tones?”
Colby laughed. “Well at least I know where to ring if I’m ever feeling in need of a pick-me-up. I found an item on your website, but I know you’re a one-of-a-kind sort of shop, and I wondered if it had been sold or not.”
“Let me check for you. Do you have the item number?”
“A748.” Colby could hear the sound of fingers tapping on a keyboard.
“A beautiful piece. And I can see it from where I’m standing. However, I feel I should ask how tall you are?”
“Six two?”
“You don’t sound too sure?”
“Oh no. I’m definitely six two. I just wondered why you needed to know.”
“Ah. I’m afraid this item won’t be any good for you. It’s on the small side. Probably why it’s been hanging about in the shop for so long.”
“Oh, it’s not for me. It’s for—” Colby paused. How to describe Pip? He huffed out a breath. “For my friend. He’s about five eight.”
About the right height for Colby to tuck Pip against his body and nestle his chin into that blond hair.
“That would be perfect. And I’m not just saying that to be all salesman-y.”
“No, I don’t imagine you are. I’ll take it. Is there any way you can get it to me for tomorrow? I need it for Thursday. If not, I can drive up tomorrow. You’re only about two hours from London.”
“Is this a grand gesture?” The assistant sounded positively gleeful. He hummed thoughtfully down the line. “If I get my partner down to watch the shop, I can get it packaged and out to the post office in time to catch next-day delivery. Urm, I’m afraid it’ll—”
“I’ll pay extra to cover the cost. Let’s call it thirty quid, and you can call me back if it’s more.”
“That sounds more than reasonable. I’ll package it in one of our presentation boxes since it’s a gift,” the assistant said, almost breathless with excitement. “Now, if I could take your credit card details?”
Ten minutes later Colby disconnected the call and let out a huge sigh. Partly due to the sheer exuberance of the sales assistant. Mainly, though, because he’d committed time and money to a gift he suspected would be received with reservation and suspicion, if not thrown, quite literally, back in his face.
A grand gesture? For angry, bitter Pip? Ridiculous, because he barely knew the man, but the urge to put the smile back on his face still lingered long after Colby had laid the photo album to one side.
Chapter Five
HE HADN’T thought he’d ever find a use for the picnic basket again, but Pip thanked his lucky stars that he hadn’t thrown anything away after… after he ended up this way. A bloody cripple that a man like Colby wouldn’t look at twice, despite the crap he’d spouted the other day about getting all up on this. “This” being a skinny, pasty, paltry copy of the man he used to be. Yeah, right.
Bloody photographs. Bloody dog. Bloody Colby.
Dammit! The sandwich he’d been wrapping to put into the basket was now a mangled mess, the bread smushed, mozzarella seeping through his fingers. He caught a tendril of tomato juice as it reached his wrist, swiping at it with his tongue, and then dragged his useless leg the couple of steps so he could dump the entire mess in the bin.
Charity shop workers were meant to be cardigan-wearing, white-haired little old ladies that smelled of lavender and, possibly, cats. They weren’t meant to be ruggedly handsome men, with arms that looked as if they could bench press Pip. Or snap him in half. Although, he had a feeling Colby would be more likely to use those strong arms to keep him safe.
Bah! He didn’t even know the man. Had he become that desperate for the touch of another that he’d imprinted the kindness and gentle caresses he craved—but knew he didn’t deserve—on the first man to show him any attention in a long while? When had he—a self-imposed recluse—become so eager to welcome a stranger into his home?
And yet here he was, making sandwiches for the