Know Your Heart: A New Zealand Enemies to Lovers Romance (Far North Series Book 2) (18 page)

“I’m sorry I disturbed you by being such a drama queen.”

Savannah apologizing? Perhaps the spider had bitten her, and she was going into toxic shock. Another tremble as he skimmed his hands over her shoulders, gathering her hair and gently moving it out of the way. The back of her shirt was clear of creepy crawlies, as was her cute, denim-clad butt—and he really shouldn’t be examining that so closely.

“You gave me a hell of a scare, but after seeing the size of that thing, I’d be screaming soprano if one dropped on my head.”

She gave a shaky laugh. “If we’re both too chicken to kill that monster, Nate’ll have to relocate him later.”

His hands dropped away. He couldn’t justify touching her any longer.

“Him and the family of rats living behind the toilet,” she added.

Rats too?

His eyes narrowed. “Why are you cleaning out the barn? Tell me you aren’t scheming to sleep in here instead of at Nate’s?”

“Sleep in here?” Sav’s nose crinkled. “Are you nuts? No, I’m cleaning the barn so Tom and I have somewhere to rehearse and a space where he can play his guitar without disturbing you.” She dragged an elastic band out of her pocket and pulled her hair into a ponytail. “See how considerate I am? I’m going to stay at the Sea Mist Resort—you’ll appreciate the irony, I’m sure.”

Or she could stay with you
, a little voice piped up in his head
. If you stop conning yourself and admit that’s what you really want
.

“Sav, listen, you don’t have to—”

“Is that a truck coming up the drive?” Savannah darted past him to the open barn doors. “Yes! It is. The truck’s here.”

And…the moment was gone as she disappeared outside.

***

Glen stood on his deck with Savannah, Tom, Nate, Lauren and Drew while two guys in fluorescent vests loaded Daisy onto the back of the truck bed after removing the gum tree and revealing the extent of the caravan’s damage.

“Poor Daisy,” Drew said, perched on Nate’s shoulders. “She’s all squished.”

Savannah, bookended by Lauren on one side and Nate on the other, sighed.

Lauren slung an arm around Savannah’s shoulders. “Thank God for insurance. You’ll be able to get a replacement in no time.”

“Time is something I don’t have, and Daisy’s a one of a kind. For now, the Sea Mist will be fine.”

“Or you could stay with me and Tom.” The little voice had needled Glen enough to loosen his tongue, so there it was, out there.

Five pairs of eyes swiveled toward him, but only Savannah’s had the power to jam the air in his lungs. Hope and heat flashed across her gaze as it lingered then dropped away.

Nate hissed out a breath. “What? No way.”

Glen refused to react to the unspoken challenge in Nate’s tone. His friend had thrown them together shopping yesterday, now Glen tried to do something decent and charitable, and suddenly he was the bad guy?

“Hey, I’m right here.” Savannah poked an elbow into Nate’s ribs. “And it’s nice of Glen to offer.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the futon in Lauren’s workshop if you don’t want to stay at the hotel.” Nate glowered at his cousin. “I slept on it for weeks.”

“We already discussed this—”

“What are you talking about, Daddy?” Drew tugged on Nate’s chin, effectively defusing the situation.

“Sweetie, let’s get a better look at the truck.” Lauren held up her hands for her son and gave Nate a
sort yourself out
look.

Glen gave Tom’s shoulder a gentle push.  “Go with them.”

“Jeez,” Tom grumbled. “I’m not a freaking kid who’s gonna be distracted by looking at a truck.”

Glen said nothing, just folded his arms.

Tom turned to Savannah, his sulky expression immediately melting into an angelic smile. “You should move in and take me for a test drive.”

Her eyebrows winged up and Tom laughed.

“Practicing for your role as big sister to a teenager, I mean. I can read lines with you too, and not just a couple of times a week, like if you stayed at the hotel”—Tom shoved his hands into his jean pockets—“And we could practice more of that confidence-building stuff.”

Savannah’s mouth parted, but she didn’t seem to know what to say.

Tom shrugged and backed away a few steps. “Anyway, it’d be fun. And I really don’t mind sleeping on the couch.”

