I felt Henry’s gaze on me, a slow, steady pull that made it hard to breathe.He wasn’t smiling anymore.The teasing warmth from a few moments ago had been replaced with something deeper.As if he’d been thinking the same thing I had.
I looked away, afraid he might see too much.
If Imogene was right, if love wasn’t a choice, then I was already in trouble.
Because somewhere between Henry’s tender admissions and rare, unguarded smiles, between the way he touched me like I was something fragile and the way he looked at me like I was anything but, I’d already stopped choosing.
And maybe I never had a say in it at all.
ChapterTwenty-Three
Henry
I stacked plates beside the sink while Gideon rinsed them, the low hum of conversation drifting from the living room where Imogene and Ariana sat curled up on the couch.Every few seconds, I found my gaze drifting toward them.
Ariana was laughing at something Imogene said, her head tipped back, eyes bright, shoulders loose in a way I’d never seen.Not once in all the months I’d watched her from afar.Not once in the weeks since she’d been under my roof.
Something warm worked its way through me every time her smile broke free.
Something I didn’t have a name for.
Something I wasn’t sure Iwantedto have a name for.
“I never thought I’d see the day,” Gideon remarked.
I dragged my eyes away from Ariana.“What are you talking about?”
The kitchen light cast shadows across his stubbled jaw as he bumped his shoulder with mine, like we were teenagers again instead of two men with more scars than we could count.
“You.In love.”
“I’m not?—”
“Don’t even try with that bullshit,” he snorted.“I’ve known you for nearly thirty years.You’re fooling exactly zero people in this room.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“And you’re in denial.”He grinned.“But I’m happy for you.Even if it’s a hell of a twist, considering a few weeks ago you despised her.I’m sure there’s a story.”
There was.One I hadn’t told him.Not fully.I hadn’t wanted to drag him into it.Not when he had a baby on the way and more to lose than either of us ever had growing up.I’d only given him surface-level updates, reassuring him I was fine and had everything under control, especially once news of Ariana’s disappearance broke.He knew my plan.But he didn’t realize nothing had gone according to plan since I’d attended the gala at the museum.
Even so, when I’d called to let him know I’d be in Atlanta with Ariana, he didn’t question it.That was the sort of friend he was.
“There definitely is,” I admitted, glancing toward the living room again.Ariana’s profile glowed in the warm light, soft and relaxed.
“So what is it?”
I picked up my wineglass and took a long sip.Then I told him everything.
The gala.
The pull I couldn’t explain.
The boat drifting toward her dock.
The man carrying her limp body from her property.
The instinct that made me follow.
