The Douglas Fir (6 page)

Chapter Eight

Sunday morning, cold, tired, and about to sneak off to transplant the next fir, the persistent buzzing of my ancient doorbell decided to provoke my volatile calm. “All right, all right. Hold your horses, would you?”

With one boot on and my jacket slung over my shouldered duffel bag, I clomped every second step through the house to the front door. I’d been planning to leave via the back because it was where I stashed all my gardening equipment
.

Why I
hadn’t just hurried up and slipped out the back door, I didn’t know. But in my crankiness, I just wanted the damn bell to shut up.

I yanked open the door. “What?”

Dave stood on my porch in a beam of morning light, cradling a box of lemons. His hazel gaze raked over me and, whatever he saw, his conclusion was to shake his head. “Off somewhere so early on a Sunday morning?”

“If it’s so early, what are you doing here?”
I plunked my duffel bag onto the floor and leaned against the doorjamb.

“I thought you were sick. So I brought you some lemons and mint from the garden.”

I glimpsed the basket of mint squished into the side of the box of lemons. “I haven’t even planted the mint yet.”

He shrugged and pushed past me into the house. He toed off his shoes, peering at me
from the corner of his eye. I could tell he was trying to figure out where I was off to. He didn’t believe for a moment I was actually sick.

The bastard. I hated him for
being right.

I stepped back from the door and took the lemons and mint from him. “
Just what I was heading out to grab. This saves me from going to the store.”

The scowl he gave me as I backed down the hall toward the kitchen was the best I’d seen on him yet. He wanted me to fess up, wanted me to admit I wasn’t sick. At least not in the
tummy-bug-sick way.

He followed me into the kitchen and dragged out a
chair at the table. It was the same chair Noah usually sat in when he came over. Dave filled it differently; he was an inch shorter, and his sandy hair, swept over his forehead, framed a pretty face rather than Noah’s strong-jawed handsomeness. There was something else different too . . . yes, that was it. There was no salty smell of the ocean stretching between us. Just a subtle hint of soap instead.

I filled the jug, and then planted my still-booted foot on the chair across from Dave as I undid the laces. Somehow I had to keep up the charade I was actually sick,
and
get the guy out fast enough that I could get to the next transplant while Noah was out.

We’d suffer through a cup of tea, and then I could say I needed to get back to bed. There. That would do it.

I slipped out of my boot and set it on the table, close to his perfectness. Maybe it’d give him more reason to leave as soon as possible, or at the very least get him out of Noah’s chair.

Dave looked at my boot, planted close enough that if he leaned ove
r his nose would be touching it. He folded his arms and smiled. “Nice boot. I was thinking I should get me something like that too.”

“For all the garden work you just love to do?”

His lips twitched, but he swallowed down the smile. “No,” he said, pointedly glancing toward the lemons, “just for going to the shops in.”

Dammit
. He had me, and he knew it.

I made us both a lemon tea. He took it and stared into the cup for a long time. The cheeky smile he’d brought with him faded, and suddenly there were dark
shadows over his face and the happy crinkles at the edges of his eyes weren’t deepening like they usually did. Pretty though the man was, right now he looked like one who hadn’t slept. Who might have recently had a good, hard sob.

Strange what difference a smile could make
.

Could it be that I look the same to him? Not the prettiness, because I was too broad for that, but the rest of it? Could he tell I’d been up half the night trying to
make the shadows over my heart lift enough that I could close my eyes without imagining Noah and his “friends?”

We both sipped our tea. My watch ticked loudly, but I didn’t care
quite as much about hurrying him out of there as a moment ago.

“Look,” Dave said, looking over his cup at me. “I just came because I understand. This
 . . .
bug
. It’s not nice. I think I have the same thing, and . . . well, I guess I just want to get over it as quickly as possible.”

I reached over
to the edge of the table and dragged the box of lemons and mint between us. “Should I have made lemonade?”

It triggered a small laugh. He took a larger gulp of tea and grimaced at the acidity. “Heck yeah.” He took my boot and lowered it to the floor. “Nice try that,” he said. “But
you needn’t have bothered. I don’t plan to stay long.” He stood up, that cheeky smile just bracketing his mouth. “I hope you’ll finish my backyard. But I . . . understand if you don’t want to. I’ll still pay you for it.”

I foll
owed him back to the front door. He’d given me an out. I could take his offer and never have to converse with the guy again. Wasn’t that what I’d hoped for?

He sunk his feet into his shoes, paying a lot of attention to everything else but me. I opened the door for him.

“Okay, gotcha,” Dave said. “Thanks for what you’ve done. It looks great.” As he stepped over the threshold into the same beam of sun as before, I grabbed his arm, stilling him.

I just couldn’t do it. Couldn’t ditch him and his yard
.

Because
, damn, he was just too
nice
—“Of course I’ll finish your yard, Dave.” I shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “I’ll come over next week.”

* * *

Even though I knew he was straight, I tortured myself by sneaking into Noah’s backyard and transplanting the fir. It was getting big now. Soon I’d have to start thinking of how I would manage the bigger trees. Maybe Mr. Cole would be able to help every now and then. . . .

I scattered bark around the base of the tree and then hooked an arm around Tool as we stared at the moonlit fir bristles. Why was I still doing this? Why was I here? I knew I
would no longer win Noah’s heart; it wasn’t claimable, not by a man.

