Leon

For the first time in years, I sleep in past six A.M. When I wake up, I feel the warm rays of sun streaking across my face and can hear birds chirping. I sigh in relief as I roll over, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Waking up after the sun has risen is almost better than sex.

Almost.

Not that I can really compare getting eleven hours of sleep to sex – I've only had sex once in my life and that was seven years ago. Any other man would call me a prude for starving myself like this, but there's only one woman I want to sleep with – even if she is getting married. I would call myself...selective. Maybe even picky. The only girl I want is Liz.

After I've showered and cleaned myself up, I head to the main house to grab a bite to eat. I tried to convince Tenille that I could cook for myself – the carrier house does have its own kitchen – but she insisted that I stick to grabbing food from the kitchen in the main house. She says she trusts my cooking skills, but I think she's lying to me. I think she thinks I'm going to end up burning down the carrier house if someone isn't there to watch me when I'm flexing my cooking skills.

Once inside, I hear voices echoing down the hallway from the kitchen. I frown. I was expecting to be alone this time – it's almost noon, after all. Being alone would have benefited me greatly because I need some time alone and a full stomach to figure out how I'm going to make Liz sit down and talk to me. So far, I've only come up with finding some rope and tying her to the maple tree. I have this theory that Liz doesn't necessarily hate me, but she doesn't necessarily like me either. I know she's pushing me away because she's upset with my actions and the aftermath she had to deal with. That being said, I also think she wants to talk to me and figure things out.

I chuckle to myself, running a hand through my hair. Typical Eliza Sangster – a walking paradox.

The kitchen is a disaster when I step into the large, open-concept area. Every inch of counter space is covered in silicone moulds, a bucket of lye, a crockpot, and several individual pots. I see some wooden spoons as well as a few rolls of paper towel. On the island, there are containers of coconut oil, olive oil, lard, almond oil, castor oil, cocoa butter, shea butter, and what looks to be millions of small vials of essential oils.

In the midst of it all, I see Tenille and Serena. Both of them are wearing stained aprons, safety goggles, and purple rubber gloves. If it weren't for the different hair colour, they'd look like identical twins.

"Good afternoon, sleepyhead," Tenille says. "I'd ask how you slept, but seeing as it's noon, I'd say you slept pretty well."

"That I did," I reply, shooting her a lazy grin as I sit down on one of the barstools. I rest my elbows on the minimal free counter space, right next to the essential oils. I pick one up and inspect the label. It's peppermint. Curious, I undo the lid and bring the vial to my nose. The peppermint scent is so potent that it overwhelms my nostrils, creating a burning sensation. "What the hell are you two doing? Is there a new way to dispose of a body?"

"Funny," Tenille drawls. She's measuring out some lye, which she drops into a glass bowl filled with steamy water. "We're making soap, Leon."

"Soap?"

"Yeah – the stuff you wash with."

I give her a look. "Smartass. I know what soap is. What I'm wondering is why you're making it."

"Eliza, Tenille, and I sell homemade soaps at the Farmer's Market every Saturday morning," Serena replies. She's leaning over the stove, stirring some type of funky-smelling concoction. "We make decent money off of it, too. People in Whistler tend to lean towards naturally-made products; they like to know what ingredients they're using on their bodies."

"Huh," I say, rubbing my jaw. I never pictured Liz taking a liking to crafts, but now that I see how hands-on the job is, it suits her. She's always loved getting her hands dirty and breaking a sweat when she works.

I pick up another vial of essential oil to prevent myself from picturing Liz standing before me, dressed in the same apron and wearing purple rubber gloves with her hair tied up in a tousled bun.

"So," I say, setting the vial down. "How do you make it?"

Serena glances over her shoulder, a funny look on her face. Beads of sweat are dripping down her temples and causing some of the tufts of black hair around her face to curl. "Since when is a man interested in crafts?"

Tenille, who has finished mixing the lye with the water, shakes her head. "That's just who he is. He expresses interest in everything – even the stuff he doesn't like. When we were young, my dad always used to discuss horseback riding with him. Dad even managed to get Leon to go riding one day and, of course, he didn't say no, despite being terrified of horses. In summary, Leon is a fool."

My gaze meets Tenille's blue one. "I prefer the term charmer."

Tenille snorts. "Charmer, indeed."

