Page 11

His smile flickered. “I live there.”

“You…”

“I’m the monster under the bridge.”

Iris blinked. She was beginning to wonder if Gabriel had a legitimate reason for mistrusting Blair and was just refusing to let her in on the secret. “You mean you live under the bridge? How?”

“I bought a hammock, slung it onto the framing under the bridge, and took up residence.”

She searched Blair’s face, looking for any hint that he was kidding. A touch of amusement crossed his features, but there was sincerity in his gaze. “Why?” she asked.

“It’s better than where I came from.” He huddled inward slightly like an armadillo yearning to curl up into its shell. “Freer.”

Iris bit her thumbnail, her teeth sharp against her cuticle. “I think you met my friend, Gabriel?” She watched him carefully for signs of discomfort.

“Yes.” He brushed a strand of golden brown hair behind his ear. “I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“But he doesn’t know you. Does he?”

“No. Not yet, anyway.”

She looked at him questioningly, but his eyes were focused on the uneven ground in front of him, as if to make sure he didn’t lose his footing on the ice.

“Where exactly are we going?” he asked after a while.

Iris pulled out her clippers and circled a dead tree, climbing over it until she found a few perfect sized branches and began to snip them off. The clippers were sharp, so it was a task no more difficult than picking tulips in spring.

She placed the newly cut twigs into the tote bag, arranging them so they didn’t poke her while she walked. She handed Blair the pruning shears. “See if you can find some berries.”

Hair tucked into the collar of his jacket and hood pulled up against the windchill, Blair wove through the underbrush, searching. His eyes lit up as he spotted something, and he knelt close to the ground to cut off a branch near the plant’s root. A bright red cardinal perched in the bush beside him. It gave a few melodic chirps before soaring up to a nearby maple tree, its ruby wings fire-bright in the glow of the sun.

Iris grinned as Blair walked back over to her, his hands clutched around a few sprigs of holly. She held open the bag and Blair tucked them carefully inside.

“I think there are some winterberries up here,” he said, holding up a hand against the winter sunshine, which was nearly blinding where it reflected against the sparkling snow. He seemed to have a renewed sense of purpose, stepping nimbly through the undergrowth and holding branches aside so they didn’t snap in Iris’ face as she struggled to keep up.

“How do you know so much about these woods?” she asked. “I thought you just moved here.”

Blair slowed, tilting his head in thought. “I’ve spent quite a bit of time out here since I arrived.” He waited until Iris was at his side before continuing, his low, measured voice growing in enthusiasm. “I like searching for plants that bloom in early winter. Like over there; see that small tree with the yellow flowers?”

Iris nodded, following him over to it. “What’s it called?”

“Witch hazel.” Blair ran his fingers gently over the spindly petals, dusting off the snow that had settled there. “Some native tribes used the branches as dosing rods. It was said that when trailed along the ground, a forked stick would bend or dip when over a water source. But it also has excellent medicinal properties, especially when used topically for the skin. I’ve used it quite a bit in my recipes.”

Iris watched Blair’s brow furrow in concentration as he gently tilted the branch in his hands. Sunlight beamed against his face, illuminating his angular jawline and high cheekbones, and…she felt a pang of sympathy as she noticed two symmetrical bone-white scars, one trailing down each cheek. She wondered what kind of accident could have resulted in such identical injuries.

Blair jerked his hand back as though he’d been caught touching a priceless painting in an art gallery. He tossed her a sideways glance. “I’m sorry. I must be boring you.”

“Not at all!” Iris assured him. She gestured to the witch hazel. “Would you mind if I took some?”

He smiled. “I don’t own these woods.”

Grinning, Iris clipped off a twig bursting with yellow flowers and placed it in her bag alongside the holly while Blair watched her quietly.

“Did you grow up in Vitford?” he asked.

Iris shook her head. “I moved around a lot as a kid. But my dad had a house here. He passed away a couple of years ago.”

Blair’s face fell. “I’m sorry.”