Chapter 17

He was coming clean.

It'd been half a day and a night travelling back to Wellington, and it was very early in the morning, but Carl had decided this.

First, though, he had to see Grayson. He couldn't wait any longer.

He dried his shower-damp hair and opened Jason's wardrobe. His gaze skated past all the suits and clinging tops and settled on the suitcase he'd stuffed in there.

A pair of comfy jeans and his comfier flannel hoodie later, he headed into a crisp morning and followed blazing lampposts to Over The Raindough. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass window, and he squared his shoulders and nodded at himself. The red and black checkered flannel, the worn-in jeans, the sneakers. Perfect. He totally exuded himself.

He knocked on the door and his chest pounded as a form moved behind the fogged glass. The door opened, sucking in air over him, and revealed...

Sage. In an apron and hair net, flour dusted along her cheek. She smiled brightly. "You're here early. Come in."

Carl went in, breathing in the scent of baking bread, and scanned the kitchen. "Is Grayson not working?"

Sage "ahhhed" as she rounded the counter and began making coffee. "You're here to see him." Her smile twitched. "Poppy really had no chance."

She sure was sharp.

"He won't be in today," she continued. "Not sure when he'll be back, to be honest."

Carl snapped his gaze to hers.

She slid a coffee over to him. "He said he had somewhere he needed to be, and left last night after saying goodbye."

Carl's breath caught and electricity jolted through him over and over. Grayson had somewhere he needed to be.... You haven't got those feelings out of your system, have you? What if I don't want you to?

Carl yanked out his phone and tried to call. Couldn't get through. Maybe his phone was on airplane mode. Or drained of battery after the legs to Tasmania and up to Earnest Point.

Had they passed one another in an airport without knowing?

"Are you all right?" Sage asked, eying Carl restlessly pacing the length of the counter.

Carl laughed, heavy and deep. "Grayson makes me ridiculously happy."

"You joined the admiration club?"

More laughter. "Became king of it."

"You're not worried he'll turn you down? Break your heart?"

"He was the one who fixed it for me. If he wants to break it, only he is allowed."

"Why are you so happy he left?"

Carl stopped pacing and focused on Sage, who was watching him curiously, trying to put it all together. But she was missing a few key pieces of information. Information Carl well and truly owed her. He perched on a stool and nervously cupped his coffee. "I'm happy because I know where he went."

"Where?"

"A small town in Tasmania."

"He's in Oz?"

Another wave of elation shook Carl, and he nodded.

"Why's he there?"

Carl let out a stomach-tightening breath and looked Sage in the eye. "He's there because that's where I live."

"You live... I thought you lived round the corner?" Sage's frown had Carl gulping a massive load of guilt.

"My twin, Jason, lives around the corner."

"Jason—" Sage dropped her coffee and it spilled in a puddle between them. "You're not Jason Lyall?"

Carl bowed his head. "I'm his twin. His evil twin. I took his identity and fooled you all."

Sage was quiet. Carl's stomach churned.

"I'm sorry."

Sage laughed, trying to sound upbeat, but Carl felt the hollowness, the hurt. "I was too silly to figure it out, huh?"

He shook his head. "I don't like you thinking of yourself as silly, Sage. I hated anyone who suggested that. It punched me in the gut every time. It was why I pretended to be Jason in the first place. To stick it to those damn mums."

Sage stared.

Carl pushed on. "They criticise you, make fun of you, and I understood what that felt like, because I've experienced the same, and I... I wanted to prove them wrong. I wanted you to know famous Jason. I wanted to pretend I could be someone like him."

Carl slammed his eyes shut. "You and I may not be university educated, or know all the big historical events, we may struggle to solve riddles, but we're colourful and curious. We're kind. That's what the people who love us value most."

He opened his eyes to Sage blinking rapidly. She swiped at her eye. "Gah, I should be upset at you right now. But I'm only upset. This is it, exactly. I often feel so much less than others; the typical blonde. Head full of straw. Those careless words have a way of drowning my spirits, but I shouldn't care. I won't. Kindness is most important, and that's... that's why I forgive you, Evil Twin of Jason Lyall. You lied, but it stemmed from pain and the kindness to want to help."

Carl swallowed thickly. "My name's Carl Birch. I run a convenience store in a small town in Tasmania."

Sage reached over. "Nice to meet you, Carl."

He shook her hand, and she pulled him closer over the counter, a sparkle of curiosity in her eye. "Why is Grayson at your home? Since when does it make you grin stupidly? Gimme all the details."

Carl threw his head back and laughed. She was his kind of gossipy friend. He leaned in, and told her everything.

"You're in Wellington,"Grayson rumbled down the line.