She's totally goading me right now and it brings a smile to my face. We always used to annoy each other when we were kids. "Nah," I chuckle. "I'm as much of a charmer as you are the Queen of Hearts, Tenille."

She narrows her eyes at me, smiling sweetly. "If lye did mutilate skin, I would throw it at you."

I smile back just as sweetly, my chin tilted to the ceiling. "I love you, too, Ten, but seriously. How do you make soap? I'm intrigued."

Turning her back to me, Tenille leans over and grabs another pair of rubber gloves from behind the sink. She tosses them at me. I'm unprepared to catch them, so they hit me in the side of the head and fall to the hardwood. "Suit up, Saint-Laurent. You're getting hands-on experience."

While I'd much rather have Liz teach me how to make soap just so I could have the pleasure of her company, I get to my feet and scoop up the hot-pink gloves. I then take the apron Tenille's holding out to me, briefly making eye contact with her. Although there's a hint of resentment in her gaze, I can see our childhood and our friendship beneath it. I give her a weak smile. I know I hurt her best friend and left her to deal with the fallout. It doesn't surprise me that Tenille has sided with Liz, and I'm glad she has. I'm glad she was there for Liz when I wasn't.

I pull the apron over my head. It's black, dotted with pink and white hearts. It's also very tight, fit for a woman's body. Tenille casts me a wicked grin, causing me to cringe. She's enjoying this a little too much.

Casting her a crooked grin, I say, "Hope the safety goggles match, too."

Shaking her head, she tosses me a pair of plain old safety goggles. "Sorry to disappoint you," she drawls.

I lean against the counter, crossing my arms. "Do I at least get a matching scrunchie?"

Beside me, I hear Serena snort. She's measuring out some cocoa butter now, probably for whatever she was concocting over the stove. "Charmer, indeed."

*  *  *

I spend eight whole hours making soap with Tenille and Serena. As it turns out, there's a lot of chemistry to the process. And aside from the huge bruise on my left bicep from Tenille punching me for almost adding water to lye – how was I supposed to know the shit would explode if you did that? – we've come out unscathed.

Now, we're looking at the end product. There are at least five hundred bars of soap set out in front of us, the colours ranging from cream to blue. Some are different shapes and some are decorated with glitter. I pick up a nearby one and bring it to my nose, taking a deep breath. It smells like vanilla with a subtle hint of lemon and lavender.

To say I'm impressed with what we made would be an understatement. I have absolutely no doubt that all these soaps are going to be gone after the Farmer's Market on Saturday.

"Well," Tenille says, discarding her gloves. It's almost ten-thirty at night and the three of us are exhausted. While the whole process of making soap was a lot of fun, the clean-up procedure was brutal. I'm glad that part is over. "Think you can explain to Hothead here how to package the bars?"

Serena side-glances me. Now that her apron is off, I can see just how revealing her clothes are. The cut-off shorts she's wearing barely cover her ass and I can see the pattern of her lacy black bra beneath her nearly transparent shirt. I'll admit that she's absolutely gorgeous and I'll give her props for flaunting what she's got – all women have the right to do that, no matter what they look like. But Serena's not my type. Nor is any woman, save for the one I can't get out of my head.

"Of course," she replies, biting her bottom lip as she studies me.

I suppress an eye roll. I don't know what the hell she finds so alluring about me. I'm a twenty-four-year-old man that's still hung up on his ex-girlfriend-slash-ex-best-friend despite the fact that she's getting married. I don't think you can get any more dysfunctional than that.

When Serena and I are alone, an awkward tension begins to build between us. Or maybe it's just me, mentally preparing myself for the polite way I'm going to have to turn her down. To make myself look busy, I begin to prepare a sandwich. After getting caught up in this soap extravaganza, I forgot to eat and my stomach is now letting me know how mad it is that I didn't feed it.

"Can I ask you something?" Serena asks.

"Sure," I shrug. I continue to slather the bread in mustard.

"What's with the colour of your eyes? Why does only one have that patch of brown and the rest are blue?"

I suppress a sigh. All my life, I've had to explain to people what partial heterochromia is. I've also had to deal with people making fun of me for having a flaw in my left eye. Some people think the concept of having two different colours in the iris is unique. A lot of the time, though, people jump to the assumption that some kind of disease or genetic disorder has caused this and that I'm going to die at a young age. When, in reality, I was simply born with it because I inherited it from my mom. Congenital partial heterochromia is a genetic trait that can be passed down to the next generation.

