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I narrow my eyes. “That usually means trouble.”

“Years ago, I told you that you and Ross would either understand each other immediately or drive each other insane.”

“You did.”

Sebastian smiles. “I’m beginning to think I underestimated how quickly you’d manage both.”

I shake my head, but a laugh slips out anyway. There was a time when Sebastian and I spent a handful of London evenings discovering that we liked each other far better as friends than anything else. Whatever romantic possibility had existed between us burned out so quietly that neither of us had ever needed to discuss it again.

He glances toward the library corridor.

“For what it’s worth, if Ross kept arguing after he could’ve walked away, he was interested.”

“In the provenance?”

Sebastian’s smile widens.

I give him a look. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I value my life too much.”

He steps aside as one of the estate staff passes through the terrace doors, then looks back at me.

“How long are you staying tonight?” Sebastian asks.

“Until I finish the Hartmann notes.”

“That sounds thrilling.”

“It is to me.”

“I remember.”

His answer is easy, familiar, and uncomplicated. Then Sebastian heads toward the main hall, leaving me with the uncomfortable realization that I’m still thinking about his brother.

By early evening, the library has quieted. Amelia has gone to return a set of files, Margaret is across the room reviewing condition notes, and I’m finishing the Hartmann update at the long cataloguing table. I initial the revised provenance sheet, add the date, and slide it into the working folder before reaching for the next report.

“Still here?” Ross asks from behind me.

His voice reaches me before I hear his footsteps, and when I look up, he’s standing a few feet away, jacket still on, tie loosened just enough to make him look less formal than he did this morning. The silver at his temples catches the light when he turns his head, and from this distance I notice something I missed earlier. His lashes are absurdly long for a man who already has eyes like that.

“Yes,” I tell him. “Some of us are working.”

Ross’s mouth shifts.

“I was under the impression I worked occasionally.”

“Occasionally sounds right,” I reply.

He moves closer to the table, and the faint cedar scent I noticed earlier reaches me again. I hate that I recognize it already. Ross glances at the folder beneath my hand and asks, “Did the Hartmann issue change anything beyond the catalogue entry?”

“It may affect the valuation notes, depending on what the missing ownership step turns out to be,” I explain.

“Insurance will want the updated record either way.”