“Oh…” The hand not holding the gun flexes open, then closes, as if he’s strangling down the raw emotion he stormed in here with.
“It’s for the garden. To keep crows and squirrels away from my Christmas plants.”
Something soft rustles from the living room. Ivy sighs from the bookshelf.‘Posture, darling. He came to rescue you. And he’s even more handsome up close.’
I snap upright, cheeks flaming.
Fern coils lazily from her hanging pot.‘Kiss him!’
“Please,” I whisper to them. “Behave.”
“Who are you talking to?” Rhys eyes me suspiciously.
“You,” I say to cover up.
‘You’re no fun,’Fern whines.‘I’m going back to sleep. Especially since it’s quiet. Jack was a crybaby. I’m glad you gutted him.’
“You’re asking me to behave?” Rhys moves toward me.
“Only if you want to,” I say to be playful.
“I don’t,” he mutters, glancing around at the pumpkin carnage. “Jaysus, lass. I thought someone was carvingyouup.”
“Technically, I disemboweled it.” I always feel the need to use my proper words.
“Aye, I can see that. Vicious work. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
“And look at you all barging in here ready to kill someone.” I hug him. “For me”
“You screamed.” He pulls on my hair to look down at me. “I freaked.”
“Sorry?” I shrug.Not sorry.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Rhys says, tucking hair behind my ears. But something dark changes the shape of his face, and he lets me go. “When are you setting up the pumpkin in your garden?”
“Now.” I brush my arms, still feeling his heat.
He glances at the window. “Now?”
I follow his gaze, startled at how it’s fully dark outside. The buzz of the city has gone low and feral. “Oh. I didn’t realize it got late.”
A pause stretches. Then he says, “If you’re going out, I’m coming with you.”
“Really?” My heart rate spikes.
His tone is exasperated, but something flickers in thecorner of his mouth. “I’d like to see your garden. That basil plant you gave me is getting big.”
I close my eyes and ignore Basil spewing words of derision against his brother.
“I want to clean the seeds first. I roast them.” I step out of Rhys’s embrace. “You don’t have to stay.”
“I want to,” he says with a warm smile. “If you don’t mind, I mean.”
In the kitchen, I rinse the seeds in a fine-mesh sieve, separating them from their gooey tangles. Rhys watches with the same sharp attention he probably uses to hunt prey.
When I lay out the seeds on paper towels, blotting each one dry, Rhys grabs a bunch and mirrors my motions without asking.
Exact. Careful.