"I have what's called congenital partial heterochromia," I reply, relaying my thoughts to Serena. "It's when one part of the iris is a different colour than the rest of it."

"Is that some kind of genetic mutation?" she blinks.

I grab a couple of tomatoes from the bowl in the middle of the island and begin to cut them into even slices. While I don't mind explaining the logics behind partial heterochromia, I hate that I have to do it so much. Why can't people mind their own business? The different colours in my irises aren't affecting them in any way.

"So..." she trails off, twirling a strand of black hair around her finger. "Do you have some kind of syndrome or disease? Most genetic mutations come from that type of thing."

I shake my head and place the tomatoes on the sandwich. Next, I head over to the fridge to grab some lettuce, cheese, and ham. "Congenital means inherited. I inherited my mom's eyes, so I was born with it. Yes, it's a genetic mutation, but there's nothing to pair with it. No disease or syndrome."

"Oh," she replies.

The relief in her voice irks me a little, but I shake it off. I'm not going to waste my time stressing over things I can't change when I have bigger problems to deal with, problems I can change. Like my growling stomach. As quick as I can, I assemble my sandwich and take a big bite, groaning a little. God, I never realized how hungry I was.

I've taken a couple of bites when I feel Serena's hand on my bicep. Slowly, I set my sandwich down and turn to her. I gently remove her hand from my bicep and set it down beside her. "Look, Serena," I say. "I don't mean to come across as indifferent, but I'm not interested, okay?"

She sticks out her bottom lip. "Why not? Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Er...no."

"Then why can't we have a bit of fun?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose. How do I answer this question? I can't go around saying that I'm still pining over Liz or people might think I'm only here to break up the engagement. I'm not gonna lie, I would prefer it if she left James and chose me, but I'm not going to ruin her happiness. I'm here to apologize and tell her how I feel because it's something I should have done years ago. We both need closure.

"Because I'm already in love with someone," I blurt, summarizing my complicated story.

Serena's clearly not buying my story. She settles her hands on her hips and cocks an eyebrow. "Who?"

I frown. "That's really none of your – "

"Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit! Leon Saint-Laurent. I never would've guessed to see your face."

I freeze, excitement bubbling up in my veins. I'd know that Texan twang anywhere.

I turn around and see my friend from university, Kit Coleman, standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Kit and I met at Dalhousie University in Nova Scotia while we were trying out for the university's varsity golf team. He was the only other person that seemed to take golf seriously. We connected instantly and became close friends. During our time at the university, I learned that Kit, although he was born in Texas, had moved to Canada at a very young age. He grew up in a small community just south of Calgary before his parents divorced and he moved to Nova Scotia with his dad. It's been a couple of years since I last saw him, but Kit Coleman looks the same as ever. He's still wearing those jeans that are too tight around his waist and the same old scuffed-up cowboy boots.

It's good to see him, but I can't believe he's here.

"Kit?" I ask in disbelief. For the second time today, I forget about my growling stomach and leave my sandwich sitting on the island. Gliding around the island, I walk over to Kit and pull him into a hug.

"Man," he chuckles, clapping me on the back. "It's good to see you again."

"Same," I reply. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He sets down his bag and withdraws a familiar wedding invitation from his pocket. "My stepbrother is tyin' the knot. Figured I'd arrive early or else I'd never arrive at all. And when you're the best man, you can't let your siblin' down."

I blink, trying to wrap my head around this. I knew Kit's father had remarried and that he had a stepsibling, but I never would have guessed him to be James. While Kit and I were close, we never really talked about our home lives. We were too busy being the stars of the varsity golf team. "Christ," I say, running a hand through my hair. "James is your stepbrother?"

"Yeah. The man's all hat and no cattle, but I like him well enough," he smiles. He tucks the invitation away. "But enough about me. What the hell are you doin' here?"

I stare at Kit. How do I explain to him that Eliza Sangster, the bride, is the woman I used to gush over in university? I talked about her nonstop, but I never mentioned her last name. I never really saw the point. But whatever way I explain this to him, I'm screwed – he's going to piece everything together.

