“This,” Tyson said, climbing out of the car and glancing round, “this is more like it, Nicky! Who needs a cramped studio when they can have peace and quiet and solitude?”
Nick clambered out from behind the steering wheel. “You hate peace and quiet and solitude,” he reminded him. “But, fine, OK. This is pretty nice.
” He looked around, with rather more sanguine eyes, at the small expanse of wood, and the little cabin they were supposed to call home for the next month.
In the distance, he could hear birdsong and the sound of running water. It
idyllic, but Nick was less quick to jump to positive conclusions than Tyson. Or maybe he was becoming a city boy in his old age.
“Do we need to unpack now?” Tyson had edged away from the car and was looking speculative. “There’s a bedroom in there that needs christening.”
Nick glanced at him. “We’ll need lube, Ty. Lube. That we
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