“I can’t,” he says finally, and his voice cracks on the word. “I can’t go through that again.”
“You won’t have to. Not alone.” I reach out, grip his shoulder. “But you have to let us in. Let her in. Stop pretending you don’t need her when we both know you’re barely holding it together.”
He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t shake off my hand either, which is progress.
“I’m going to the greenhouse,” I say. “To drag Theo out of whatever horticultural hyperfocus he’s gotten himself into. And when I get back, the three of us are going to sit down and figure this out. Together.”
“Lucas—”
“You don’t have a choice.” I squeeze his shoulder once, then let go. “This is happening. All of it. Whether you’re ready or not.”
I grab my keys and head for the door before he can argue.
The driveto Holt Nursery takes twelve minutes. I spend every one of them rehearsing what I’m going to say to Theo, how I’m going to convince him to help me stage an intervention for Nate.
All of that goes out the window the second I step into the greenhouse.
Sex. The scent is rich and unmistakable, thick enough to taste on my tongue. And underneath it, woven through like threads in a tapestry—Theo’s scent. Earth and honeysuckle, warm and golden.
And Cara’s.
Honey and citrus, sweeter than I remember, deeper somehow. It curls through the humid air and wraps around my chest, squeezes. I have to brace myself against a plant table just to stay upright.
Fuck.
My cock stirs in my jeans, and I force myself to breathe through my mouth. She smells incredible. Better than incredible. She smells like everything I’ve been missing for the last decade.
I push deeper into the greenhouse, following the trail of their mingled scents. There’s dirt scattered across the floor. Broken pots. A potting bench that’s been shoved several inches out of place.
And Theo’s phone, sitting abandoned on the ground beside it.
I pick it up. The screen shows seventeen missed calls. Three from me, fourteen from various nursery suppliers he’s apparently been ignoring all day.
Because he was busy.
Busy with Cara on his potting bench, from the smell of things.
And god, I’m happy for him. I can smell it in the lingering traces of his scent—the satisfaction, the joy threaded through the arousal. Theo’s been waiting for this just as long as I have.
If Cara’s with Theo, that means she’s at the cottage.
I pocket his phone and head for the door.
Warm light spillsfrom the cottage windows. Smoke curls from the chimney, pale against the darkening sky. The whole place looks like something out of a painting—cozy and inviting, glowing against the February cold.
I knock once, then push the door open without waiting for an answer.
It’s Cara’s scent that stops me in my tracks. Honey and citrus, but richer than I’ve ever smelled it. Sweeter. Almost like... but no. She’s on suppressants. It’s probably just the sex.
“Lucas?”
Theo’s voice comes from the small dining table. He’s sitting there with a bowl of risotto in front of him, wearing nothing but jeans. Bare feet, bare chest, hair still damp from a recent shower.
And Cara.
She’s sitting across from him, and she’s wearing his clothes. An oversized t-shirt that hangs off one shoulder, gray sweatpants rolled at the waist. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and her cheeks are flushed, and she looks...
She looks like she belongs here.