Aware that Serena is behind us, I opt for a safe version of my story. "Eliza, Tenille, and I grew up together. Tenille invited me so we could get the gang back together."

Kit's eyebrows furrow together as he stares at me. He's trying to figure out why I put such a heavy emphasis on Eliza's name. And, just as the realization crosses his face, his eyes widening and lips parting, Serena steps in front of me.

"Hey, Leon and I were talking."

Kit presses a hand to his chest. "Well bless your little heart, Sugar."

I cover my laugh with a cough. I have a strong feeling that if I were to make fun of Serena, she would add a dose of lye to my water when I'm not looking.

Serena rolls her eyes. "What a surprise to see you here, Kit." And then she walks away.

I raise my eyebrows in question as Kit kicks off his shoes. "Bad blood?"

"Nah," Kit replies. He hoists himself up on the island and grabs half of my sandwich, taking a big bite. Crumbs fall from his mouth and down to the island. Some catch on his black shirt. "That chick is just madder than a wet hen."

I take the other half and take a bite. "It's good to see you, man. I've missed your quirky Texan phrases."

"You too," he replies. "How's life been treatin' ya? Still golfin'?"

It isn't hard to tell that Kit is beating around the bush. I set my sandwich down and sigh. "Say what you need to say, man."

"Eliza Sangster, my brother's fiancée, is Eliza Eliza?"

Solemnly, I nod.

Kit presses his lips into a flat line and exhales through his nose. "Do I have to worry about you trying to steal her back from James? Because if it comes down to havin' to side with someone, you know I'll take my brother's side."

I sigh and rub my back of my neck. As much as I want Eliza, I would never force her to make a decision. Nor would I ever try to break her and James up. "You have nothing to worry about, Kit," I reply. "I'm here to talk to Liz about some things that happened between us and find closure, but I'm also here to support her. I would never try to break them up or prevent their wedding from happening."

Kit studies my face for several seconds and then nods, turning his attention back to the food. "Okay. Good. Well, I hope you get your shit sorted out with Eliza." He pauses and takes a couple of bites of the sandwich. When he looks back up at me, his eyes are filled with remorse. "You used to talk about her all the time," he says softly. "It must be hard to watch her marry someone else."

This is one of the many reasons why I call Kit my best friend. Even though he straight-up told me he would take his brother's side if I did anything to prevent the marriage from going through, he's taken a step back to see what this must be like from my point of view. It's rare for someone to be able to do something like that.

"Very hard," I sigh. "But it serves me right. I fucked up, Kit. Majorly. Now, the least I can do is apologize to Liz and wish her all the best."

I know Kit wants to continue on with our conversation, but before I can tell him more about Eliza or the progress I've made with golf, the front door opens. It's followed by the sound of rustling grocery bags and shuffling feet. We both pause and wait for whoever just walked in to join us. A couple of seconds pass before Liz and James enter, both looking weary from a long day at work. Bags of groceries hang from their arms and despite my biased bitterness towards James, I still walk over to help him.

"Thanks," he says as I relieve him of a few grocery bags.

I glance at Eliza. She's glaring at me, the heavy bags making her arms shake. Before I can ask her if she needs help, she says, "I'm fine."

I step back and listen to her dismissive tone.

"Kit!" James exclaims. "You made it!"

"Of course I did," Kit replies. "And it was good timing, too – I got a chance to catch up with Leon."

"Catch up?" Eliza asks. She's set her grocery bags next to the sink and is now inspecting the soaps that were made. They haven't been packaged yet and I think that's why she's frowning. Serena stormed out before we got them done.

"Yeah," Kit continues. "Leon and I went to university together in Nova Scotia. We were on the varsity golf team together."

Liz's hand freezes just above a blue bar of soap and her posture turns rigid. She's obviously not happy about the friendship Kit and I have – I can tell by the bewildered look in her eyes. She also holds a bit of resentment in there, too.

And because I can't get enough of her green eyes, I stare right back at her and try to decipher what she's thinking. I wonder if this sudden revelation has fuelled her hatred towards me. I wonder if I should be scared of the aggressive way she picks up the bar of soap and brings it to her nose, her gaze still locked with mine.

I scratch the back of my head. I think I may need to sleep with one eye open tonight.