I glanced over my shoulder
, as if I could see all the way to the house and through it to where Noah and Dave were having a guy movie night . . . At least I didn’t torture myself as badly as Dave did. He seemed to be over here now more than ever. So much for wanting to get over it as soon as possible.

But I was one to speak.
I was here just as often as he was, though I spent more time with Tool than anyone else.

Ah, shite.
I just couldn’t help it. I came every few days because I still wanted to be the one that gave him the most surprising, unique gift ever. His smile, come Christmas, would be
my
best present.

And maybe a part of me still clung to the idea Noah might turn out gay for me.

I slung my duffel over my shoulder and carefully hauled up the old fir. Holding the pot firmly, I tiptoed down the side of the house.

Tool pushed his way past me and in a moment of clumsiness, I stumbled to regain my footing. My shoulder banged against the side of the house, and I knew immediately I’d stirred
the guys inside.

Why had I tried to get away with working when they were still up?

Dammit, it was because I liked glimpsing through the lit windows and seeing him laugh. . . .

There were muted voices and footsteps. I dashed down the never-ending length of the house—

Pflomp, pflomp, pflomp.
The sound of feet over the deck. Whoever had come out was close to the side of the house, and I wouldn’t make it around the corner unseen.

There was some piping running down from the gutter
to the ground, and I did the only thing I could think of: I pressed my back hard against the side of the house behind it and hoped, if I remained still, the darkness would disguise me.

I gulped as the
pflomp, pflomp, pflomp
got quieter over the dirt as he got closer—

I shut my eyes. Shite. This was it. My gift would lose it’s magic.

When I slowly reopened my eyes, I caught Dave’s shadowy figure, frozen a few steps from me. His gaze met mine and dropped to the fir I was carrying. For a few moments, neither of us did anything.

I silently pleaded
with him to stay quiet, not to give me away.

Dave
let out a soft sigh. Tonight there was no cheeky or charming smile, just sympathy leaking from him. He glanced down and to the right as he rubbed the back of his head. ‘Ah, crap. What are we doing?” came a soft whisper. Then he shook his head. He looked up at me again, and slowly, holding me trapped in his sympathetic stare, he inched backwards.

There came the sound of a second person moving over the deck
, and I bit my lip as Noah’s voice trailed around from the back of the house. “What is it?”

Dave
twisted toward Noah’s voice and then, looking back at me once more, said, “Nothing. Just Tool running about.”

Then he disappeared around the bend, and I let go of the breath I’d been holding.
As I slunk back to my truck, I gritted my teeth against the image of Dave dressed so fine, as if he hadn’t given up on Noah either. And then I sighed, and thumped my steering wheel as I drove back home. Dave had covered for me.

If anyone could have won Noah’s heart, it would have been
Mr. Perfect there.

* * *

I put the finishing touches on Dave’s garden. The guy had left me alone mostly, and I knew why he’d done it. Now, though, I had to tell him I was done—and not to overdo the sprinkling come summer.

I knocked on the back
door. Instead of coming to meet me, he called me in. I hesitated—I was covered in soil and sweat—but then I pulled off my shoes and entered the villa.

Dave was bent over his computer, typing madly away. He bit the side of his bottom lip as he concentrated on whatever was on the screen. He stopped jabbing the keyboard for a brief second to laugh, and then madly went at it again.

I cleared my throat, and even though he’d been the one to call me in, he jumped as if I’d snuck up on him.

“Wow, you really get into your computer stuff,”
I said, and happily sat my dirt-covered arse on one of his high-backed Rimu chairs. There was just this little part of me that wanted to see the guy riled up, the Mr. Not Nice coming through to break the illusion I had of how damn wonderful he was.

Sad as it was, if I couldn’t have Noah, I just wanted to know Dave and I ranked equally in the
If he had been gay, he’d choose me
category.

Ye
p, I was pathetic.

Dave shut his laptop and sat back in his chair, taking his time before speaking. “So
, you’re done, I guess.”

“Everything you asked for. You’ve a yard big and spacious enough. The only thing I left out was the dog kennel.”

His nostrils flared a little as he breathed in, and his cheeks definitely had a pink tinge to them.

“Yes, well
 . . . we’re in the same boat aren’t we?”

“How’s that?”

“Both of us are still hopelessly in love with him.”

I spluttered a sound that resembled a strangled cat. I hadn’t expected him to finally say it aloud.

“The way you stood there in the dark last night, your eyes pleading with me not to tell Noah you were there, as if it would ruin all your hopes if he caught you. That’s when I realized how sad this all is.” He paused, lifting his gaze to mine with a sad smile. “I am always going over, always looking for ways to be around him, even though I know it’ll never . . . well, you know.”

It took a while for me to respond, and I shifted my feet under the table as if it’d help me to answer. “I
 . . .” I cleared my throat. “I mean . . .” It was my turn to sigh. “Yeah.”

He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. “I’m sorry for the both of us,” he said. He gave me an apologetic smile
. “I was so miserable when Noah said he just wanted to be friends. And I bet you are too.”

I rearranged myself on the chair. “Thanks, I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe you should stop with the fir?”

“No.” I stood up, and pushed the chair in. “It’s a gift. I’m still giving him that.”

Dave raised his hands in surrender. “A friend deserves magic too, I get that. I just hope that you’re not going to get even more disappointed if he doesn’t . . . thank you the way you hope.”

“A simple smile will be enough. I don’t want anything more.” I walked back toward the back
door, wishing I felt more conviction than I did.