Chapter 4

Carl was one rampant heartbeat. He'd vaulted the fence in a hurry, but he'd expected to land on leafy uneven ground. Not to roll his foot on an apple and topple into Grayson, who dropped a bushel of Braeburns to catch him.

Arms came tightly around his waist, fingers pressing in. A burst of breath scuttled over his left ear. One finger dug in close to his spine. There they teetered, on the cusp of a horizontal stumble—and Grayson shifted his feet, stabilising them. Thank God. The proximity, though... Chests and thighs jammed together, peculiarly warm against the cooler breeze around them, and their noses met with startling electrical currents.

Carl's eyes widened in shock and horror, and Grayson's sparked with a lift of an eyebrow.

"Not into me, eh?"

Oh my God. His life was seriously unbelievable.

He shoved out of Grayson's arms with a scowl, only to drop his gaze to Jason's jacket and come right back to peel it off him—

"You guys okay?" came a baffled voice beside them and Carl froze, hands half in Grayson's shirt.

This . . . might not look totally PG.

Carl freed his hands, pretending to dust the lapels instead.

He felt the rumble of Grayson's quiet laughter under his palms, and smartly turned to wide-eyed Leo. "Ah, I brought you something." He took out the slightly squashed apple shortcake and handed it over.

"Thanks?"

"No problem."

Leo blinked from him to Grayson to the fence and back to him. "You sure about that?"

Well . . .

From over the fence came the call of ‘his' name. "Jason? Jason? Where did he go? The piano's waiting for him."

Carl shrank into a ball at Grayson's feet and started crawling towards Sage's house, curling a finger to Leo, whispering, "Where's that hiding place you mentioned?"

Grayson side-stepped in front and crouched to Carl's level with an expression of utter bewilderment and suspicion. Yet, the hand that met Carl's shoulder and steered him to sit back on his haunches was gentle, careful. A glimpse behind a tinny fa?ade?

Grayson's tight-lipped inquisitive grimace brought Carl back from the stray thought. He smiled wanly. "Met my daily limit of social interaction. I'll just..." He started to crawl around Grayson and was stopped by gentle hands again, this time cupping his elbow and drawing him to his feet.

"Instead of hiding," Grayson said, keeping his voice low, "let's leave. I've got something for you."

"You can give the jacket back right here."

"I've got something else for you."

Something else? Like what, a few words of warning? An outright rejection of all Carl's supposed advances?

Carl wasn't exactly thrilled at this prospect either, but—

"Find him, find him. It'd be so great if he could play Devil's Trill."

Carl held out his hands in surrender. "Take me far away from here."

He called out "See ya" to Leo, who was watching them curiously while nibbling on his shortcake, and then suddenly Carl was in the thick of the Street Greet. Neighbours crowded them, and Carl instinctively clutched Grayson's elbow as they pushed through the fray of eyelash flutters and constant questions.

"Are you not travelling to Europe to perform?"

Carl threw out the truth for once that evening. "Taking a few weeks holiday."

"Oh, excellent! Could you give a speech at the school assembly?"

"Oh, yes, please do! Always looking for inspirational speakers."

"I'll have to check my calendar." Carl knew now, it'd be very full of make-believe appointments. What could he talk about? He wasn't actually a musician. He'd get up, speak nonsense, and...

A whole assembly would applaud him.

Carl bit his lip. No. No way. Bad idea. Had this experience taught him nothing?

Grayson towed him through the Street Greet until they were rounding the corner towards the shops and freedom.

Carl trundled along, asking, "Weren't you working at the pub? It was you on the bike, who stole my jacket. I thought you had a ute?"

"If I've got the surfboard or work equipment, I take the ute. Otherwise, biking's the way to go. As for the pub, I was filling in. The boss was running late."

"What's your actual job?"

"Bit of everything."

That wouldn't help Carl determine how best to avoid him. He let go of Grayson's elbow. In the future.

Grayson opened the "Closed" Over the Raindough, and Carl made a point of lifting his foot over the high threshold as he crossed it. Now they were away from prying eyes, Carl decided one last try would be acceptable. After that, goodbye. Adios! Have a good life.

