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Adam lay there, his heartbeat racing, a fluttering in his belly, his breathing rapid.

I did it.
Paul wanted to leave. Part of him wanted to yell, “Well, fuck you!” Who the
fuck
did Paul think he was, to speak like that? He could go ahead and take a running jump, for all Adam cared. He hadn’t wanted a companion in the first place.
I don’t need him. Haven’t I always said that?

It wasn’t until a couple of minutes later that he realized he felt like shit.

Adam sat up in bed and took his mug in hand. That first shot of caffeine gave him a much needed jolt. He propped his pillows behind him and leaned against the headboard. Adam put aside his emotions and considered the situation logically.

What am I about to throw away here?

It was easy to list all the reasons why Paul should go, but as for why Adam should put up a fight to keep him? That took more serious analysis, and the first conclusion he came to made Adam’s heart sink.

I’ve been an arsehole.

There was no way around that. He thought back on all Paul had done since his arrival—and how Adam had treated him. Adam prided himself on his ability to handle people, yet in Paul’s case, yeah, he’d fucked up. Granted, Adam would feel better if Paul did leave, but that left the not so small matter of his books. He’d be ridding himself of an unwanted companion, true, but he’d also be losing a possibly valuable assistant in the process.

It was this last thought that decided him, albeit grudgingly.

Paul needed to stay.

Adam disliked having to admit he’d been wrong, but he had little choice.

By the time he’d showered and dressed himself, he was more prepared to face Paul. The mere act of getting dressed served as a reminder of the thoughtfulness of his companion: Paul had re-arranged the chest of drawers so that not only did Adam know what each drawer contained, he knew the range of colours therein. That knowledge did little to make Adam feel better.

He descended the staircase, stroking the smooth bannister as he took each step with care. Yet another reminder: if not for Paul, how much longer would Adam have made do with sleeping on the couch and taking unsatisfactory spit washes in a far from adequate cloakroom?

Adam stifled a sigh.
I need to make this up to him.
He had no idea what Paul had planned for the day, but whatever it was, Adam meant to accept the thought behind it with good grace. If an opportunity came his way to put right at least some of the hurt he’d caused Paul, Adam would seize it.

He owed Paul that much.

Adam paused in the kitchen doorway, listening intently. Judging by the jerky movements and occasional thuds, Paul was still upset. Adam felt his way over to the table and sat down. All noise ceased for a moment, followed by the sound of pouring liquid.

“I’m sorry, I left my mug upstairs.” An apology seemed an appropriate beginning to the conversation.

More silence ensued. Paul cleared his throat. “That… that’s all right. I’ll collect it later. Here’s a fresh cup.” He placed it on the table.

“So.” Adam straightened. “What’s on the agenda for today?” He reached for his coffee, aware of Paul’s continued silence. Adam said nothing. He’d said far too much already, and although his words didn’t constitute an apology, they did signal his compliance.

It was all Paul was going to get, anyway.

A long exhale. “First of all, we’re going to walk down into the bay and have lunch.”

Adam saw the small horseshoe bay in his mind, brought up in a flood of recollections from his childhood. Playing on the beach with his grandfather, running across the sand, pulling a bright red kite behind him, its tail fluttering in the warm breeze. Building sand castles with moats, and a drawbridge fashioned out of ice lolly sticks. Sitting on a warm rock with his sister, eating ice cream on a hot summer’s day. More recently, nine years ago, taking a boat out into the bay with Caroline, to scatter the combined ashes of their parents. Their father had followed their mother, one month after her death of lung cancer: Adam had always thought his father’s death certificate should have read ‘broken heart’.

“I haven’t been down there for a while,” he said quietly. He pictured the steep path that led down to the far end of the bay. He supposed he could negotiate it, with care. “And after that?”

“That is to be a surprise.”

Adam opened his mouth to demand more details, and stopped himself. He’d inflicted enough damage with that waspish tongue of his. There was nothing for it but to trust Paul.

“Okay then.” He awaited a response, but Paul remained silent.

Guess I’m not the only one biting his tongue.
Not that he could blame Paul. Adam’s track record had to be enough to make Paul doubt the veracity of his reactions.

