Emyln

It takes me several seconds before I realize the loud, grinding sound I can hear coming through the cream-coloured walls of my bedroom is that of a lawnmower. Groaning, I reach out for my phone that's resting on the empty pillow beside me. It's 9:39 a.m. on a Monday morning. I groan again. Who the hell mows their lawn at this time? Why not do it at 9:00 p.m.?

"Fucking ridiculous," I mutter, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

Tossing my phone back to the pillow, I swing my legs over the edge of my bed, ready to head over to the window that has a view of the backyard. I'm ready to give one of my stepbrothers shit about interrupting the one day I had the chance to sleep in. Just when I was starting to like them even more – we bonded over Super Smash Bros. and Mario Kart Racing on the Nintendo GameCube after I ran home from work – they have to do something like this.

But I'm proved wrong when I've pulled the curtains back and gotten a good look at the landscape.

I almost choke on my own spit. Partly it's the shock of seeing him mowing the lawn mixed with frustration that he's the one doing a job me or Joel or Miles are perfectly capable of doing. But, if I'm being totally honest with myself, it's mainly the sight of him without his shirt on.

I should stop staring at him – look what happened last time I did. But is he really going to notice this time? I'm inside, he's outside, and the sound of the lawn mower is overpowering. So I stand in front of the window and continue to enjoy the view. My eyes linger on his back rippling with muscle and coated in a thin layer of sweat that glistens under the morning sunshine. He rounds a soft corner next to the small pond that's neighbouring the white pergola, and I catch a full-on view of the rigid lines of his stomach. My eyes drink up every detail. Including the faint shadows that dip below the waistband of his well-fitted swim shorts.

What can I say?

He's handsome enough to make any girl swoon. It's kind of absurd that he has the ability to make my knees wobble and my veins feel like they've been injected with adrenaline, but I don't mind it.

When he gets to the corner of the pavement, the sound of the lawn mower's engine cuts out. I quickly pull my curtains back together in case he can sense someone is looking at him. After a couple seconds pass and I'm sure I've raised no suspicions, I peek through.

He's using his forearm to wipe the sweat off his forehead.

My God...

I watch him swipe his water bottle from the patio table and begin to walk around the perimeter of the yard. He stops at the first flowerbed after taking a long sip of water. Kneeling down, Hainsey begins to pull away some of the weeds that are peppering the dirt around the beautiful rose bushes.

The view of his back is even better than when he was mowing the lawn – the muscles, rigid lines, sweat glistening in the sun. I think my mouth goes a little dry. Shit.

As I watch him, a thought occurs to me. The day I got here, I was surprised at how good the front yard looked. And now I'm seeing that the backyard looks just as good. Is Hainsey the one that's been doing all the work?

I rub the scar on the bridge of my nose. The one he gave me. It would make sense – he's always been an outdoorsy person that's loved things such as yard work and hiking and camping.

Standing up and chugging the last of his water, Hainsey heads back to the lawn mower.

I turn away from the window and head for the bathroom that's connected to my room. I get ready in record time; I throw on some clothes, apply a thin layer of foundation, style my hair in a messy bun, and brush my teeth.

I don't know how long Hainsey has been here, but I'm making him something to eat and getting him something to drink. It's the least I can do.

Exiting the bedroom, I head for the kitchen, working at a remarkable speed. I make freshly squeezed lemonade, filling up two Mason jar-style glasses and adding in some ice. As for the food component, I reheat some of the spaghetti me and the boys made, along with some garlic bread.

Setting everything on a tray, I head for the back door feeling nervous as hell. Hainsey is probably going to kill me for doing this. I don't care, though. Walking out onto the patio and telling him what I brought for him results in some form of socialization between us. I want more – so much more. But I'll take what I can get.

When I've managed to open the door and set everything on the table outside, I wave at Hainsey to get his attention. All he does is shoot me an annoyed glare. Any other girl would have backed off and walked the other way, but I know Hainsey. The longer I stand here and hold my ground, the more likely it is that he'll come over to talk to me. It's what we would do when we were younger: wait each other out until the other one would cave.

Just like things change, some things stay the same.

The engine of the lawn mower cuts out.

"Hey," I call, waving him over. "I brought you something." I gesture to the table.

"Hey," he answers, trying to sound unfriendly.

"I didn't know my mom made you do this kind of shit too," I say.

He narrows his eyes at me, like something I've said has pissed him off.

"I'm just saying," I shrug, "that you do like ninety-five percent of the work when Mom's at the store."

He stops walking when we're a foot away from each other. "You don't have to do this," he says, gesturing at the drinks and food.

"It's fine," I say. "I just woke up and needed someone to eat breakfast with anyway. That's how you can repay me."

His frown deepens.

"C'mon, Hains. My mom isn't going to be home until six, so we're not at risk of her losing her shit. I don't give a fuck about where Landon is. And the boys aren't going to tattletale on you. So come sit down."

Hainsey looks at the lawn mower and then me. He's hesitant about sitting down with me, that much I can tell. I'm also fairly sure that he's going to decline my offer, so I'm surprised when he sighs and says, "Fine. Fifteen minutes."

I'm too stunned to say anything – to do anything but stare. So I stand there as he walks by. As he does, I catch an overwhelming dose of his scent – sweat, freshly cut grass, and sunscreen – and it makes my heart skip a beat. I walk over to the table way too fast and my head spins as I sit down.

