A Fugitive's Guide To Romancing dangerous Men[BxBxB+]

18: The Definition Of Tall, Dark And Handsome

It’s early February and it’s unnaturally hot.

The flower beds on each side of the covered porch and running along the white picket fence were overgrown. Weeds of several varieties sprouted among the planted flowers, giving the once-ordered beds an unkept appearance.

Perky yellow sunflowers, some grown quite tall, were wilted and brown now that the blooming phase was completed. Seed-heavy heads drooped towards the ground as the stalks slowly deteriorated.

In short, the yard was in desperate need of attention.

To this end, Bruce rose at dawn to get an early start clearing out overrun garden beds with a quiet good morning to the departing Miles. By mid-morning, the seedbeds by the porch had been cleared, and he was working beside the white picket fence. His goal was to remove all the vegetation from those areas and allow them to lie bare until the following spring.

Bruce toiled in the dirt, wearing a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and gardening gloves, taking only short breaks for hydration. Even though the sun was partially hidden by clouds, the work was slow-going and hot.

Pausing in his effort to dislodge a particularly stubborn weed, Bruce sat back on his knees and wiped his face with a forearm, leaving a smudge of dirt on his cheek. He shook his head from side to side to dislodge strands of hair plastered to his temples by sweat.

Ready to get back to work, he eyed the tenacious weed and leaned down to give it another tug.

“Hello, what are you doing down there?” A deep voice interrupted.

He took off his foggy glasses and cleaned it before looking at the stranger who had startled him.

A man in his 20s stood on the sidewalk leading towards the front porch. He had coppery red hair that was swept back from his face in an effortless tousle. Straight brows presided over striking sapphire-blue irises. When he smiled, his eyes crinkled at the corners, a sign of good humor. The smile brought attention to soft cupid bow lips and straight white teeth.

The sight made Bruce’s heart flutter like he had protracted cardiac arrhythmia.

“Huh?” Bruce managed, then blushed, genius my foot.

The man chuckled then dropped into a crouch in front of him. “I asked what you are doing,” he repeated, looking into Bruce’s eyes.

“I’m pulling weeds,” Bruce explained, face heating up once more because his answer was painfully obvious.

The man looked at the weed, then reached out with a large gloved hand, effortlessly pulling the plant from where it was rooted before tossing it onto the pile of dislodged vegetation.

“Do you need help?” he asked. “I already have a pair of gloves,” he added, showing off his still-white cotton hand coverings.

Bruce was unsure how to respond.
He didn’t really need help and was reluctant to ask for assistance from someone he didn’t know.

Despite his hesitancy, the man seemed familiar. Where had he met such a person before? A recollection tickled the back of his mind, but he couldn’t catch hold of it to examine.
He shrugged.

“O-Okay, That would be great.”
Unexpectedly, the man reached out and rubbed his cheek softly with a cloth-covered thumb.

Bruce froze at the sudden touch and stared intently at the man’s face, taking in the look of concentration, the smooth porcelain skin, and sparkling eyes framed by thick eyelashes.

The stranger, in turn, was watching his thumb’s movements against the younger man’s chubby cheek. After finishing, he continued to cradle the other’s face while looking into his eyes. “You had a smudge of dirt on your face,” he said softly.