"Now, that's something I don't hear too often," Owen muttered.
I closed the lid of my laptop and sanded my palms together, desperate for a change in direction. My feelingsaboutGus and my feelingsforGus were complicated and contradictory. Much like Cole's Monarch, they weren't ready to share with anyone else. "How is that distillery you bought last summer? It opened recently, didn't it?"
"I didn'tbuythe distillery," Cole answered. "I merely invested in its startup. I'm a fan of startups, as you well know from the earliest days of launching that Shit on a Stick startup with me." He dropped back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest and stretching out his legs. "The distillery opened last month and it's doing well. Very busy, lots of good press, strong local energy."
"I have a love/hate relationship with my husband's newfound gin hobby," Owen remarked.
Cole hung his head, groaning. "Don't you start on that again."
"Start, please," I said to Owen. "What's the love/hate all about?"
Shrugging, Owen said, "I hate all the time he spends over at the distillery. He geeks out over the science of distilling and he samples everything.Everything. Twice."
"And what do you love?" Cole prompted, a smirk fixed on his face.
Matching that smirk, Owen said, "I love getting my husband back all nice and liquored up." He shook his head, chuckling. "Thankfully, Cole is anI love youdrunk. Not too rowdy, hardly ever sloppy. But goddamn, is he snuggly."
"It's true," Cole replied. "I am extremely snuggly."
Before I could respond, the door from the back deck opened and Gus stepped inside. He was incandescent. That was the only word for it. He was alive and brilliant and glowing, his skin sun-kissed and his eyes gleaming, and I immediately wanted to lick that goodness right off him.
"Hello," he said, nodding at us.
I noticed several pine needles sticking out of his hair. I pressed my fist to my lips to conceal the broad, silly smile I couldn't restrain. "I take it you found yourself adequately lost," I said.
"More than adequate," he replied, gesturing widely. "The trees—and the rocks, these huge boulders—and the cliffs! Have you seen the cliffs, the ones just down the way? And how the ocean water sweeps into the cove and pounds the outcroppings? I could watch that all day."
"I see you stayed away from the berries," Cole said. "Since you're still alive, that is."
Gus's brows furrowed as he said, "No berries. Thanks for that advice."
"These two are wrapping up for the day," Owen said, gesturing toward the table. "They've passed the point of discussing anything useful and Cole finally acknowledged he needs an extension. Just in time too. I'm getting supper started now." He waved at us, shooing us away. "Stay if you intend to be useful. Leave if you don't."
"Allow me to translate my husband," Cole said, pushing to his feet. "None of us are useful. We couldn't be useful if we put our entire being into it. My husband wants to cook in peace."
I stood, piling my devices and folders. I couldn't stop sneaking glances at Gus. He seemed to carry sunbeams inside him. I'd never seen him appear this light and loose. I wanted to feast on it, savor it until I shared some of those sunbeams.
Owen nodded, adding, "And get this ugly whiteboard out of my kitchen."
"Yes, babe. Right away, babe," Cole replied with a salute.
"In that case, I'll get out of your way," Gus said. He ran a hand over his head, retrieving several pine needles in the process. "It seems like I need to shake the forest off before the meal too."
"Do you need any help?" I gestured toward him but quickly snapped my hand back, pressing it to my neck. Cole didn't bother stifling his bark of laughter at my question. "I mean, did you get very dirty in the woods?" Owen allowed himself a low chuckle and I squeezed my eyes shut at my poorly chosen words. The gleam in Gus's eyes was systematically robbing me of brain cells. "What I'm trying to say—"
"Yes, Miz Malik, I'm certain there's tree sap you'll need to scrub off me." He stepped toward the hall, waving for me to follow. "Come now."
With my things tucked under my arm, I followed after him. In the periphery, I was aware of Cole and Owen observing every second of this exchange. They'd watched me babble—a crime to which I was never victim. That was a horror show of the campiest caliber but it was a matter I'd manage on a different day. After Mr. Guillmand was dispatched from my life and I could employ some memory-editing technology on them. Until then, I was content—no,eager—to follow Gus into the bedroom and I was determined to understand the beautiful energy pouring out of him. I needed to know whether he felt the same, tasted the same, touched me the same.
He flattened himself against the door, holding it open for me but taking up too much space to allow me to pass without angling my body. "This way, sparrow," he said, his hand low on my back. He urged me over the threshold, my breasts brushing his chest as I entered the room. He groaned, closed his fist around my blouse. "This way."
Gus crowded me, his big body hot behind mine as I took care setting my things on the dresser. He smelled of dirt and pine and sweat, and never in my life had I considered the possibility I'd favor that scent. Until this moment, I wasn't certain I knew the true scent of pine, not the artificial one of industrial cleaners and car fresheners. This—and everything else associated with Gus—was entirely real.
He reached for my hand, turned my palm over, and gifted me a small, roughly carved bird. The wood was dry and dark, almost mottled. I stared at it for a moment, passing my thumb over the impossibly precise feathers. Then I turned away, breaking out of his hold, his scent, and set the bird on the bedside table.
He followed, crowding me once again. His fingers tugged the hem of my blouse loose, drawing me back toward his embrace.
"Neera," he said, my name nothing more than a sigh.
