Free Driftwood by Harper Fox

ahead. The creaking, road-rattled silence within it was not awkward, though it had prevailed for the last ten miles. Flynn had left his jacket behind in the pub. Seeing him shiver, Thomas reached to notch up the heater. He wasn’t used to finding anyone other than Belle in his way when he made that move, and his wrist brushed Flynn’s knee. Neither flinched, and Thomas sat up again, repressing a smile at himself. It was one step off a comedy grab for his knee while changing gear.
    And that was not the worst of it. In the cab’s increasing warmth, Thomas found himself involuntarily noticing Flynn’s scent, which was warm and real beneath his aftershave. He smelled of his life, of the sea, a faint tang of engine oil sometimes prickling through.
    Soon they would be home. Thomas wondered why the prospect of having a stranger in his orderly home overnight was not triggering all his alarms. In fact he felt weirdly serene. His knuckles throbbed, showing him a connection, and he smiled.
    â€œThat was quite a punch,” Flynn suddenly observed, as if reading his thoughts.
    â€œYeah. Sorry.”
    â€œDon’t be. Like I say, it was a bit of a work of art. And he had it coming.”
    â€œI’m glad you think so.”
    Another silence fell, briefly this time, fraught with Flynn’s tension. Thomas waited. “All that stuff he came out with,” Flynn said eventually, “about me, and the flying, and… Aren’t you gonna ask?”
    Thomas shrugged. The watchtower had appeared on the horizon, its western flank lit by the growing moon. “Assume you’ll tell me, when you’re ready. Will you get that gate for me?”

Chapter Four: Deeper
    Flynn stood in the centre of the round living room. Belle was at his side. Thomas saw him reassessing her size, now that he was seeing her against domestic objects, as he had done himself on first bringing her home, her great shadow rising silently on the watchtower’s walls. She liked Flynn, to Thomas’s relief. He hadn’t yet asked her to accept a visitor, but when he had unlocked the door to let them in, she had come to greet him as she had at the air show, her big head down, stringy tail waving. She was carefully sniffing Flynn over. Flynn looked flattered and nervous in equal measure.
    Thomas smiled. “Are you two all right?”
    Flynn glanced up. He did look a bit thrown, Thomas thought. More than could be explained by the attentions of Belle. “Yes, fine.” He flashed him a smile. “I miss animals, actually. I used to work with sniffer dogs before I started search and rescue.” Thomas waited for him to elaborate on this, but his expression became abstracted once more. “God, it’s quiet here, isn’t it?”
    â€œMm. Very. Scared the crap out of me at first.” Thomas saw him nod, as if in gratitude for the permission to be unnerved. “Can I get you a drink?”
    â€œPlease.”
    â€œMake yourself comfortable. Have a look around.”
    There wasn’t much to see, but when Thomas emerged from the kitchen, Flynn was wandering around the room with some of the distracted awe he remembered from his own first sight of it. It had felt—not churchlike, but perhaps the way a church would feel to a religious man. He hadn’t altered it much, beyond a couple of bright rugs, some whitewash on the walls, and such bookshelves as could be sensibly arranged against a curving surface. A bare space, old flagstones cool underfoot. In the winter, freezing. A small electric tank had been fitted to provide his hot water, and other than that, he had been too numb to care.
    He held out the glass he was carrying. An ordinary white wine, though crisp and cold. It had been that, vodka or PG Tips, and on some level he couldn’t quite yet understand, Thomas felt he wanted to make a good impression. “Here. Only civilised thing I’ve got. Do you like the place?”
    â€œOh.