Hainsey sits down across from me, and I can feel his knees touching mine. A jolt of electricity runs up my spine.

I wonder if he knows what he can do to me. If a simple, inadvertent touch has the ability to make me melt. If he can tell. If he can, I want to kick myself for being so obvious.

He reaches for the jar of lemonade before doing anything else and chugs half of it. When he's wiped any residue away from his mouth, he shrugs and says, "It's hot."

You're hot, is how I want to respond.

I nod my head in agreement. Today is going to be a scorcher if a guy like Hainsey is already sweating.

As we sit in this semi-uncomfortable silence, I find myself unable to tear my eyes away from him, off the beads of sweat rolling down his neck and glistening on his shoulders. For fuck's sake! I force myself to look away. I feel like I'm twelve again. This staring I'm turning into a habit isn't going to help win him back. Luckily, Hainsey seems oblivious to me and more focused on the piece of garlic bread he's grabbed.

"So," I say, after a forkful of reheated spaghetti. "How long have you been doing this?"

He cocks an eyebrow. "Doing what?" he counters.

I shoot him an Are you kidding me? look, and then say, "Are you trying to joke around with me, Hains?"

"Interesting choice for breakfast, Ems," he says, totally ignoring what I've asked and looking at the plates of spaghetti.

"What can I say?" I ask smugly. "I'm a leftover-type girl."

"Uh-huh, okay," he says in a dismissive tone.

I mentally sigh. What is it going to take to get him to at least smile?

Looking him over as he eats, I can't stop myself from checking him out. Goddamn that body. He looks like he should be on the front cover of a romance novel. Aside from teaching Miles how to do the perfect slap shot, he must be playing hockey still.

After a mouthful of lemonade, I ask, "Are you still playing hockey?"

"Yeah," he nods.

"Are you still playing with Mitchell and all the other guys we grew up with?"

His face darkens a little, and I detect a sense of jealousy. "No – most of them left for university or college."

"Why haven't you?"

"Christ," he mutters, tossing the fork to the table. "What the hell is with all the questions Emyln?"

I feel like I've been slapped. Is it really that bad to want to know what's happened in the past five years? I suppose it is – I don't have any right to be asking him and expecting answers.

"Listen. Just because I have agreed to sit and chat and eat with you, doesn't mean we're friends."

"I know," I say softly.

"Then why do you keep doing this?" he demands. "Why do you keep trying to patch up what's been done?"

There's an awkward silence as I push my sauce-covered noodles around the plate and Hainsey clears his throat and grabs the jar of lemonade.

"I didn't go because I don't have any money from my post-secondary education fund left," he says after a moment.

I blink in surprise. He's telling me something personal! Does that count for something? "Why?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Mom needed some money for the divorce settlement and lawyers cost a lot of money. It was the least I could do for her. She fed me, raised me, and gave me a home. Think of it as my way of repaying her."

"But..." I trail off. That's not how I remember Hainsey's mom. She would never do something like that. She'd go out and get four different jobs before ever taking a cent from his funds. And Hainsey himself? He always wanted to go to Ontario for university – that's all he ever talked about during career fairs or when someone asked what he wanted to do when he was older.

There's something weird about this story. I can't quite put my finger on it, but what he's said makes no sense. I, however, don't press for more information. I'm standing on thin ice as it is. If I press or do anything to piss him off, it'll ruin whatever gate has opened up.

"Oh," I say instead. "Well, I guess that makes sense."

The look in his grey eyes tells me he can see right through my bullshit words. He says nothing, though. An alarm goes off in my head. It's so unlike him to not call bullshit and tell it like it is. My heart aches a little. Something else has happened to him since I left. There is no way in hell I'm the cause of this new-but-familiar Hainsey.

But I leave it alone for now.

"Thursday is going to be wild, hey? I bet we'll be facing a group of rowdy drunk guys that act like they're sixteen."

"Wouldn't surprise me," Hainsey replies, the left corner of his mouth quirked upward. "Your mom is insane for agreeing to something like this. With booze involved, how the hell are we supposed to mountain bike without worrying that one of them will go over the edge?"

I think for a moment. "Maybe we can pack some protein bars and stuff to sober them up if worst comes to worst."

He shrugs. "Or maybe we can just invest in some earplugs."

I laugh, and I watch as the other corner of his mouth upturns so he's smiling with me. My heart flutters. My stomach does a triple backflip. This is the first time in years I've actually laughed with meaning and felt content at the same time.

"Well," he says, getting to his feet. I stare at his goddamned abs, wishing there was a way to prevent him from ever wearing a shirt again. "I've got other errands to run; I need to get back to work." He nods at the table. "Thanks for the food and lemonade – I forgot to eat breakfast this morning."

I smile at him and shrug. "If you ever need anything, just give me a call."

The faintest hint of a smile plays on his lips. "Thanks, Ems. I'll see you around."

Just as he's about to start the lawn mower again, I call out, "Hey! Do you want me to pick up the earplugs or are you going to do it?"

"You," he replies. "Because I love shopping."

I laugh and shake my head. The only type of shopping Hainsey has ever liked is hockey gear shopping. Anything else bores him to death.

When our eyes connect, I catch a glimpse of what we were before. Best friends.

This – this is all I want between us. A relationship where we can smile and joke and laugh. Be the friends we once were.

I would trade my soul for a chance at that again.

I would give up the chance of ever having a romantic relationship with him just so we could be friends and I could still have him in my life.