Chapter 3

Three

Pedro buzzed himself through the secondary gate at the end of the seemingly endless driveway, parking in front of the guest house as Roz had instructed. The property was enormous and lush. The back of the farmhouse was almost as ornate as the front, with a large screen porch and decorative peaks and gables, all white with black trim. Opposite it, the guest house was smaller and more modern, but painted to match. Nestled between the two and closer to the guest house was a pool.

Pedro got out of the truck and shut the stenciled door. As he was lowering the tailgate, he saw a man in his periphery coming toward him from the pool. The man was big.

Big.

He couldn't gauge from the distance, but Pedro would have guessed that the man was at least 6'5", with broad shoulders and a massive chest. He was dripping wet in a snug, box-cut swimsuit, walking toward Pedro with a steady, unassuming gait–graceful, almost like a dancer.

No. Pedro recalled what Silas had said– an athlete .

He was far from the image Pedro had expected. His smile was infectious, disarming, almost dizzying in its brilliance. Men of Titus's stature and breed were usually intimidating, but something about the languidly lumbering giant approaching Pedro was the exact opposite. He radiated a humble assurance that was pleasant and strangely calming.

So, this is Titus Shepherd .

Also, to Pedro's surprise, the man was wearing nothing but a snug, box-cut swimsuit. Customers in the Georgia heat often dressed casually, but never had one approached Pedro so scantily clad and dripping wet.

"You must be the new guy," said the man, extending his hand. "I'm Titus. Titus Shepherd."

Pedro gripped the hand encompassing his own, firm and wet.

"Yes, sir. I'm from Compton's Greenscapes," Pedro spoke the words automatically, but they felt as if they were rising, echoing up from deep within a well. "Good morning, Mr. Shepherd."

"Nope. None of that mister stuff. Call me T. Everyone does."

"Oh, I don't know?—"

"Well, I do. I insist. And you're?—"

There it was again, that smile. Intoxicating.

"Oh, uh, Pedro. Pedro Torres."

Their hands clasped, and Titus laid his other atop, sandwiching Pedro's hand between both of his–baseball mitts by comparison.

"Nice to meet you, Pedro. You're much younger than Carlos. What are you, twenty?"

"Twenty-three."

"Nah ah," Titus responded, drawing the two syllables melodically. "Really? Me too."

Pedro was below average height, so he had to look up to meet Titus's gaze. He was grateful, though. Otherwise, he would have continued staring eye-level at Titus's broad chest–lost in the immense land of puffed pectorals and pert, pink nipples, all glistening with drops of freshly chlorinated water.

Titus released Pedro's hand and reached for the towel on his shoulder. "Sorry," he said. "You caught me after my morning swim. It's already so dang hot, I hadn't bothered drying off."

He used the towel on his head, rubbing briskly. When he finished, his hair remained pulled forward in what looked like an odd Napoleon style. Pedro fought the compulsion to comb his fingers through it, and push it back more naturally. Titus did so instead, and the damp strands fell into place as if summoned. His grin returned, sparkling, amber eyes so intense that Pedro averted his gaze.

Mistake. Big mistake.

His eyes had dropped low where he saw that Titus's wet swimsuit was near transparent, the taut spandex corralling the shapely bulge of?—

Pedro looked up quickly, finding Titus's eyes still locked on him, oblivious, grinning with good ol' boy charm.

"Sorry. I didn't–" Pedro began, grasping for words as if treading water. He tried his best to suppress the awkward blush rising reflexively, guiltily, from his neck to his cheeks. "I—I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Yeah, I get it." Titus grinned. "Out horn-dogging it in the big city, huh?"

Pedro had no idea what that meant. It was an idiomatic bridge he had not yet crossed.

"I'm just kidding." Titus continued, chuckling. "We both know Spoon is no metropolis. But there's always the Dairy Dream. That's where I used to hang out when I was in school. I'm sure it hasn't changed much."

"Oh," Pedro said, latching onto the familiar. "Yes, I've eaten lunch there. I–I don't get out much other than work. I don't know that many people here in Spoon."

"So, you're a homebody like me. Boring, ain't it?"

"I read a lot. I have a room over at Hawthorne's."

"The boarding house? Barb Hawthorne?"

"Yes, sir."

Titus raised a finger, chiding. "T, remember? Big T if you like."

Pedro remembered all right. How could he forget? And he did like. Receptors deep and dormant within him stirred, as if flicking a switch and saying, sorry, we prefer these lights on .

"Yes," he said, blush deepening, thoughts whirling in a hormonal surge, a rolling river sweeping him away. "Yes, T ."

"I hope there's more than just a landscaper in you, though. I told Silas I need an artist, someone with a vision. I want to change things up around here–total overhaul. I'm tired of seeing the same old thing. Don't get me wrong. Carlos was great. It's just–he was older and a little more traditional. I'm curious about your opinion, once you've seen the place, I mean. Something tells me you might think more outside the box."