He crossed close to Grayson and with fast and furious fingers started wrangling off Jason's jacket, jerking his hands under the lapels and over firm shoulders—

Grayson snapped himself away, holding Carl back by a palm to his shoulder. "I hate to always be the heartbreaker, but—"

Heartbreaker?

Carl didn't hear the rest. He scrambled back with an incredulous laugh. "You can't break my heart. It's already broken!" Once Carl heard the words that'd flown out of his mouth he added hurriedly, "I mean, I'm not into you to begin with! That's my jacket."

Grayson buttoned back up with a mischievous gleam in his gaze. "It flew into my face. I might've fallen off my bike. The shock... Wearing this tonight seems like fair compensation."

In fact, Carl had been mightily relieved that jacket-flying thing hadn't caused an accident. It might've been quite serious. Best not push his luck too hard; he'd replace the jacket before Jason returned. With that matter sorted, he should extricate himself. "I'll be off then."

"Wait a moment."

Carl sighed and braced himself for the warning and/or misplaced rejection.

Instead, Grayson moved around the empty bakery counter and came back with his red helmet. "Here." He pressed it against Carl's chest. "This'll keep you safe. Stop you getting any more fines."

"Wait. How do you know I got fined?"

"Saw you helping Leo home yesterday. You didn't look thrilled to see that cop."

"You really are everywhere." Carl stepped towards him—instinctive curiosity. "What's your secret?"

Grayson stepped closer, a tickle of breath against Carl's cheek. "What's yours?"

Carl gave a fidgety-sounding laugh, heart racing rampantly. "What do you mean?" What did he mean?Did he... Had his terrible pronunciation of Giuseppe given him away? Or his unseemly cowering behind the fence?

Grayson watched him carefully. His look said I've got my eye on you.

Well, that was just... Carl prodded a finger into that firm chest. "You're always looking at me like that. Sure you aren't into me?"

Grayson rocked on his heels with a startled laugh. But before he could say something mildly scathing, the bakery door swung open and Sage wandered inside with a curious can-I-come-in smile.

"Saw you two take off. Neither of you have eaten."

Ideally, Carl would've bolted. But Sage experienced far too many people giving her excuses, and he didn't want to make her feel like she'd maybe done something wrong.

Smiling and nodding, he dragged out a chair and plunked himself into it. Grayson seated himself opposite, and Sage planted the plate she'd brought with her between them then hurried towards the kitchens. "Start with the sammies. This quiche is best warmed up."

Carl bounced his foot and bit into a sandwich, and calculated how many minutes before he could politely leave.

Grayson kept watching him. "We can talk, if you like."

"Ah, no. I'm good, thanks."

"You keep falling over me. We've felt each other in places reserved for third dates. What's the harm in sharing words?"

Carl snapped his eyes to Grayson's, trying not to recall the swoops each time those places had... met. "Fine. How many groupies do you have?"

"Sorry?"

"Girls and boys who fawn over you?"

Grayson leaned over the table with a curling lip. "Including or excluding you?"

Carl tossed his bread crust at him, and Grayson picked it up and ate it. "You should eat these."

"Why do you keep looking at me like that, all judgy?"

"You make me curious."

"That's curiosity?"

"Where are you from?" Grayson asked.

A bolt of panic shot through Carl's middle. "What?"

"Your accent confuses me. First it was very Aussie. Now it's... like you've watched a lot of Shortland Street."

Carl rang out a high-pitched laugh. "I... well... actually, if you must know, I've been practicing different accents. Additional to being a pianist, I dabble in voice acting."

An arched brow. "What have you narrated?"

Nothing. "Nothing you'd know. Sage!" He stood abruptly and moved towards her and a hot plate of quiche. "Let me help."

He shuttled the plate to the table while Sage thanked him—Jason Lyall—for coming along today. Carl stuffed a slice of quiche into his mouth and gave her two thumbs up. When it looked like Grayson might say something else, Carl picked up another quiche slice and popped it into his opening mouth. "Delicious. Try it."

While Grayson worked on the sudden mouthful, Carl wished Sage a lovely evening and—at the sight of Grayson's Adam's apple bobbing and then his throat clearing—hurried a salute and made for the door.

Ah, the helmet!

He doubled back, grabbed it, and dashed out again.

