“Try again.”
“Braxton,” my tone held a warning.
He waited. Braxton had learned the value of silence from me, then mastered it better than I had. It was funny. Normally I was the one coaching him, yet here he was gently prying into my life.
“Nothing I want to talk about,” I said at last.
He nodded once, took a sip, and changed directions without letting the subject go slack. “All right. Then I’m going to be selfish and monopolize the conversation. What do I do about Jane?”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he said, studying the steam from his cup, “what do I do if I think about her every time I close my eyes. What do I do if the day feels better because she was there? That I like the sound of her humming, and her quiet smiles? Do I tell her that, or do I keep it and pretend it doesn’t matter.”
The ache behind my ribs sharpened. “Has she encouraged you? Has Jane said or done anything that would make you think she wants to have that conversation?”
He smiled, small and a little unsteady. “Not in words. But she looks for me and I look for her. It’s like that.”
“That's vague.”
“It’s real.”
I stared at the window again. The clouds were thicker now. The color had shifted from pewter to something close to slate. “You should be careful. The Bennets are not like us.”
“I know. I like that they’re different,” Braxton admitted.
“It may feel warm until you realize you don't belong there." The words came out too quickly. I kept going because it was easier to finish the thought than fix it. “You should think about what it would mean. Family chaos, small rooms and a life that runs on feelings more than plans. People like us lose our balance in spaces like that.”
He looked at me over the rim of his cup. “People like us?”
“Investors, clients, your sister. You know how this looks. How is your life going to fit with hers? You can’t ask her to give up her family and you know how our circle would react." It was everything I had thought about before I had said words that I couldn’t take back.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“You asked for advice.”
“I asked what I should do, not how it would look to others." His voice stayed gentle. It rarely did anything else.
I shrugged and told him what I wished someone had told me. “Take your lead from her. If she doesn’t say anything, if she doesn’t choose you, don’t put your heart in the open. If she can’t say what she’s feeling, she doesn't have feelings for you.”
Braxton tried to smile again but it ended more as a grimace. “I thought there was warmth between us. But if you don’t see it, maybe I was wrong.”
“Maybe,” I said, and hated the sound of it.
He studied the carpet. The pattern was a series of tidy diamonds. Another elegant cage. “I have never seen you miss a detail. Not once. I must be mistaken.”
He left the sentence there. I heard the rest anyway. I had walked onto a porch with too many ideas about rightness andnot enough humility. I had said I cared then explained why caring was a problem. A man couldn't expect tenderness after that.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“For what?” Braxton asked.
“For saying the wrong thing." I set my coffee down and sat in the uncomfortable chair. “You’re right. Those weren’t answers. You deserve better.”
Braxton’s shoulders eased. “Does this have anything to do with Lucy?”
“Perhaps.”
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
