He almost smiled. “My parents had hoped I would study medicine. Anaesthesia and perioperative medicine, to be exact.” He made a face. “Though it was not for me.”
“Why butterflies?”
Lawson smiled genuinely. “My grandfather started me on it, but I’ve always been fascinated. As a small boy, I would catch them and watch them for hours before letting them go. They are incredibly complex, yet simple creatures. Brittle to the touch, but can withstand the fury of nature.”
He seemed embarrassed by what he’d just said, which saddened me. “Your passion for what you do is a beautiful thing. I’m very intrigued. I’d love to learn more.”
He tilted his head. “You would?”
“Yes, of course. Why, is that strange?”
“Well, most men I’ve dated think it’s childish, for one. They don’t take my work seriously.”
“Well, you’ve clearly dated the wrong guys. Talking about the study and conservation of an entire species is remarkable.”
Lawson looked at me like a fire lit inside him. “Thank you for saying that. For understanding.” He swallowed hard and his gaze seemed to intensify. “Tell me about you. Your family, what you do for Parks and Wildlife?”
“I grew up in Hobart. I have two sisters, Poppy and April, a mum and a step-dad, had a very normal childhood. Never liked school much; always preferred to be outside. Somehow got the grades, so I studied Environmental Science at Sydney Uni. Volunteered for the Rural Fire Service, which I still do. I scored an outreach program through Parks and Wildlife, landed a foot in the door, so to speak. Now I have the best job in the world.”
“What were you doing in Melbourne?” he asked, finishing his dinner. “For you to be on the plane this morning.”
God, was that just this morning? “A week-long national meeting for regional managers. They have them every six months or so.” I sipped my cider. “I don’t mind going, actually. A change of scene is always good, and a taste of nightlife one or two weekends a year might scratch an itch or two but reminds me how much I love quiet nights at home.”
He paused for a moment, licked his pink lips, and his eyes never left mine. “So, did you have your itch scratched?”
Fucking hell. When he said his conversation and social skills weren’t his strong point, he wasn’t joking. He certainly knew how to ask upfront, personal questions without flinching. My stomach somersaulted under his scrutiny. “Uh, no. Not this time. I wasn’t interested in anything on offer. But then someone on the plane caught my eye. A handsome guy wearing a bow tie.”
“And how’s that working out for you?”
I smiled at him. “I’m hopeful that things are going okay.”
“I would think they’re going better than okay.”
I chuckled. “I’m glad I offered him a lift, then.”
“I’m glad I accepted. My initial concern that he may have been a serial killer seems to be unfounded.”
“I’m glad.”
He smiled as he sipped his cider. “Well, someone who knows the local state forests terrain could easily hide many bodies.”
Now I laughed. “Thanks.”
Lawson shifted in his seat. “Tell me about your work. What is it that you do exactly?”
So, over the mini Portuguese tarts I got from the fridge and another bottle of cider, I told him about data collection and collation, water testing, soil testing, animal tagging, writing reports, reading reports, and more data collection. How we implemented action plans and the importance of public information and awareness, and how we correlated the impact humans have on the environment to changes we’ve seen.
Lawson listened intently, then launched into his own interpretation of ecological system conservation, and how the study of butterflies has shown decreases in habitat and reproduction, how the different species adapted, and how some were disappearing altogether.
I could listen to him speak forever. He spoke with such eloquence and intelligence, it was refreshing. When he was making general conversation, his hands rested in his lap. But when he spoke about butterflies, his face lit up and he used his hands animatedly and lost that inhibition and self-consciousness that seemed to weigh him down.
A knock at the door scared the crap out of us. I checked my watch as I stood up. Jesus. It was almost midnight. Had we really been talking for that long?
I peeked through the curtain to find Steve, the local police sergeant. He was maybe fifty years old, fit as a bull, and liked by everyone who met him. I opened the door and offered him a smile. “Steve.”
“Oh, hey, Jack. I was passing by and saw the lights on. Thought it was too late for Remmy or Nico to still be here and too early for them to start.”
“No, they’re not here,” I said. “Remmy graciously let me use the shop.” I stepped back, allowing Steve to poke his head in.
He saw Lawson sitting at the small table. “Oh. Oh.”
I almost laughed at his expression as it dawned on him that we, two guys, were on a date. “Remmy made us some of Nico’s Portuguese tarts, and we’ll never eat them all,” I said, taking the plate with a few remaining sweets. “Please take one.”
Steve acted like he wasn’t going to take one, but he was totally always going to. “Oh well, okay. If you insist.” He shoved one in his mouth. “Mmm, good.” He swallowed that down and took a second one. “You guys have a good night.”
He waved me off, and I shut the door behind him. Lawson looked a little uncomfortable. “Are we in trouble?”
“No,” I said with a chuckle. “Though it’s almost midnight.”
“Oh, I hadn’t realised it was so late,” he said, standing up. He started to clear up. “What do we do with our plates?”
“Here, let me,” I said, piling the plates into the basket on the table. “I’ll take it all home and wash it.” I packed it all away, empty bottles, vase and all, and when the small bakery was back to normal, I opened the door and waited for Lawson to walk out before pulling the door locked shut behind me. He stopped at my ute, and when I put the basket in the back, he lifted the single daisy from the vase. He didn’t say a word, just gave me a shy smile, then climbed into the passenger seat holding the flower between his long, thin fingers.
I jumped in behind the wheel and started the ute. It was only a short drive to where he was staying, so I didn’t have time to waste. “So, what are you actually doing in Scottsdale? I know you don’t want to talk about what the professor told you, but am I allowed to know at least how long you’ll be in town for?”
He bit his bottom lip. “I’ll be here for a week.”
“Seven days, huh?” I couldn’t help but smile. “Then there’s a good chance I’ll see you again?”
“I should expect so,” he said simply. “I’ll be at the Parks and Wildlife office in the morning to collect my visitor permits. After I sort out the rental car fiasco, that is.”
A slow smile spread across my face. “Visitor permits?”