Honestly, wasn't it enough to have seen Grayson five times earlier? Why did he have to show up at the Street Greet as well?

Best Carl avoided him.

Yes, best avoid them all. Can't have playing Jason get out of hand. He'd done his good deed for the day, enjoyed the thrill of being admired.

He'd stop now.

Carl avoidedBerhampore the next morning, deciding to take his morning coffee habit to the neighbouring suburb of Newtown. It was quite strange not having to go to work, and he wasn't sure he loved the aimlessness of it. He'd better make a plan. See all the sights. Visit old school mates who'd settled here.

After a visit to the national museum, he met those old mates for lunch.

Turned out they were both lawyers and had each recently become engaged to the woman of their dreams.

Carl blinked in their spotless suits and slick smiles and tried not to shrink in his leather booth-seat. He spooned his pho and nodded along to all their adventure stories. "Probably head to Europe again later this year. Foodie tour around Georgia."

"We're doing Portugal."

Carl was doing nothing. "Nice. Nice."

"What about you?" one of them asked while he slurped up a noodle. "When was the last time you visited Tas?"

"Live there still, actually," Carl said.

"Really? Not little ol' Earnest Point, I hope!"

"Little ol' Earnest Point."

"What are you doing there? Can't be easy to grow your career. Where'd you go to uni in the end?"

Carl shook his head. "Didn't go."

The two lawyers made an ‘ah' sound that felt like the beginning of the end of their meet up. "Trade school?"

Nope. "I work at the local convenience store."

"Wasn't that the part-time job you had at school?"

His stomach took a dive. "Running it now."

"With the bigger stores delivering, it's still keeping afloat?"

"We're quite remote. You'd be surprised how many locals love their daily donuts."

"Sure. Sure." Awkward silence followed.

The lawyers drank up the last of their phos, insisted they pay and he "keep his money", and took their leave, wishing him luck. Carl meandered back through the city towards Jason's, unable to shake off the feeling of pity they'd left him with. Like he'd revealed himself to be their high school's biggest disappointment and only luck might give him a better future. Like if he only had brains in his head he would be as good a man as any of them.

Carl ducked into a dairy, bought a mag, and tried to jostle up his spirits reading it at the nearby war memorial park.

Heads up, Capricorn, this week will be studded with surprises. . .

Carl laughed. Wasn't that true already?

He read on, stalling over the last part. You'll meet three people this week. A Gemini in need. A Leo looking for luck. And a Scorpio specialising in stirring stuff up. You may be inclined to hide, but take a deep breath—you'll have to face them eventually.

"You're meant to offer levity, not ominous foreboding."

Magazine stuffed into his bag, Carl schlepped through Newtown and up the incline towards Berhampore. He was cresting the hill when a swarm of yellow and green spilled onto the street and Carl took a seat on a low brick wall to avoid being flattened by scootering pre-teens.

When it seemed safe, he started up the footpath again, only to halt at the sight of Sage's Leo, wearing the same uniform as he'd watched pass him a hundred odd times, only his was... soaking wet. And his head was sunk to his chest.

Some bigger kids were snickering as they scurried around a corner; they looked suspiciously like the rascals who'd stolen his bike.

Badly behaving boys.

Carl jogged over to Leo, shrugged out of his flannel shirt, and gave it to the boy to keep him warm on the walk home. They were headed in the same direction, so Carl kept him company. He asked for Leo's star sign, was unsurprised to find him a Leo—but one couldn't assume these things—and went on to read him his weekly horoscope. "Things will pick up by the end of the week!"

"Doubt it," Leo said. "It's my week to help with assembly. Last week, Davy had his doctor dad come as a guest speaker, and he gave everyone ice-blocks full of electrolytes. No one I've asked can make it."

A Leo looking for luck.

Carl told himself off. Of course he couldn't...

Leo sniffed, and water those boys had dumped on him dripped from a curl onto his cheek and ran down like a tear.

Capricorn was ruled by Saturn, and Saturn was the planet of responsibility. And hadn't this become his social responsibility? Just like the sexy stranger who'd come to his rescue up at the outcrop. He'd been given a hand by fate. He should pay it forward.

Carl clapped a hand on Leo's shoulder. He'd worry about the details later. "Chin up. This famous pianist will be your guest speaker."