Page 45

Unlike my last visit here, there’s a glass roof over our heads, effectively shielding us from the late-winter storm that continues to rage. And though the stars I remember as being so abundant are now hidden by a cover of clouds, the air is still infused with a heady mix of sea brine and night-blooming jasmine.

“If this is an attempt to make up for ditching our surf lesson,” I say, watching as Braxton fills my goblet from a carafe of red wine, “it’ll probably work. You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” He grins. “I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to compete with how you spent your day.”

My gaze lights on his. “Wh—what does that mean?” I stammer, wondering if he might’ve heard something, and if so, what has he heard, and from whom?

Is this about the time I spent with Killian?

Braxton leans back in his seat and tips his goblet toward me. “Rumor has it, you Tripped,” he says, then takes his first drink.

I take a sip of my own wine, trying to appear as though everything’s perfectly normal on this side of the table. Then, setting my glass aside, I say, “We Tripped to Regency England. A blur of a Trip—over in a blink.”

Braxton nods, and just as my shoulders sink with relief, I realize I left a large portion of the day totally unaccounted for, which does not go unnoticed.

“And before you Tripped? Did Jago give you that surf lesson?” The way Braxton looks at me, his face flickering under the glow of candlelight, makes it hard to determine if there’s more to the question than there seems on the surface. And the longer the silence drags on, the more certain I become.

Braxton knows.

He knows I spent the bulk of the morning with Killian.

I don’t know how—I don’t know who told him, but he definitely…

I pull an uneasy breath, force my gaze to meet his as a loaded silence continues to build. Desperate to break it, I say, “Braxton, I—”

Before I can continue, a strange man appears by our table from seemingly out of nowhere. And I guess I was so shocked by his sudden appearance, it’s a moment before I realize he’s actually a waiter here to serve the first course.

Once he’s disappeared behind a walled fountain, I lean toward Braxton and say, “Has he been hiding there that whole time?”

Braxton looks at me in surprise. “I’m not sure he washiding.There’s a small kitchen in the back. I meant to show it to you last time, but I guess I got distracted.” His eyes glint on mine, and I know exactly the distraction he’s referring to—our almost-kiss that was delayed another day but, as it turns out, was totally worth the wait. “Arthur likes to eat here on the few days the sun dares to shine.”

“So this was Arthur’s idea?” My belly pangs with suspicion. And though I’m not exactly sure what I’m suspicious of, it’s a feeling I know better than to ignore.

“Not exactly,” Braxton says. Then, with a laugh, he adds, “Or maybe I’m just reluctant to hand off the credit. I think Arthur felt bad about interfering with our plans. So, he offered to cater a private dinner in the place of my choosing, and I chose here.” He grins. “So anyway, back to you. Sounds like you had an eventful day.”

Back to me.Awesome.

I make a show of pushing my salad around on my plate, trying to decide what to say. Any mention of Killian will only upset him, and yet, I owe him some semblance of truth.

I angle a forkful of salad into my mouth, delaying a beat, before I say, “Well, I think I might’ve made some progress with Mason.”

“That’s great!” Braxton’s eyes spark in a way that tells me he means it.

“Yeah, well…” I start to backtrack, worried I might’ve overstated it. “It’s a start, anyway.”

“Still great.” Braxton nods. Then, abandoning his own salad, he settles back in his seat and sips from his wine. “Anything else?”

Seriously—he needs more? Like my small breakthrough wasn’t enough?

“Well, before that, I went for a bit of a…walk.”

“Around Gray Wolf?” He cocks his head in study. “I would’ve thought it too cold to visit the gardens.”

“Yeah, um, it was, but…” I swallow hard and let the words fade. I hate lying. And I especially hate lying to him.

“Tasha, is everything okay?” Braxton asks, and though the question seems casual on the surface, the way he continues to study me leads me to think there’s nothing casual about any of this. Probably because we both know I’m acting guarded and cagey. And the only time people ever act that way is when they have something to hide.

Sick of this game, I inhale a steadying breath and take a chance on telling him straight.