Page 45 of Into These Eyes

Jamie

W hat the hell possessed me to tell him that? Every time I’m around him, the parts of myself I’ve kept hidden come out. There’s so much energy between us, I don’t know what to do with it, so I end up doing and saying things I shouldn’t.

Like teasing him with that peach. I hadn’t planned to.

I’d just had an urge to have fun. When I’m with him, it comes bubbling up and I don’t want to push it down.

Besides, it’s not just about me having fun.

I want to make him happy. I want to see that beautiful, knee-weakening smile on his lips, in his eyes.

Then, when he started pressing me about dating and men, my walls flew back up.

Until I understood he wasn’t trying to humiliate me.

He was genuinely curious, the way I was curious about him.

He’s seen me at my worst, and it hasn’t made him run away.

If anything, it’s drawn him closer. So I’d told him the ugly truth, and he told me.

Leaving me stunned, and relieved. I’d suspected as much after his obvious reactions, even though that creep in the caravan park had placed doubt in my mind.

But Gavin Lake is exactly who he appears to be. A decent, genuine human being.

And then there’s his insistence that I’m beautiful. No. Gorgeous .

After I change out of my clothes and slip into my pyjamas—one of seven identical sets—I let down my hair and step in front of the mirror. And try to see what he sees.

When was the last time I looked at myself closely?

I only bother a cursory glance to make sure I look presentable for work before walking out the door.

I don’t worry about the attractiveness of my appearance.

Why would I? That’s not what my life’s been about.

It’s been about raising a little girl, then a teen, and it’s been about supporting my father, studying, then building a career.

Even when Jarrod asked me on that date, I hadn’t tried to do anything different with myself. He already knew who I was.

So why do I feel differently now?

Staring at my reflection, I try to study myself through Gavin’s eyes.

That special way only he looks at me, like he’s seeing something he wants to devour and possess, but also love, nurture and protect.

How he conveys that through his eyes alone, I don’t know.

But I feel it in that part of me I’ve kept buried for so long.

And I like that he’s digging. Because when he looks at me like that, I’m not a daughter or a sister or lawyer or a colleague. I’m the me that’s been forgotten.

I had no idea I’d been suffocating until he began breathing life back into me.

The next day, while I eat lunch at my usual café and I scroll through my phone, Pete plonks himself down in the chair opposite.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” I greet him with a smile.

“Yeah, I wanted to have a word.”

He’s not smiling back. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so tense. I put down my phone. “Of course.”

When he leans forward, I not only notice the tension in his body, but the dark circles under his eyes. “I need you to do me a favour.”

“Since I owe you a million times over, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“You’re going to have to trust me on this, Jamie. Can you do that?”

“You shouldn’t even have to ask.” The way he’s looking at me so damn seriously has my stomach knotting. This isn’t like him at all.

“I need you to cool it with Gavin Lake’s case. Just for a couple of months.”

I blink at him, my heartrate picking up. “Why?”

“I can’t tell you. That’s where the trust comes in.”

He’s looking directly into my eyes with such intensity I can barely hold his gaze. He’s deadly serious. “But he’s waited sixteen years—”

“I really, really need you to do this for me, Jamie. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. It’s just a few months, maybe less. That’s all. Once I give you the word, you can go hell for leather.” He leans back, resting his crossed arms on his belly.

My mind races. What Pete’s asking clearly has something to do with his internal affairs work, otherwise he’d tell me everything. What it has to do with Gavin, I don’t know. Pete’s fully aware of how important getting Gavin’s conviction overturned is, so he wouldn’t ask me to delay it unless—

“Does this have something to do with that threat?”

“I can’t tell you anything, Jamie. You simply have to trust me. Please say you do.”

I let out a sigh. It might only be a few months, but Gavin’s already waited such a long time. I’m not sure how I’m going to explain the delay to him when I don’t have an explanation. But I trust Pete.

“Okay,” I agree with a small nod.

“Promise me, Jamie.”

Wow. He’s beyond serious. “I promise.”

The moment the words are out, all the tension seeps out of him, making him look even more haggard than when he arrived.

Rising, he stops beside me, places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Thank you.”

It’s only when he leaves me there, that I realise he didn’t once try to steal any of my food. He didn’t even look at it. A chill runs travels up my spine as I push my plate away, my appetite gone.