“You ready for some breakfast?”

The familiar ground felt good beneath Adam’s feet. “Yes, please.” His belly growled.

Paul chuckled, and the tightness in Adam’s chest eased. “I’m not making you a big breakfast. You’ll ruin your lunch.”

Talk about role reversal. “Yes, Dad,” Adam said, smirking.

“I’m being serious. But if you want to pig out on a huge breakfast and leave no room for homemade crab tart, or prawn salad, or chicken caesar salad, or—”

“Stop, you’re making my mouth water!” His stomach gave out another rumble as if to confirm his words. Paul laughed this time, a rich, happy sound that brought about an unexpected release of tension in the muscles across Adam’s back. He relaxed into his chair. “In that case, I’ll settle for a couple of slices of toast and maybe a bowl of cereal.”

“Sensible man.”

Adam drank his coffee, the sounds of Paul’s activity washing over him. All it had taken was for him to be civil, and the change in atmosphere had been huge. If things continued in this vein, there was a distinct probability it would be a pleasant day.

God knew they were overdue for one.

* * * * * *

Adam gripped his cane and stood by the door while Paul locked it. The rolling in his stomach hadn’t disappeared, and his mouth was still dry.

Why am I nervous?

It was a walk, for God’s sake. A stroll down a sloping path to a bay he hadn’t visited for years, with tons of people milling around because they were in the middle of August. Small children whose only aim in life was to trip him up and send him crashing to the ground, making him lose both his cane and his dignity…

Yeah, he had plenty to be nervous about.

“Ready?” Paul was at his side.

No, not at all,
he wanted to whine. But it was too late for that. He’d gotten this far, he could manage a stupid walk.

Paul’s hand was at his lower back, oddly comforting. “I’ll be right here. I’m your eyes, okay?”

Thank God. Paul got it. This was a big deal. “Now I’m ready.” He took a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

They walked up the front path, crunching across the gravel until the gradient changed, and Adam knew they were climbing the driveway to join the lane. He was conscious of Paul at his side, ready if he were needed but allowing him some independence. It was the one thing Adam had hated when he’d first lost his sight—those people who continually took his arm without asking.

If Adam wanted help, he’d ask for it.

“Hang on while I open the gate.”

He stood still while Paul unfastened it, the metal hinges grinding as it was opened. Paul guided him through a gap and Adam stood once more while the gate was secured.

“Which path would you find easiest to negotiate?”

Adam brought to mind the two access routes: a set of steep steps with an iron railing, narrow, difficult to walk two abreast, or the sloping path, steep in two main sections that led to the far end of the bay. That made him think: the steps would mean walking along the promenade to reach the café. More opportunities to meet with disaster.

“The path to the Beach Shack.” It was a no brainer.

“Fine.” Paul guided him along a small stretch of the lane, up to the juncture where the two paths met. “There’s a steep part here.”

They carried on, Adam taking it slowly, relieved that Paul was in no hurry. The sound of the waves below, apparent as soon as they’d set foot outside the house, grew louder as they descended. It reminded Adam of the wind brushing through trees. He took small steps, his cane constantly sweeping in an arc before him, taking in the width of the path. The going got a little easier for a while, until Adam froze at the sound of voices ahead of them.

“It’s a group of four walkers coming down the steps from the Botanic gardens,” Paul informed him quietly. “We’ll let them go first, okay?”

Adam gave a grateful nod, coming to a standstill, Paul’s hand at his back. He listened as the group’s lively chatter grew fainter. A slight pressure at his back and they continued forward.

“Remember the covered part of the path, where it’s grown over, before it turns left?”

Adam did. “I know, I have to duck.” He didn’t want to catch his head in the branches. Once they were through, Paul stopped him.

“This is the steepest part of the path. There’s a railing to your right if you need it. I’ll go first. Small steps, yeah?”

He nodded, conscious of the irony. This whole episode was one fucking
huge
step, as far as he was concerned. As they turned left, what struck Adam immediately was the sound of the sea and the salty breeze that hit him in the face.

I’ve missed this.