With a glance that Glen read as
don’t screw this up now that I’ve nearly convinced her
, Tom followed after Lauren and Drew, leaving the three of them alone.

“Sav,” Nate said the moment Tom was out of earshot.

She held up a hand. “I appreciate you always having had my back over the years, but you can relax. It’s Glen, your mate, we’re talking about. There’s no need for you to go all Alpha male over a simple offer of charity.” Hazel eyes switched back to Glen.

He and Sav both knew his offer had nothing to do with simple anything, least of all, charity.

Nate’s gaze skipped between them, and the terseness of his jaw eased. He wrapped an arm around Savannah and pulled her into a quick shoulder hug.

“Knee-jerk reaction, sorry. You’re right, I’m wrong. I’ll take the hint and butt out.”

With a theatrical bow, he walked past Glen, but the hard gleam in Nate’s eyes nulled the easy-going tone of his voice.
I’m watching you
, that gleam said.
Mate or not, hurt her and there’ll be hell to pay
.

Nate disappeared around the corner of the house, following Drew’s excited shouts.

“Should’ve made the offer when there wasn’t an audience around,” Glen said. “Nate thinks I’ve cooked up some nefarious plan to lure you into my bed.”

“Turned out you didn’t need a nefarious plan or to lure me.” She tipped up her chin to him, her mouth curved in a secretive smile.

“I’m guessing you won’t tell Nate that.”

“We’re close but not
that
close. Do you think he buys the charity line?”

“I let my sister and her three kids move into my house; is it so hard to believe I’m being kind to another stray?” He eased down to rest his butt on the railing that ran along the deck.

She lifted a shoulder. “I’m sure Lauren and Nate do believe it. Partially.”

Savannah moved to stand between his spread feet. No part of their bodies touched, but he could feel her, every single line and sweet curve of her, as if she were pressed breast to thigh against him. The air seemed to close over them like a bubble, sealing them together in a sphere of electrical activity.

She rested a hand on his chest, the lightest of touches, fingers spanning the small area above his pounding heart. “Two weeks ago, you wouldn’t let me in your front door. Now you’re offering me a place to stay.”

“In the office.”

Smooth, Glen. Real smooth
. As if she couldn’t guess where he really wanted her sleeping. The fact his heart was about to rupture was a good indication he hadn’t made the offer for altruistic reasons. “And there’s a catch.”

“There always is.”

Her index finger traced a circle on his collarbone, setting off a chain reaction that arrowed straight to his groin. If workmen weren’t milling around only thirty feet from where they stood, he’d have grabbed her wrist and tugged her closer.

He cleared his throat, wiping away the picture in his head of Savannah laid out naked on his bed, the fingers now teasing his skin gripping the sheets as he explored every inch of her beautiful body.

“Not that sort of catch.” His voice sounded ragged in his ears, control torn to ribbons by the desire coursing through him. “Tom. Tom’s the catch. He needs your help, as he said, and someone to keep an eye on him.”

“And I already said I’d help him, and he’ll help me by giving me inside access to a teenager underfoot. It’s a win-win idea.” Savannah’s finger stilled. “He’s a little old for a babysitter though.”

“Yeah, but he needs the company—company I can’t always give when I’m writing. He gets enough of his father ignoring him at home; I don’t want him feeling the same while he’s with me. If I can block out a schedule that works for the three of us, giving me quiet writing space and you time to do your thing, then I think we can cohabit nicely.”

She snorted. “Cohabit, huh? You realize I’d be giving up a four-star resort to be a live-in teen-sitter?”

“Have I any chance of competing with the Sea Mist?”

“I might need a little more convincing.”

Glen raised her knuckles to his mouth, brushing a soft kiss on skin that still smelled faintly of lemons from the spray cleaner. “How about now?”

Sav shivered, the trembles reaching her hand and bumping her fingers against his lips.

“Little more…” she murmured.

“How about I tell you that I want to spend more time with you. Real time, not arguing over tenancy agreements and barbecues and yoga on the front lawn.”

“Maybe I want to spend time with you too. So I’m wavering toward being gracious enough to accept your surrender.”