A week later, I arrive home from work to find Gavin pouring himself a glass of icy sparkling water. I haven’t been able to bring myself to tell him about the promise I made to Pete. I’ll deal with that when I’m left with no choice.

After dumping my stuff on the dining table, I watch as he drains the glass. He’s sweaty and, along with his old t-shirt and bare arms, his hair is spattered with grey paint. I wish certain parts of my body would get used to the fact that, no matter what he’s wearing, he pulls off sexy every time.

“Hi,” I greet him from the other side of the breakfast bar.

He wipes the back of his hand over his lips. “Hey. You ready for dinner in about twenty?”

“Sure. That’s perfect.”

He saunters over, his kind, worried eyes locked with mine. “Did you call your sister today?”

We’ve talked about this a few times now. I need to tell Anika the truth about our father. About Gavin. I have a deadline. She’s due home the day before Christmas Eve. I can’t have her arriving to the shock of Gavin living in our house. That’d make for quite a tumultuous Christmas.

The clock’s ticking. But I keep putting it off. Because I’m a coward. I don’t want to be the one to rip open that old wound for her.

“No, not yet,” I say quickly, dropping my gaze to his chest to avoid what I know I’ll find in his eyes. Changing the subject, I say, “I’d love to see how the painting’s coming along.”

When I brave a glance at his face, I only catch the last visage of disappointment before he lets me off the hook with a broad smile.

Day by day, he can’t wait to show me what he and Benny have accomplished.

It’s abundantly clear he can’t stand being idle, that he’s at his best when busy, when achieving something. When feeling useful.

Last weekend we went to the hardware store and chose paint colours, plants, mulch and a bunch of other stuff I can’t even comprehend. Ever since, he and Benny have kept themselves busy in the backyard.

After I change out of my work clothes and step outside, Gavin places a hand on my lower back. I love it when he touches me, and I wonder if he subconsciously looks for a way to do so without it appearing intentional. Like I do when we manoeuvre around each other in the kitchen every morning.

“No peeking,” he says, guiding me toward the pool, away from the house.

Concentrating on the garden bed that’s now been completely demolished and rebuilt from scratch on the far side of the pool, I walk ahead until his hand slides to my waist and gently encourages me to turn.

I stare in astonishment at the transformation before me. Instead of the peeling, chipped cladding, the back of the house appears brand new. Pristine white window frames pop against the light grey wall. My drab 1980s house has been transformed into a modern, Hamptons-style home.

I slap my palms to my cheeks. “Gavin … It’s amazing! I love it!”

“Here, I’ll show you what we’ve done.”

He beams as he guides me toward the house, explaining with infectious enthusiasm which siding planks needed replacing, how Benny did most of the sanding and how many coats of paint they applied. Then he takes me around to the side of the house and shows me what he plans to start on tomorrow.

“I need to figure out how much I owe you both,” I say.

His hand instantly disappears from my back and lands on his hip. “You’re not paying us a damn cent, Jamie.”

“But if I hired someone to do this it’d cost—”

“No,” he says firmly. “I want to do it. It was my idea, not yours.”

“So? You’re still doing the work. Just like anyone else, you and Benny should be paid. You obviously have skills. You can’t do all this for free.”

“I’m not,” he says, his smile returning. “If there’s any way at all to look at it, this is me starting to pay you back my wages. Just with my services instead of money.”

Damn man. Too proud to let me do what’s right.

“That’s not how wages work. You’re cooking, cleaning, landscaping, replacing gutters and making me feel safe in my own home. You’re earning that money.”

“Fine. But I’m not taking anything extra from you for something I thoroughly enjoy. So, forget it.”

“Fine,” I bite back, “then I’ll pay Benny. And don’t even think about stopping me.”

He rolls his eyes, clearly exasperated, but this time, he doesn’t argue. How can he? He can’t deny his best friend a bit of extra cash.

I bite my lip as I look him up and down, taking in his paint spattered clothes. They’re old and ruined, but that’s not the problem. It reminds me of the size of the duffle bag he brought with him.

“There’s something else I need you to do for me. Two things, actually.”

He narrows his eyes with suspicion. “Which are?”

“Let me take you clothes shopping.”

“No.”

“I’m not finished. Part two’s contingent on part one.”

He shakes his head. “Then I’m not interested in part two.”