Page 93 of Late Harvest

“I am a complex man,” he rejoined haughtily. “Now, my queen, may I be so bold as to suggest some Star Wars binge-watching, after which we will see who has the better taste in preferred movies? Though we’re skipping the prequels.”

Arabella tilted her head, considering. “How about this? I’ll do my laps, since I missed them this morning. And then we can binge away.”

“Done.”

She placed her mug carefully in the dishwasher, along with his abandoned mixing bowl of cereal and spoon, a scolding look on her face.

He tipped his head sheepishly. My bad, he mouthed, knowing he’d broken a Queen Neatnik rule.

She strode out of the kitchen, and he could almost picture a velvet robe flowing behind her. “And have a bottle of red decanted for me please, dear,” Arabella added over her shoulder.

“Why, dear?” he parroted with a smile.

“Because I want to toast my superior taste in movies.”

Bash released a deep, healing laugh—something he desperately needed after the heart slices of Arabella’s story.

And he knew she hadn’t even shared all of it.

Chapter Forty-Nine

My friend was amazed when I told him I can predict the future using herbs.

‘Is it true?’ he asked.

‘Only thyme will tell,’ I replied.

—From Bash’s dad joke collection

Bash

While Arabella swam her eighty bajillion miles, Bash opted for a run. He needed to clear his head.

He cued his favorite running playlist—a techno remix of nineties music that never failed to get his blood pumping—and pulled his ballcap low. It was largely a futile effort when it came to disguises. By this point, his location in the small town on the outskirts of Charlottesville had been exhaustively blasted to the world…and photographed.

One of the security guys trailed him at a safe distance, also running, head always on a swivel. Bash understood the value of the massive, private estates both his sister and parents had—if only to be outside and not worry about nosy eyes and obnoxious paps. Too many times lately, both fans and paps had gotten too close to Arabella’s house. It made him uncomfortable to the point Bash instructed the security firm to increase their detail. At some point, they might have to consider moving to a more secure location.

But his queen loved her castle, and he’d gotten the distinct sense that her home meant something deep and powerful to Arabella. She’d resent being taken from it. And, why uproot her if the situation was for such a short duration?

Except, of course, he no longer wanted it to end.

He was all in. Forever.

But, his queen wasn’t, and probably never would be. Not the way he wanted. Arabella clearly desired him the way his body ached to join with hers. And the deep friendship that had emerged was irrefutable. But for Arabella, their relationship had a time stamp.

He knew there was a part of her that didn’t believe they could go the distance—because of his lifestyle and career, and her own brokenness. Arabella was, above all things, stubborn, with an icy reserve always lingering beneath the surface as her default protective zone. If she didn’t believe in them and their ability to overcome pretty steep hurdles, it couldn’t work out.

Bash battled the very real fear that he was looking straight at heartbreak, barreling increasingly fast down the pike. His heart gave an unfamiliar stutter of grief, and he kicked up his speed in a largely unsuccessful effort to distract himself from the pain of that lonely eventuality. Because, even only a few weeks in, he knew any life without Arabella to love and cherish would be lonely and empty.

He was five miles in, setting a brisk eight-minute mile pace, when his earbud announced a caller. He tapped the earphone. “What’s shaking, brother?” he puffed.

“Why are you out of breath?” He and Slash almost never bothered with pleasantries. Who needed them when you had as much history as they did.

“Running.”

“Security with you?”

“Ditched that slow-as-fuck loser.” Bash glanced over his shoulder at the agent, who likely could easily outpace him, adding with an eyeroll, “What do you think?”