“And I’m man enough to admit when I’m outplayed. Friends?” He offered a hand for her to shake.

She narrowed her eyes. Couldn’t blame her—his feelings for Savannah were far from platonic. But the sweep of her eyelashes couldn’t mask the searing heat in her gaze—a heat that made him want to back the hell away before he kissed her again.

“I did protect you from the
Shelob
spider,” he said. “That’s an admirable quality in a friend, right?”

She shook his hand in a quick, jerky movement and then released her grip, as if she wasn’t the only one to feel the sizzle as their hands touched.

“Okay, friends,” she said.

Then Savannah smiled, lighting up a corner of his soul he hadn’t noticed was so dark.

Chapter 10

Savannah expected a truckload of objections, but Nate and Lauren barely blinked when she announced she’d accepted Glen’s offer—at least while Tom was up for the holidays. The teenager was the perfect chaperone to prevent her jumping Glen’s bones the moment Nate and his family drove away. Apparently, Glen’s spider rescue had been the tipping point of this ridiculous crush she’d developed.

She stood in the middle of the barn and looked around. Morning sunlight poured in through the now clean windows, casting away shadows from the dirt-and-spider-free concrete floor. Once the truck bearing the sad remains of Daisy had left yesterday, the six of them had finished cleaning the barn.

She’d spent the rest of yesterday afternoon hanging out with Tom, finishing the evening with a shoot-em-up action flick. Partway through the movie, Glen had emerged from the office and nuked popcorn, giving one bowl to Tom and placing another wordlessly in her lap. The lightly salted popcorn sans butter should’ve helped her resist temptation, except Glen, her biggest temptation, finished watching the movie with them, then bid them both goodnight.

After Tom had gone to bed, Sav spent a solid five minutes in the silent hallway staring at Glen’s closed bedroom door. She’d finally gone back into the office and slept restlessly.

“Hey.” Tom appeared with his guitar in one hand and a sheaf of paper in the other.

“You get those two chapters revised?” she asked.

He came inside and leaned his guitar against the wall. The printed papers he dumped in a pile on a workbench that ran the half the length of the barn.

“Biology sucks. Unless we’re talking about human biology.”

“By human biology, you mean sex?”

“You wanted to know what makes teenage boys tick.”

“Not just teenage boys. You males never grow out of it.”

Tom snickered and gestured with his chin toward the script. “Which is why Joey Malone is full of shit—sorry, but he is. No guy my age is that clueless about girls.”

Savannah rolled her shoulders in an attempt to loosen the tension growing there every time she’d read through the damn part. Hours wasted convincing herself that the sitcom needed time to find its footing, that the writing really wasn’t that bad. Except it was. Sure, viewers would lap it up, but it wasn’t the juicy role she’d convinced herself it’d be.

“It’s only one scene in the pilot. I’m sure the writers know what they’re doing.”

“Glen could do better. Even if he does write about magic and stuff.” Tom scuffed the toe of his sneaker on the concrete, glancing up under the fringe of hair that’d slipped over his eyes. “He let me read a couple of chapters of his book once, said I was the only one he’d shown it to.”

“It was good?” Her throat thickened, a wire of tension wrapping around her vocal chords.
Please, let it be good
. The thought of Glen spending years on something that was at best a stubborn delusion, made her feel like she’d swallowed a pound of wriggling earthworms.

“No.”

The earthworms went crazy until she spotted the curve of Tom’s mouth.

“Not just good,
great
. And I’m not just saying that because he’s my uncle,” he added. “I read lots. Not fantasy like he writes, but sci-fi, adventure stuff. Books I don’t have to read for school. So I’m qualified to know he’s not writing bullsh—er, bullcrap, like Granddad said.”

Savannah froze in the middle of gathering Tom’s script. “Glen’s dad said that?”

“I overheard him and Dad talking. Granddad said Glen must be having an early mid-life crisis. Said he was wasting his time on his stupid book instead of putting that energy into the firm.” Tom kicked the ground again, his fists clenched at his sides. “I know what my dad thinks about me playing the guitar—that it’s just a hobby.”

