Page 16 of Wild Thorns

"Yes, fine, he's seriously fucking hot. They're all hot. It's honestly unfair. It's like someone designed them specifically to be devastating and then tripled the effect." I paused by the window, looking out at the magnolia tree. "Callum's hot in a dark, brooding, possibly dangerous kind of way. Jasper's hot in a charming-rogue-who'll-break-your-heart way. And Eli's hot in a quiet-genius-who-sees-everything way."

"Yum. Three brothers." Tara's voice was thoughtful. "Three different kinds of hot. That sounds like the setup for a all kinds of fun. You know, if life were like a spicy novel."

"Don't."

"I'm just saying—"

"I know what you're saying. And I'm not... I can't... I just got here. I'm supposed to be invisible."

"You don't sound invisible." Her voice softened, that gentle teasing I'd missed. "You sound interested."

"I can't be interested." The words came out sharper than I intended. "I can't be anything right now. I'm supposed to be healing, remember? Getting my head straight. Not noticing how men look with their shirts off."

"Serena." Tara's voice went gentle in that way that always made me want to cry. "Noticing attractive men doesn't mean you're not healing. It means you're alive. Those are different things."

"What if I notice the wrong thing? What if I'm attracted to someone else who's... who turns out to be..."

I couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't say Marcus's name out loud, even now, even in the safety of my own apartment with more than a thousand miles between us.

"You learned the warning signs," Tara said firmly. "You know what to look for now. And from what you're telling me, these brothers aren't giving off any red flags. Weird, sure. Mysterious, definitely. But not controlling. Not possessive. Not him."

She was right. I knew she was right. But the fear was older than logic, wired into a part of me that no amount of reasoning could reach.

"I'm not interested," I said. "I'm confused. Something's weird about this place, Tara. I can't explain it. It's like there's a whole layer of reality here that I'm not seeing. Everyone talks around things. Everyone watches me. And these brothers—"

"Are all hot."

"—are definitely hiding something."

"Maybe they're serial killers," she said cheerfully. "A whole family of them. Very Southern Gothic."

"That's not helpful."

"Have you tried bringing one of them something? Food works. Men are simple creatures."

The next morning, I made extra coffee.

I found Callum in the backyard, doing something to the shed that involved tools and focused attention. Today he was wearing a tank top that left nothing to the imagination, muscled arms on full display, the curves of his shoulders catching the morning light. Sweat gleamed on his skin despite the early hour.

He didn't look up when I approached, but he definitely knew I was there. The line of his shoulders went tenser. His hands paused, just for a moment, on whatever he was fixing.

I watched a bead of sweat trail down the back of his neck and disappear beneath his shirt. My mouth went dry.

For a moment, I just stood there, coffee growing cool in my hands, watching him work. There was something almost meditative about it: the focus, the precision, the way his hands moved with absolute certainty. He knew exactly what he was doing. Exactly how much force to apply. Exactly where each piece needed to go.

I wondered what it would be like to be that certain about anything.

"I made extra," I said, holding out the cup. "Figured you could use it."

He turned. Looked at the cup. Looked at me. Back at the cup.

His eyes were darker up close, not quite brown but not quite black either. Something in between, like the heart of a forest, like shadows with depth. They gave nothing away. His face gave nothing away. He was a fortress, every wall reinforced, every gate locked.

For a long moment, I thought he wasn't going to take it. I was already preparing my dignity for the walk back to the stairs, already composing the text I'd send Tara about this humiliation.

Then he reached out and accepted it.

His fingers brushed mine on the handoff.