his mind. ‘You’re taking Eleanor to Countryscape?’
Becker nods decisively.
‘But . . . what . . .’ He does a damn fine rendition of Mrs Potts, who was equally as stunned by Becker’s proclamation. What’s the big deal? The old man gathers himself and flicks me a cautious look before returning his attention to his grandson. ‘You work alone, Becker boy. No distractions.’
Oh, I get it. When you’re spending God knows how much on precious things, you need your wits about you. But I suspect that’s not the only thing concerning Becker’s grandad. He’s worried about us being alone.
‘Trust me, Gramps,’ Becker says. ‘My focus can’t be hampered. Not by anything.’ He tosses me a deliberate dirty look, highlighting that anything means me. I have no intention of distracting him. I’ll be still and quiet and take in this new experience. He won’t hear a peep from me. I take my pinched thumb and forefinger to my lips and pull an imaginary zip across, making Becker’s filthy look disintegrate fast. He shakes his head on a small smile. ‘Come on, you old fool.’ He redirects his attention to his grandad. ‘Let’s get you to your suite.’
Mr H looks at his grandson, startled. ‘I’m the fool?’
Becker avoids his grandad’s question, making Mr H sigh with a subtle shake of his head. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’
‘I do,’ Becker answers adamantly, looking at me. I shrug, unsure how to take their exchange. The old man doesn’t think I should go, just like Mrs Potts. Don’t they trust me enough? The thought injures me.
‘I’m actually very interested to see this process, Mr H. Maybe it’s too early in my learning curve, but eventually, I’d love to know how this part of The Haven’s business works.’
He looks at me with a benevolent expression. ‘Yes, of course, Eleanor. And it will definitely be a learning curve for you.’ His face sobers, and I frown as he flicks Becker the death stare. ‘Get me back inside before the crows swoop in.’ The old man’s quip, which is intended to be light-hearted, in fact comes across more solemnly, and I wonder if Becker comprehends his grandad’s feeling of hopelessness. He must. He can’t be that wrapped up in himself. I’ve known the old man for a matter of weeks, and it breaks my heart to know he feels like a burden. He travelled the world and ran this renowned business. Now he potters around The Haven feeling like a loose part. He feels redundant.
Right here and now, I decide that tomorrow I’m taking Mr H out for lunch. And I don’t care what Becker says. Or Mrs Potts. I’ll sneak him out if I have to.
As Becker hits the lights in the underground garage, I’m nearly blinded, the surge of energy powering them creating a glare in the sterile space. There’s plenty to hold my attention – an array of luxury cars, for a start – but it’s that god-loving arse currently meandering over to the key cabinet that my eyes are held rapt by.
‘Stop looking—’ Becker halts mid-sentence, his steps faltering, and his shoulders visibly tense. A long, lingering silence falls. An uncomfortable silence – one that needs to be broken quickly before I finish that sentence for him. Strangely, his uncanny, blind observation each time my eyes are rooted on that special place is becoming endearing. ‘Never mind,’ he says to himself, going through the steps required to open the cabinet. I wince on his behalf, telling myself I need to fight my natural instinct to admire him, if only to help Becker fight his instinct to tease me about it.
After selecting a set of keys, he turns and shows me the trace of an embarrassed smile, but he quickly turns it into a cheeky one. ‘Today, princess, you get to meet the only woman in my life.’ He wanders across the garage, leaving me processing that declaration. ‘Only woman besides Dorothy, anyway.’
I have to physically stop myself from blurting who. My mind might have just started sprinting, but I’m not about to show it. So instead of acknowledging my unreasonable spinning mind, I follow him to the other side of the garage. I don’t want to know. Who is she?
‘Why the need for so many cars?’ I ask, not that I’m interested in what his answer might be. It’s just a ploy to stop myself asking another question.
Damn it.
Who?
He reaches the only car in the garage that’s draped in a protective cloth. ‘Not