“Doing something you love, something you were meant to do isn’t wasting your time,” Savannah said quietly. “But in the end, it’s your decision, your passion and your deep-down grit that determines whether you make music a career or a pleasurable hobby. There’s no shame in either.”

“I know one thing.” His lips thinned into a terse ribbon. “I don’t want to be a lawyer.”

Savannah held out the script. “Well, let’s run through this scene a couple of times, and then you can show me your skills.”

An hour later, Tom strummed along to an old U2 song, his voice strong and pure. The kid was talented. A good voice, and clever fingers skimming the guitar’s frets, picking out the melody. Whether it was enough to carry the boy through the cut-throat world of music unscathed, she didn’t know. But for now, at fifteen, his talent was enough to see him through his high school years with confidence and joy in the simple pleasure of music. She’d hate to see him denied that experience because of performance anxiety.

Something she’d been intimately familiar with herself, at his age.

He finished playing, the last notes shimmering away to silence in the barn’s cavernous inside. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“You weren’t exaggerating,” she said. “You’re good.”

“That’s because it’s not a packed hall.”

Savannah nodded. “No nerves playing in front of me?”

“You wouldn’t laugh. Not like if I screw up at prize-giving.”

“Rough crowd, you think?”

“Nah. Not with the other parents there to make sure their kids don’t act like assholes. But it’ll be rough if my dad doesn’t come.”

“And it’ll be rough if he does too, I’m guessing. You’ll have something to prove.”

“Yeah. Then I’ll be even more nervous.”

Savannah hopped up on the workbench to sit beside him. “First thing, you need to accept that anxiety is part of performing. Everyone—singers, actors, musicians, dancers, street buskers—everyone who puts themselves in front of an audience, big or small, suffers from nerves to some degree. You’ll learn to work with those nerves, not against them.”

“Okay. So teach me how.”

“Tell me what it’s like for you? Describe the worst its felt.”

“Like hands are around my throat, choking off my air supply.” Tom picked a few random strings on his guitar. “All I can hear is blood thumping in my eardrums, and I know when I open my mouth to sing, all that’ll come out is a raspy croak.”

“Worst feeling in the world, huh?”

He nodded. “First time we played in front of the school in assembly, I couldn’t remember the chord changes for the chorus. Thank God I wasn’t playing lead or singing since I’d only just joined the band, but I’d practiced that song heaps, and it was gone the moment I looked up at the crowded hall.”

“What happened when you got to the chorus? Did it come back to you?”

“Yeah. My fingers remembered even though my brain had gone AWOL. I bummed a few changes, but I don’t think anyone noticed.”

“You’re still in the band, so it can’t have been that bad.”

Tom heaved out a huge sigh. “I’m doing lead and vocals at prize-giving. I’ll suck.”

“Not if you take step one in kicking stage fright’s ass.” She nudged his arm with her elbow. “Which is to remove the focus from you and put it onto the music. You’ve got the skill, and more importantly, the heart for it, you just need to learn how to make it all about the music, not all about Tom Cooper.”

“And how do I do that?”

“You learn to breathe diaphragmatically.” She held up a hand and counted off her thumb, then touched her index finger. “You learn to focus your mind on what you’re best at—playing the guitar—and train it not to allow in fear and distraction. And you practice in front of a few people, then a bigger group to give you building blocks of confidence. You’ll take all the emotion and passion you feel and channel the hell out of it into your performance.”

A slow smile crept over Tom’s face, a burgeoning of hope that warmed her soul.

“I can do this.”

“You totally can.” Savannah held out a fist. “Baby bro.”

Tom bumped her fist then poked his index finger at his open mouth and gagged at the reference from her script. “So, who will I practice in front of?”

“Me, for starters,” a voice said.

Both she and Tom jumped, their heads swinging in unison toward the barn entrance where Glen leaned against the doorframe. He still had his glasses on, and the tumble of just-out-of-bed hair that he’d obviously been driving his fingers through gave her a deep-belly quiver. The juxtaposition of smart, scruffily sexy, and the firm kindness in his voice, made her want to run across the barn and twine around him like a clingy vine.

