“Like losing an eye,” I said.
“Yeah! Like losing an eye. The world looks a little different after.”
A little different? No, it looked only half there, like an entire part of the world was just …gone. Colorless—as if the dream finally ended, and I woke up in black-and-white. My hands tightened into fists, my fingernails embedding into my palms. Something to concentrate on beside the eye that wasn’t there.
He gave me a pondering look. “I guess you know, then, too?”
“I can imagine,” I lied. It was easier than telling him the truth, and then getting that grievous look, and hearingI’m sorry for your lossover and over and over again. I’d rather not. “You could always just tell him you miss him.”
He bit back a grin. “I appreciate how no-nonsense you are.”
“I just don’t believe in wasting time.” I shrugged. “Life is too short.”
“Grudges are too long,” he replied. “No, if I ever see him again, the first thing I’m going to do is punch him in the face.”
“When,” I corrected before I could stop myself, and then gave a start. “I’m sorry. That was rude. I just—I don’t likeif. I don’t like the uncertainty of it. The world needs less of that. Besides,” I added, trying to cover myself, “it’ll be catharticwhenyou punch him in the face.”
He barked a laugh. “You’re right. He’s not dead, just anasshole.” His annoyance at his ex–best friend was endearing in a way. There wasn’t rage there—true bridge-burning rage—but anger and frustration and longing. A bridge on fire, but one that could be mended with enough time and words. Too bad it was a job for both parties, and it sounded like this Cyrus wasn’t the kind of guy to ever look back. “But I’ll never be that brave.”
“I think you will,” I replied. “You came back to Lilymoor. That was hard.”
The ghost of a smile crossed his mouth. “Lilymoor is always hard to come back to.”
“It is,” I said, my voice breaking a little, remembering the pinkie promise a decade ago.Promise? Promise.“But you’re here anyway. That’s brave.”
“You think so?” He raised his caramel eyes to mine, searching them.
“I do, Oliver.”
He brought his hand up and ran his thumb gently across my cheek, tracing the healing scratch. I closed my eyes and let myself wade into the moment, turning my face into his hand. His thumb rubbed gently against my cheek. “You’re brave, too.”
“I haven’t done anything,” I whispered in reply, looking at him again, studying the way the soft afternoon light played across his face. We were so close, the world so quiet, that it felt like a wash of watercolors and sounds around us, while we were painted in sharp relief. There was only me, and him, and the gentle way he traced my bottom lip with his thumb. It sent a shiver down my spine.
“I think you have. I think there’s more to you than you let on.”
“Nothing good,” I supplied.
“I think you’re wrong.” He was so close that if he dropped his hand from my mouth, he could kiss me. His nose brushed against mine. I closed my eyes, trying to keep my heart steady, trying to keep the burn in my belly under control. “You undersell yourself. I’ve made calls. I know you’re talented. In line to be the next department head of the New York Botanical Garden, recommendations a mile long. So why are you all the way up here, really?”
Because the world back home felt like a world Harriett should still be in, and every day I went to work, every day I sat at my desk and planned for next season’s flowers, was another day removed from the last time I saw her. Because my old apartment felt like a moment stuck in time. Because the city felt lonelier than it ever had before. Because I felt lost and the things I thought I wanted weren’t fulfilling anymore.
And because I’d made a promise to a best friend who no longer existed.
That was the heaviest reason of all.
“I just needed a change in scenery,” I replied, imagining myself as a plant at a different window.
“I’m glad you chose here.” His words were a breath against my lips. His nose brushed against mine, his fingers capturing my chin to guide me closer still. The garden was quiet, and my heart was so loud I swore he could hear it. “The garden is better with you in it. It won’t trapyou. Not like it has me. It wouldn’t dare.”
A place could trap you just as surely as a person could. And it didn’t matter how far you went, or how often you skipped their favorite movie on the TV or skimmed their favorite mealon a menu or hid their favorite book from your shelves—none of it mattered.
If I had to choose between getting stuck in a place or in my head, I wouldn’t know which was worse. Places could haunt you just as surely as people. Memories could trap you just as fast as the ghost of your best friend’s laugh.
I think, though, I would choose a place.
At least a place gave me somewhere to sit with my longing.
“Well, that’s because I’m contracted to work,” I supplied, tearing myself away from him, and he cleared his throat in response. The intimate moment was abandoned, and while I tried not to, I saw the disappointment in his face. I felt it, too.