After a day trying, Carl finally got through. He reclined in a chair on the veranda and stared out at moon-dappled heads of lavender. "I left something here."

"Something important?"

"Something I'd rather not live without."

A hitched breath. "Ah, my good looks."

Carl flicked at a head of lavender, grinning. "And most of your personality."

Laughter tinkered down the phone line.

"You went to Earnest Point," Carl murmured.

"Your text said you wanted to catch me and never let go."

Carl flushed and sank deeper into his seat, staring up at the night sky that Grayson was possibly looking up at too. "I had a rather vexing dream."

"Good. It made me buy a ticket right away. I wanted you to know, to see, to feel that... you've already caught me."

Carl swallowed, whispered, "Both of us dashing off after one another... It says everything, doesn't it?"

"We probably should have a conversation about it."

"Yes. And—"

"And?"

"Let's have it face to face."

On the dayof the talent show, Carl was a bundle of nerves. He was helping Sage in the kitchen, plating green-frosted cupcakes. He'd promised Sage that when she went into the main hall, he'd encourage Leo on stage for his piano performance, and he was hyper-aware that Grayson had landed and was Ubering home this very moment.

Finally. The days apart had felt endless. Carl had bubbled with anticipation, and went on a hell of a lot of bike rides with Toto. This morning he'd gone to Houghton Bay and day-dreamed about Grayson emerging from the surf in sparkles... Then he'd closed his eyes and imagined Grayson in his house in Earnest Point, while he waited for his connection. Hopefully Grayson had made himself at home. Cooked meals in his kitchen, slept in his bed, snooped in all his drawers...

"Carl? Hello? Anyone home?"

Carl sighed. "Soon, very soon."

Sage snorted. People were finding their seats; the show was set to start in five minutes. "Leo's due on stage in fifteen." After the witches' sons showed off their talents. Carl gave her two thumbs up, and as soon as she left, panicked. He checked the foyer, and the outside quad, and the gardens near the gate. "Leo, where are you?"

A snicker had him whisking around to smirky faces. The two witches' sons were hopping off a shiny electric bike. "Probably wet his pants and went off to cry in a dirty corner," one said.

White-haired Linda, in a golden shawl, shuffled through the gate past them, flanked by a few friends. She eyed the boys and caught Carl's gaze with an acknowledging nod. "Today you'll get what you deserve."

The other bully scoffed, and Carl murmured for Linda to enjoy the talent show. She entered the hall, and one of the witches came outside with a grim smile. "Talents. Line up behind the stage curtain."

Ah!

Leo, where are you?God, what wouldn't he give for Grayson to show up now. He'd know exactly where to look! Wouldn't be floundering around like Carl.

"Carl?"

"Not now, I'm busy." He peered around a large tree.

"Busy doing what?"

"Looking for—" Carl startled and whipped around to Leo watching him curiously, his head cocked. "There you are!" He tripped over a tree root, caught himself, and hauled Leo into a hug. "You had me worried. Thought you were getting stage fright."

"I was getting stage fright."

"Then I'm back to worrying."

"I threw up in the bathroom. There might be more to come."

"Why didn't you tell me? I could have—"

"Helped me throw up?"

A wince. "Prepared a hot towel?" Carl patted both Leo's shoulders. "I'm sorry you're feeling nervous. If you really don't want to—"

"I do. I will." The insistence. The determination.

Carl admired Leo and rubbed his hair. "Channeling some Jason Lyall courage there?"

"No. Some Carl courage."

Warmth unfurled in his stomach. "I'm hardly courageous."

"You've stood up for me and Mum since the beginning. If I can be a little like you, I'd be very happy. You're my hero."

Carl's throat got tight and his chest fluttered. He went in for another hug—

"No more!" Leo squeaked. "I really might throw up."

They laughed, and Carl led him inside—

Into another drama that was playing out in the foyer—right next to the counter separating the kitchen, where a few plates of the freshly iced cupcakes waited.

Carl halted Leo inside the doorway and took in the scene. Three witches, all talking at once to a policeman while the two bullies shrank into the corner. The mums of the boys were furious—at their sons, and the man in uniform—and were begging to be allowed to stay until the event was over before they headed to the station.

"You have to understand. This won't run without us."

"That's a bone you'll have to pick with your children. Come on."

One of the mums whirled to the third. "You'll have to take over as MC."

The cowering boys threw themselves at their mums. "Please! Please, we didn't mean it. We'd have returned the bike later."

The policeman spoke into his walkie-talkie for his partner to come in, then to the boys. "Up you get."

"Noooo!" The boys yelled and pushed frantically, and in the process, the witches stumbled. It was like dominoes. One fell into the other, who fell into the other, who fell into—

Carl sucked in a sharp breath.

The cupcakes!

