“Not yet.”
A feral eagerness thrilled through his veins as he led her onto the path that would take them into the woods.Hiswoods. The one place where he could be himself—not the promising young lawyer, or the spare to the heir. Just a man.
The people they had seen walking had melted away from the paths, which now stood empty under the harsh sun. It was as if,he thought wryly, they had seen him out walking, and believed enough of the old town superstitions to take their leave.
“I don’t know how you did it,” Nadine said, “growing up in a town with your name plastered on everything.”
He looked at her, surprised. “We were homeschooled. That helped.”
Once they were under the shadow of the pines, the air became several degrees cooler. The wet earth smell grew stronger. Above them, birds called to one another, twittering in the canopy. Clouds of pollen were carried in on the soft breezes, giving the sunlight a greenish tinge as it filtered down from the heavy fronds of the trees.
“Do you know why they call it Passer Woods?” Cal asked.
“Is it someone’s name?”
“Passer means ‘sparrow’ in Latin. It’s Sparrow Woods.”
“Because of your family?”
“No. Strangely, it was called that well before my family came here. I think Caledon Cullraven must have gotten the idea for his rituals and traditions while out here, hunting. He always said it cleared his head. You don’t like that,” he observed, looking at her face.
“I think he’s a sick fuck.”
Cal laughed, relieved that she still had spirit enough to fight back. When she had come to him to beg for her phone, she looked so broken. He’d been thinking about her conversation with her aunt all morning, the ragged way she had said,I love you.
The silence between them now was almost companionable. She was always more at ease with him when they were further away from his family. She looked thoughtful as they walkedthrough the trees, but her silence had a bitter edge that seemed more unhappy than serene.
“What is it about me? You keep insisting that you see something in me—what did I do to make you notice me in the first place?”
“You looked sad during your sister’s wedding. That was the first thing I noticed about you.”
“I was worried.” She spoke bluntly, not bothering to sugarcoat her words as she looked up at him in reproof. “It felt like she was getting married way too fast. It felt like she didn’t even know the guy.”
“You have that same expression on your face right now.”
“Because I’m scared that you’re going to hurt me and put me in that book!”
That might be true. But if she were truly afraid of him, she never would have told him so.
“I watched you afterwards,” he said. “Not after the wedding, although I did that, too. I wanted toseeyou, Nadine. You were so sweet. At first, I told myself that I was looking for the lie beneath it, but by the end, I was just looking for another taste of you. And then you came here for your sister, and instead you found me. Waiting to fucking eat you up.”
Impulsively, he grabbed her by the neck, pulling her in for a rough kiss that made her stumble.
“You’re not going in that book, little sparrow.”
She touched her mouth with two fingers, seeming uncertain of what to say. Breaks in the canopy made the heat return, perspiration dotting his temples and the grooves along his back. Nadine kept pace with him effortfully, pushing back her sweat-dampened hair.
Finally—finally—they got to his spot in the woods. His beautiful forest glade, sun-drenched and still, with the ghost pipes in full flower. He put out an arm to bar Nadine’s path, to keep her from treading on them, while also directing her gaze downward.
“Look at that,” he said, pointing. “I’ve been watching it grow for months.”
“What is it?”
“They’re called ghost pipes—it’s a parasitic plant that doesn’t have any chlorophyll. Usually they’re pale pink or bone white. The red ones are rare. The pigment that makes them that color is the same one that’s found in beets—it’s called betalain.”
“Are they poisonous?”
“No. I’m told you can eat them in small quantities.” He slid off his backpack and pulled out a blanket, smoothing it over the ground. “Supposedly it tastes like cooked asparagus. Do you like it?” he asked, suddenly needing her approval.
