Free Unbound: (InterMix) by Cara McKenna Page B

reached Inverness.
    Her father was gay, she’d said—was he married? That was legal some places now, and
     she seemed the type who’d feel passionately about the topic. Yes. He’d get her going
     about that, and surely he’d catch the thread, too. It was the initiating that was—
    “Are—oh.” The unmistakable sound of female surprise.
    “Hang on.”
    “No, never mind.”
    But Rob splashed his face and grabbed the rough old bath towel, getting to his feet.
     He patted the water from his eyes, finding Merry standing just outside the back door,
     eyes wide, cheeks pink.
    He hazarded a smile, trying to look disarming, in case his half-nakedness was upsetting
     her. Maybe she was more conservative than she let on. Or maybe his build looked as
     down-and-out as his hair and beard surely did. These past two years had stripped any
     softness he might’ve carried with him from the city. Perhaps he looked lean and threatening,
     like a convict or a drug addict. He toweled his arms quickly, suddenly feeling vulnerable
     and exposed, as though she could make out those hideous bruises he used to wear, his
     liver’s desperate cries for help.
    “Did you need something?” he asked, frantically faking perkiness. Probably came off
     fucking manic.
    Merry’s eyes snapped from his middle to his face. “Oh, no. I just heard the pump,
     and I was restless. From the coffee. I thought I’d see if I could help with anything.”
    “Just trying to maintain the barest semblance of hygiene.” He managed another smile.
     They were getting easier.
    Her posture had relaxed, gaze dropping again, only to be politely hoisted back up.
     What must he look like, compared to those robust Californian men she knew back home?
     Oh well. His body was what it was. Out here, function trumped form, to the nth. Plus
     he was such a shit host, it’d take some serious Adonis-level attributes to offset
     his personality.
    Once dry, he pulled on the clean tee, and Merry seemed to relax further.
    Rob strode to the edge of the garden, gathering scattered tools. With the plots spent
     until spring, these could be stowed for the time being. He dropped them into the basin
     and turned to Merry. She lingered still, uncharacteristically quiet.
    “Would you mind grabbing me a scrubbing brush from the shelf just inside?”
    She seemed to awaken at the request, disappearing through the back door.
    Rob got to his knees, and was surprised when Merry reappeared and did the same on
     the other side of the basin. She’d brought two brushes, and he accepted the one she
     handed him. “Ta.”
    “Oh, brrr.” She flexed her hands after their initial dunk. “Jeez. You’re a masochist.”
    Rob started, realizing too late what she’d meant.
    “Tell me you take the time to heat your bath water in the winter,” Merry went on,
     too busy scrubbing the crusted grit from his trowel to notice how that word had knocked
     him sideways.
    Masochist.
    “I do,” he said quickly. “I was just too lazy today.”
    “Does it ever get so frigid you hole up in the Land Rover with the radiator on?”
    “Not yet, no. The cottage stays warm, what with the stone walls. Tempting, though.”
    He set a clean pair of shears on the slate slab and felt for the next implement. Merry
     did the same, and their knuckles touched. His neck and cheeks burned hot even as his
     hands stung with cold. He stole a glance at Merry’s face, but she was already busy
     scrubbing at a plastic garden stake.
    She probably touches people all the time.
Just casual. A clap on the arm, a kiss on the cheek, a chiding punch on the shoulder
     when someone told an off-color joke. Seemed like how she’d be, back home with her
     cheerful American mates.
    Rob hadn’t been raised that way. He was Northern to the marrow. He’d not said “I love
     you” aloud until he’d met his wife. He’d not been told that by his parents or brother
     or nan or anyone else, growing up. It wasn’t done in his family.
    His