It’s an unnecessary order for me. I’ve already practically flung myself backward into the corridor.
Henry remains, frozen. “You two areparents.”
“Why do you think we hide in closets? We take time where we can get it, and you’re interrupting,” Bronwyn says, glaring at Henry around her husband’s shoulder.
Henry backs out and closes the door with a firm snap. No one has to tell him to lock it this time. He does so with alacrity.
“We’d have been better off to go up to our room,” I say.
“We would have if I’d realized we had competition for the closets. There’s no time now. I know one more place.”
“Maybe we should just call it a wash. You can’t win them all.”
Henry shakes his head. “Third time’s the charm.”
Henrypullsopenthedoor to the verdant greenhouse on the edge of the villa. We step inside. And stop short.
Henry’s brother, Gabriel, and his sort of co-worker, my friend, Sydney, are near a potting table near the back with Gabriel seated on the edge. Sydney, her long dark hair falling in a cascade down her back, her tan skin even warmer than usual from time spent in the sun, stands between his spread thighs, her hand curled in the front of his jacket. They’re not kissing, but her lips hover millimeters from his, suspended in that intimate almost-space where something was about to happen.
And we interrupted. Dammit.
I grab Henry’s arm to drag him back before they see us, but I’m too late.
Sydney springs away from Gabriel like a startled cat. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
I shoot them both an apologetic smile, then rally. “We didn’t see anything.”
Gabriel clears his throat and glances toward Sydney, his lips curving with humor.
Sydney gnaws on the corner of her lip. “Right. Well, we were discussing a project. For the lab.”
Gabriel’s expression freezes, then turns to stone. Straightening to his full height, he steps slightly in front of Sydney in the process, almost as though he’s guarding her. “We’re talking about work.”
“What exactly were you discussing?” Henry drawls. “Pheromones? The percentage of cotton in your shirt? How close you two can get without technically calling it a kiss?”
I elbow him lightly in the ribs. “He’s kidding.”
“I’m sarcastic. They aren’t the same thing at all,” Henry says.
“We’re leaving. We didn’t see you here. Bye.” I tug on Henry’s arm to lead him out the way we came in.
“Thank you,” Sydney calls after us.
“I’ve got your back,” I shout.
We step out of the loamy humidity of growing things, closing the door behind us as Gabriel and Sydney erupt in a heated conversation that I do my absolute best not to hear.
“You didn’t have to call them out like that,” I say.
Henry frowns. “Those two have been dancing around each other long enough. Grandad Miller has a saying: Fish or cut bait.”
I prop a hand on my hip. “Who waited for me for years?”
“We were kids. I knew the moment you came back to New York I’d make you mine. I had a plan, but I made a mistakesticking to it the way I did. If I had it to do over, I’d have kissed you breathless on your eighteenth birthday and dropped to one knee then and there.”
“And I’d have said yes.” I shake my head. “Sydney is scared of serious relationships, Henry. You can’t argue with a person’s fear.”
“Of course I can.” Henry brushes a stray piece of hair off my forehead. “There’s rational fear: A person is afraid to reach into flames because it will burn them. And there’s irrational fear: A person is afraid to be in a room with a fireplace. The way to work past irrational fear is to name it and challenge it.”
