THE HARBOUR [EDITING]

Lemonade?- Edited

AUGUST 17TH 5 PM

Wesley Moretti stands over a rose garden, taking in his work. His olive skin sunkissed from the slight glint from the now-setting sun.

He loves to garden, and when he was younger, it was the only thing that kept his mind and body busy. He'd be out in the yard knee-deep in fertiliser, pulling out weeds humming to himself. If he hadn't found something to keep him away from the drugs and violence of the unsavoury neighbourhood he'd grown up in, he'd have ended up exactly like so many of his peers. Dead before their twenties.

Now, at twenty-seven, he owns his own gardening service-granted it's still on the up and up, he's proud of it. Proud of himself and his skills. They'd landed him work for most of the bays annoyingly wealthy families.

He is especially proud as he watches Ms Strong walk towards him with a glass of what he assumes is lemonade. She swings her hips a little too enthusiastically as she approaches. He chuckles under his breath. He is sure she has been coming onto him quite strongly for the past few days.

He knows she has a boyfriend he'd done some work at the Prescotts' beach house. Maybe she'd inherited the cheating gene from her mother. He doesn't mind the attention. In spite of his good looks, he hasn't gotten much attention in a while, and Daisy- Daisy would be a dream. He licks his bottom lip suddenly thirsty.

"Lemonade?" She offers, stretching out her hand. "Yeah, thank you," he says, eyeing her. She's wearing a short red floral summer dress- excruciatingly tight around the chest, the crew neck exposing her cleavage. He gulps down his lemonade trying his hardest to ignore it.

"How's it coming along?" She asks, pointing at her rose bush. She arches slightly, tilting her head in a questioning motion. He can't help but glance at her chest. "Good, they were in bad shape, but they're good now," he hands her the now empty lemonade glass. "I almost killed them," she pouts. "Well, you could've taken better care of them," his bluntness makes her frown. "It doesn't matter now," he blurts out to appease her. "They're my job now," he says, squatting and gathering his tools.

"You're quite good at it," she says, "I have been doing it for a long time."

"Really, what else are you good at?" he notices her change in tone. There it is again. The flirting- he considers leaning into it. But what could he possibly gain from this aside from a potentially good fuck. . Mixing business with pleasure isn't something he is especially keen on. He can't blackmail or extort her the way he does her mother- anyone with eyes can tell Daisy and Lucas' relationship is far from serious. At the very least, it isn't serious to Daisy. It'd be pointless.

He could try, though. God knows he needs the cash, his life depends on it. Though he has done well for himself he is still practically drowning in debt. No thanks to his alcohol parents. In spite of all they've done, he can not bring himself to hate them.

They did what they could with what they had. His father-Alvaro tried his best, but the construction job he had could not pay the bills and put Marcella- the smart one, through school. He'd turned to running drugs for local gangs to get by, but he'd made the mistake of indulging-everyone knows you don't get high on your own supply. But he'd done it enough times it turned him into an addict. When you're an addict you tend to not care about anyone or anything else other than the drugs-he'd neglected his children and his wife everything he'd earned selling the drugs he'd used to get more drugs- not knowing when to stop he'd run them knee-deep in debt and pushed his wife to find comfort at the bottom of a bottle.

Wesley had watched his family fall apart, watched his sister grow up too fast, his mother deteriorate, and his father turn abusive. He's tried to get Wes into the "family business" when he'd refused to become a product of his vile environment his father had turned his rage for himself and the life he'd messed up towards his son-he never touched his wife or daughter Wes could at least give him points for that. He'd taken the beatings eventually getting numb to the pain.