“The tide’s in, isn’t it?” Adam could tell: he heard the loud crash of waves hitting the rocks, followed by the squeals of children and adults alike.

“Yes. The waves are really rolling in. It’s a great day to be out there surfing.”

Adam caught the wistful edge to Paul’s voice. “Do you surf?” There was so much he had to learn about his assistant.

“Yeah. My friend Taylor has a house down here in the bay. He runs a water sports equipment rental business. He and I go out on boards whenever we can.”

The name struck a chord. “Taylor. The same Taylor you were speaking with on the phone the night I…. ” It was on the tip of his tongue.
The night I fucked you.
Adam snapped his mouth shut. This was not the time for such reminders.

Paul spluttered out a cough. “We’re here.”

In other words, Adam, shut up, there are people around.

Adam got the unspoken message. He steeled himself for the sensory onslaught, the prospect of meeting people. “Let’s have some lunch, shall we?”

No going back now.

Chapter Thirteen

Paul looked into the café, assessing the number of people already seated outside. The tables next to the railing were all occupied, but a group of five or six adults was walking toward them, clearly having vacated a table. The café was starting to fill.

“I think we’re in luck,” he told Adam who was standing by the high stools, just inside the entrance to the café. “There’s a table just been freed up.” He had no idea if the others were there yet and he couldn’t see around the corner to know if there were more empty tables.

Adam merely nodded, his fingers gripping the cane. He didn’t have to say a word for Paul to know what was going on in his head. He rubbed at the skin above the neckline of his T-shirt, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Paul was still amazed he’d gotten Adam to agree to this. He thoroughly expected to wake up any time soon.

Once the walkway was empty, he guided Adam through the café to the far end, where there was a covered area, the Cave, before it opened out into a seating area with tables and chairs, two large green parasols over two of them. All around them was the sound of the sea, the waves hitting the concrete pavements below the café wall, now and again rising up to splash over the railing, spraying the café’s clients and making the children shriek with delight. There were three empty tables and Paul headed for the one farthest from the railing.

“Hey, you got here, then!”

Paul turned and grinned at Taylor’s greeting. He was sitting in the Cave with David, who had his laptop out and was busily typing. “Of course we did.” He turned to Adam who had become very still. “Adam, do you want to sit in the shade or the sun?” He knew they’d be getting plenty of sun later, but he wasn’t about to share that.

“I’d prefer shade, if that’s okay.”

Taylor rose instantly and commenced putting together a couple of the shiny metal topped tables. “Any idea how many of us to expect?” He grabbed chairs and placed them around the now rectangular table. A bench ran along the whitewashed wall behind the table, David already seated there.

“Not sure, but there’s plenty of space.” Paul brought Adam’s hand to a chair. “Here you go. Right, some introductions. You’re seated opposite my friend Taylor Monroe, and his husband, David Hannon. Guys, this is Adam Kent.” He aimed a stern look at David. “Put the laptop away, David. It’s lunch time.” Paul rested his hand on Adam’s shoulder. “What would you like to drink? There’s coffee, tea, wine, beer, ginger beer, Coke… ”

“Right now I’d love a large glass of water.” Adam swallowed.

“Water would be good for us, too,” Taylor added.

Paul patted Adam’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back.” He dashed to the hatch. It wasn’t fair to leave Adam alone for too long with two strangers, not on his first outing. Paul skidded to a halt in front of Richard. “Hi there. Can we have a jug of water and four glasses, please? We’re in the Cave.”

“Sure, no problem, Paul,” Richard said with a smile. “You gonna order food?”

Paul nodded. “Can we have a menu?”

Richard handed him one and went to get the water. Paul hurried back to where Adam was sitting, the cane resting against the edge of the table. He took the empty chair next to him.

Adam cocked his head. “Laptop? Are you a writer, David?”

“Yeah, but I write under two different names, my own and a pseudonym.” David leaned against the wall, the laptop already switched off and packed away in his brown leather bag.

“Would I have read any of your books? I’m assuming you’re published.” Adam smiled politely.

“Well, that depends,” David said with a grin. “I write gay romance under my own name.”