***

Savannah jumped as if he’d goosed her when he spoke. Glen liked that she’d been so focused on Tom he’d caught her off guard. He liked that she looked fresher and sweeter than a spring breeze in her new rolled-up-at-the-ankle blue jeans and red canvas sneakers, her hair loose, the natural wave taking over since she hadn’t straightened it this morning. He liked the warm appraisal tinged with affection that showed in her eyes at the sight of him standing there—once she’d recovered from her fright.

Most of all, he liked her.

And if nothing else, since the odds of anything long term working between them were not in their favor, he’d take the like and enjoy it while it lasted.

“You can also practice in front of Nate and Lauren, Lauren’s brother Todd and his wife, Kathy, their daughter Sophie”—Glen’s gaze switched to Sav—“she’s perfect if you need a volunteer to read for the kid sister role.” Glen walked across the barn and leaned a hip against the workbench on the other side of Tom. “All of them would be happy to be your guinea pigs when you’re ready.”

“That’d work. You guys first, later some strangers.” Then Tom’s expression darkened, his fingers drumming a hollow rhythm on the guitar’s body. “Could be a waste of time when Dad finds out though.”

Cute lines formed on Savannah’s brow. “Would he really not understand?”

“You don’t know my dad. He’s like Granddad—all about working smart, working hard, and that the arts are for hippies.”

Savannah glanced over at Glen and he tipped a shoulder forward.

“Pretty much word for word on the lectures Dad gave me when I was a kid.”

Only phrased more harshly. He studied her pinched mouth, her softened gaze resting on Tom’s shoulders, hunched defensively over his instrument.

“Did you know Gran was a poet?” Glen said.

His nephew’s head jerked up. “Gran?
My
gran?”

“Yep. She had lots of lined notebooks, the kind you use at school—nothing fancy for her silly scribbles, she once said to me. She kept them stashed in her craft room, and she never wrote while your granddad was around. It was her thing. She only told me about them when she found a couple of my notebooks full of story ideas under my mattress.”

Tom snickered. “You couldn’t be a normal teen and have porn hidden there.”

Savannah elbowed Tom in the ribs, and his eyebrows winged up in a
what-did-I-say?
arch.

“Oh, I had dirty magazines too.” Glen chuckled. “But it was the notebooks that interested her. She asked me about them one morning while we were alone in the house. I admitted to her that I wanted to be a writer. Afterwards, she showed me her poems and asked me not to tell anyone else about them.”

Savannah braced her hands on her knees and leaned forward. “Meaning your father?”

“Yeah.” The breath in his lungs transformed to misted acid, burning through him. “Mum died of a brain aneurysm a few years later.”

“I’m sorry,” Savannah said. “I didn’t realize you’d lost your mum.”

“It was a long time ago.” Glen studied Tom’s fingers gripping the guitar’s neck. “But unlike your grandfather, Tom, she would’ve encouraged you to keep the creative part of yourself alive.”

“I don’t understand why they’re so anti.” Tom hopped off the workbench and stalked over to his guitar case. “Why Granddad wouldn’t let you do creative writing at university, why my dad would shit bricks if I said I wanted to do music instead of a
real profession
.”

“Your granddad isn’t all wrong. He wanted your dad and me, and your aunty Grace, to grow into responsible, independent people who could support themselves financially. A career in the arts, especially in a small country like New Zealand, doesn’t guarantee a means to support yourself.”

Tom slammed his guitar case shut. He directed his pleading gaze to Savannah. “You succeeded—did your parents support you?”

The tendons in Sav’s throat resembled taut wires. “Yeah, while I was a kid. I did all the usual ballet and tap classes, drama club, speech training—my mum ran me from one place to another after school. She made my costumes for school plays and encouraged me to try out for auditions.”

“And your father?” Glen asked.

Everything in him focused on Savannah; the flickering shift of her jaw muscles, the skin whitening on her knuckles as she gripped the edge of the workbench.

“My dad was an Air New Zealand pilot and away overseas a lot. But he never complained about the lessons I took, and even when my parents divorced and he moved to London”—her gaze slid to Glen then darted back to Tom—“he never discouraged me from wanting to act.”