Two plates went flying off the counter; green icing rained down on the third witch's face, her pristine white shirt.

She shrieked and smeared gobs of icing, trying to get it off her. "Look what you've done! How can I go on stage now?"

"Quickly, go home and shower—"

"The show is starting. The only person left is..."

The witches all stared at one another in horror.

The doors to the main hall swung open and Sage strode out as if summoned. She froze at the incredible sprawling scene at her feet. She blinked a few times, and Carl absolutely caught the quirk of her cheek before she quickly swallowed a smirk. "Are you all right?" she asked, offering a hand to help up the green-frosted witch.

"You'll have to take over running the show," one of the mums said tightly. "Our kids' act won't take place either. You'll have to find someone to fill in."

A head swung Carl's way. "You. The piano—"

Carl widened his eyes, and Sage stepped in front of him. "I'll make sure the event runs smoothy. I can take over from here."

She gestured to the policeman, who inclined his head and frog-marched the mothers and sons out. The last witch stomped on a cupcake and huffed out of the hall after them.

Leo poked his tongue at her back as she left, and Carl nodded. "Let's not ever tell them the truth."

"Good. I'll play in their slot. That'll give you a few more minutes to find another performance."

Sage cleared away the smooshed cupcakes, and Carl hurried to help her.

"We lost eight," he counted. "But thanks to your foresight to make a dozen extra, we still have plenty."

"I have to get inside."

"Go ahead. Don't fret about the extra performance. I have an idea."

Sage smiled and skipped off to run the show, Leo readied himself to play his piano piece, and Carl made a call.

Carl stoodat the side of the main hall, clapping hard towards the neon-lit stage where Leo finished a jolly piano piece and bowed. "En core!" Carl hollered and clapped some more.

Leo came off the stage in an exhilarated rush and zoomed to Carl, breathless. "I did all right!"

"You did awesome! A right Chopin, you are."

"Do you know Chopin?"

"Didn't he do Chop—sticks?"

Leo sighed and patted his back. "How you ever fooled anyone..."

Sage crossed the stage, enamoured the audience with a few funny lines, and gazed to the side, where the bullies' replacement act waited in the wings.

Carl bit down on a massive grin and threw an arm around Leo's shoulders. "This next act should scare the bejeesus out of us."

Sage left the microphone, music filtered through the speaker, and Grayson made himself visible to Carl for a second time that day. The first time had been a fleeting rush, ushering him into place, barely space to breathe him in; but now...

Now, Carl got a very good view, and he sucked in a lot of air.

In gleaming silver shoes, Jason's jacket that Carl had lost to him in a gust, and a familiar scarf covered in wee mice that shimmered under the stage lights, Grayson tapped his way across the stage.

Carl's heart leaped with the infectious rhythm and Grayson's mesmerising confidence. Precision and grace, clappity-clap. Twisting, turning, tappity tap. Grayson danced like he was happy. Like his heart was full.

Like he could feel Carl's was the same.

From the stage, Grayson's gaze landed on him, a gleam of those dark eyes...

Carl could never get enough. He watched in shivers.

When they were done,when the talents all headed up to the stage for a second bow, Carl slunk out of the hall. On his way to deliver the cupcakes, he paused at the pictures of alumni on the walls. His finger traced over the faces to the one that shared Grayson's smile.

Carl stepped close and whispered, like Grayson's mother could hear him. "I like him a lot, Mrs Woods. Rather desperately, actually. But one mustn't say that too loud. His ego might—"

Warm laughter hit his nape, warmer hands pulled him around, and the warmest smile landed on him.

"You snuck after me rather fast."

"After you? I'm starved from the flight, I'm after the cupcakes."

Hand balled in that soft silver scarf, Carl hauled Grayson closer.

Noses grazed; breaths caught.

Carl was meant to show some restraint—have this conversation later, after the event, certainly not in the moments before cupcakes needed to be trucked to tables. But Grayson was here, standing right before him with shiny shoes and shinier eyes, and he couldn't hold back.

He pressed his lips against Grayson's, and through the tingles, murmured, "I haven't got those feelings out of my system. And I don't want to."

Dark eyes bored through his and arms locked around his waist as if to make absolutely sure he wouldn't run away again.

Carl tugged at Grayson's scarf. "I've been thinking about it—the moments that built up this feeling. This scarf..." He smiled at the little mice all over it. "You were feeling sick that night, but you gave me this to keep me warm."

"You liked the chivalry."

"I liked the pattern."

A raised brow.

"A man who even likes field mice..." Carl beheld the deepening affection in those dark eyes. "That had to be a good, kind man."

A swallow bulged in Grayson's throat, like his voice had become stuck by a heart beating there. Carl understood and traced the line down his neck, smiling—

Grayson kissed him.