Outside the box .

That was an idiomatic expression Pedro did know. It was one of his favorites, actually, and the change of subject helped with returning his focus. He sensed that Titus might have done it intentionally, nobly extending a branch for him to hold while climbing ashore.

"Your property is beautiful, big?—"

Big. That seemed to be the appropriate adjective for everything so far .

"—the perfect canvas. But let me get started with some basics first. Cutting and trimming around both houses will give me the chance to see more and acclimate. I enjoy bringing balance to homes with depth, shape, and color. I lean heavily on a feng shui approach."

Titus's brow furrowed. "I beg your pardon?"

"Feng shui? It's a Chinese principle using energy forces and balance to harmonize your environment."

"Oh." Titus grinned. "For a second, I thought you said something dirty."

Pedro opened his mouth to speak, but he wasn't sure what to say. Was this enormous, wet hunk of a man flirting with him?

"My bad," Titus said, sensing he'd overstepped bounds. "Please forgive me. I'm just a big dummy. I get a little anxious meeting people. Don't get out much since my wife died."

"I heard. I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you. It's been a while now, but it's very kind of you to say. Guess I'm the subject of all kinds of rumors out there."

"No." Pedro shook his head, feeling compelled to assure him. "Not that I've heard. Only that you keep to yourself and that is something I, too, can relate to."

Titus smiled again, but there was something else in his eyes, something far away from the usual client meetings and small talk. Pedro glimpsed a profound sadness in those amber eyes—vulnerable, conflicted, and deeply human.

The rawness was brief, but so intense in the moment that Pedro once again succumbed to conditioned behavior by looking away.

Down.

The bulge was there just like before, waiting for him, testing the elasticity of the white spandex.

Pedro looked up quickly, his blush returning equally fast.

Titus chuckled, securing the towel around his waist. "I like you, Pedro," he said. His tone remained affable, extending amnesty, and subduing awkwardness with charm. "We're kindred souls, content with being hermits."

"Perhaps there's solidarity in our solitude."

"You have a way with words, too. Something tells me that passion might extend to landscaping. The way you explained it. The fang sh?—"

"Feng Shui." Pedro said, offering a small smile.

"Yeah. That. Tell you what," Titus reached out and gave Pedro's shoulder a gentle squeeze. He let his hand rest there and Pedro relished the way it felt, heavy and comforting like books on a shelf. "You do your thing, and I'll meet you at noon for lunch by the pool. You can tell me all your plans then. Deal?"

"Yes." Pedro nodded. "Yes, sir."

Titus raised a finger, tilting his head.

"Yes, T," Pedro corrected. "That sounds good. I'll see you in three hours."

"But promise me one thing," Titus said, dropping his hand from Pedro's shoulder. "That you'll drink plenty of water. It's gonna be a scorcher. Hell, already is. If you didn't bring enough, the door to the guest house is unlocked and the fridge in there is stocked. Beer too. Help yourself to one of those if you want."

"Oh. I—I couldn't."

"Yeah, yeah. I know. You're worried about Silas finding out. Well, he ain't gonna, and you'll trust me on that, eventually. Once you know me. I know this is all new and I understand that it's your livelihood, so I won't press. I just want you to feel comfortable here, Pedro. I use Compton's Greenscapes because it's the only landscaping company in Spoon. Doesn't mean Silas and me are buddies. If my Daddy wasn't mayor, I'd take my business to his competition over in Morehead. I see all this–" Titus gestured to the grounds surrounding them, "–as more of a partnership between me and you . Silas was just the means of making it happen. Inside the gate is my sanctuary, and you're welcome to consider it asylum for yourself, too. Just make my place beautiful, P. That's all I ask. That, and maybe a little conversation sometimes."

Pedro smiled. "I will, T. I promise."

"Good. Oh, and there're swimsuits in there too. And towels. If you get too hot…" He gestured toward the pool.

Pedro's stammer returned. "I—I couldn't," he managed.

"Suit yourself. I don't mind at all, though, and would probably join you. Gotta beat this heat somehow, and I trust you in managing your time. I have something I need to do right now, though, so I'll see you at noon."

He turned to go and Pedro's gaze fell from the wide shelf of Titus's shoulders down the V of his back to the bulging globes nestled beneath that wrapped towel, shifting pendulously with the sway of his barefoot stride across the lush green fescue.

Pedro felt lightheaded.

What just happened?

Titus had left as quickly as he had arrived. He had greeted, confided, and perhaps even flirted a little with Pedro all within the space of five minutes. Then, as equally fast, he had whisked his stunningly stupefying form away, leaving Pedro dazed and confused from the encounter.

My God, he—he's…

"Beautiful," Pedro whispered.

He shook his head, trying his best to dispel the distraction—and any lingering lustful notions—on his part.

He invited you for a swim.

"As if," he said, heading for the truck and his tools.