notification alerts, a lot of them.

He took a quick look as Owen murmured something to Aaron. Mason didn’t catch his words, though, because he was watching, stunned, as his notifications blew up.

“Oh my God,” he said, a tentative smile tugging at his lips. “Looks like the viewers really liked it.” He held out his still-buzzing phone to Owen. “Look.”

Peering at the screen, Owen barked out a laugh, although it sounded slightly alarmed. “Right, wow…”

Mason’s heart began to race. “Okay,” he said breathlessly. “We need to post something.”

“Now?”

“Of course now! Come here.” He snuggled back against Owen, glad that he was wearing one of Owen’s company t-shirts and that his hair screamed bed-head. “Okay, look at the camera and smile…”

Owen sighed; Mason felt the heave of his chest against his back, and his stomach clenched unhappily. Even so, Owen managed a smile, though it was noticeably less easy than usual. Which was okay. It was fine.

Snapping a few pics, he found a good one, cropped it and fiddled with the filters, pleased with how a jug of tulips was visible on the counter behind them.

Brunch and #WeekendWellness with my gardening bestie @OwenHunterGardens! #love #me

The likes and replies came flooding in immediately, which was gratifying and cheering. Alongside them came several messages on WhatsApp: excited gushing from Frieda and his sisters, congratulations from Misty, and a message from Frankie asking whether Owen was looking for an agent.

Mason laughed as he sent a quick reply to Frieda. “Hey, Owen. Frankie, my agent, wants to know whether you’re looking for representation.”

“Er, what?”

“That’s actually a good idea,” Lewis said. “You should definitely get an agent.”

Owen sat forward on the sofa, dislodging Mason, who’d still been sprawled against him. He glanced up as they shifted around, unsettled by Owen’s frown and by the way he was running both hands anxiously through his hair. “I don’t need an agent.”

“If you’d had an agent look over your contract with Misty,” Lewis said repressively, “it wouldn’t have that ridiculous promo clause.”

Owen shrugged. “Fine, okay, but it’s not like I’m going to be doing any more of this stuff.”

“Why not?” Lewis said, grabbing the last of the pastries—a limp pain aux raisins—and shoving half of it in his mouth at once.

“Er, because I have a business to run?”

“Yeah, but this is…” Lewis stopped as Aaron put a hand on his thigh.

“What?” Owen said with a mulishness Mason hadn’t seen before. “Better?”

“No,” Lewis said with exaggerated patience. “Better paid, though.”

At first, Owen looked like he wanted to argue, but the next moment, the expression fled, leaving his face curiously blank. As if he’d slammed shut a fire door. Standing, he said, “Anyone want another tea or coffee? Anything else?”

“Actually,” Aaron said, also rising, “we should be off, leave you guys to chill out like you were planning before we gate-crashed.”

“We don’t have to—” Lewis began, then caught Aaron’s eye and shut up, shoving the rest of his pastry into his mouth.

“Congratulations again,” Aaron said, his gaze moving between them. “Your segment was brilliant.”

He smiled, but there was something cool and assessing in his eyes when he looked at Mason that made Mason feel a bit… grubby.

Standing, Mason slipped his arm around Owen’s waist, welcoming the steady warmth and strength of his body. “Nice to see you both. And thanks for breakfast.”

Lewis nodded. “Think about the agent,” he told his brother, even as Aaron grabbed his hand and led him firmly towards the front door.

Owen didn’t respond to that, almost appearing not to hear.