“Oh, god,” you groan. “Super fucking mature, Kai. I didn’t drink enough for this.”
“I’m sure you drank plenty,” he mutters, getting up and continuing down the path.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” you demand, following him. His stride is longer than yours, so you have to step briskly just to follow in his wake.
“It means that I’m tired of rich billionaires’ stupid games,” he announces without looking back.
There’s a deeply hurt, deeply snarky part of you that wants to crab back that you’ve never heard of apoor billionaire, as that’s an oxymoron. Instead, you stop on the path.
“I’m not a billionaire,” you announce stiffly.
He shakes his head. “Excuse me,” he says. “Hundred-millionaires’ gamesdoesn’t ring the same bell.”
“When did this turn into an excuse to bitch me out?” you ask.
“It’s not,” he says shortly. “I told you that I don’t want to talk.”
Piqued and hurt, you dare to veer away from him at a fork in the path that takes you deep into a copse of tall trees that cross limbs overhead, making a natural cathedral at least a hundred feet tall. The ground is scrubby and picked out with Little John and dianella, if the signs are to be believed. You briefly contemplate what it would be like to sleep under one of these giants. The nearby eucalyptus scents the air, and the only sound is the breeze stirring the leaves and bristles. It’s more than a little eerie.
You might have missed it if you weren’t deeply contemplating the scenery, but, at the far end of the walkway, there’s a little structure just off the path. It looks like a lifesize dollhouse. Gray and white, with a little gable roof, and a tri-paned window on each side with slatted shutters. There’s a lit lamp on the outside.
Before you can really think about whether it’s a good idea or not, you are calling Kai. At first, you don’t know if he’ll respond. But he appears a few seconds later.
“What?”
“Look.” You point at the tiny building. “How about in there?”
He scoffs audibly. “That’s a shed. They didn’t hide anything in there.”
Embarrassment prickles the back of your neck. On second glance, how could itnotbe a shed? The way he says it makes you feel out-of-touch, which was probably the intention.
“You don’t know that,” you push, doubling down. “It’s got a light on the outside. How do you know there’s nothing in there?”
Kai frowns. “Every inch of this damn place is lit up. Doesn’t mean it’s meant to be bothered. Probably belongs to one of the gardeners. It’s not for visitors to mess with.”
Boldly, you hitch your thumb. “Well, do what you want. I’m going to check it out.”
You don’t look back, but, to your surprise, he’s following you. You are mentally sweating what he is going to say if the door turns out to be locked, but, happily, the handle turns, and you can open the door.
It is, as Kai said, a gardener’s shed. There’s a long table down the middle of it, which is dusted with soil from potting plants. Against the back wall, there’s floor-to-ceiling shelving. In the front right corner, opposite the swing of the door, a tiny desk and chair are situated. There’s a khaki jacket on the back of the chair and the contents of what appears to be a first aid kit spread out on the desk, like someone was restocking it. The light coming in the windows is thin, barely enough to illuminate the interior. You look for a light switch and can’t find one.
Behind you, Kai sighs. “I told you; it’s just some storage.”
Maybe it’s your star sign, maybe it’s your personality, but stubbornness settles in your belly. “No,” you declare. “I’m going to check it out.”
“Oh, yeah,” he retorts. “Trespassing in a garden shed. Great idea.”
“Well, shut the door if you are worried about getting caught,” you fire back. “There’s some stuff on these shelves.”
You hear the scrape of the door closing, which makes the interior of the shed quite dark indeed. Somehow, you canfeelKai’s presence, like he’s radiating heat and irritation. His glowering eyes burn your back.
Exploring the bottom shelves at the back of the shed is something you have to do more by feel than anything else. You’re about to give up, when—
“Knew it!” you crow. Your fingers close on a small paper bag. When you lift it to the grayish, filtered light coming through the windows, you see that it’s a gift bag, sage green and stuffed with ivory tissue. A swirly monogram, “AR,” is embossed on the outside.
“Stupid place for a party favor,” Kai grumbles, instead of acknowledging that your hunch was, in fact, correct.
You pay him no mind, and rummage in the gift bag. There’s a certificate inside for a day of pampering for two at a boutique Japanese spa, including couple’s facials and acupuncture, a hinoki bath soak, and a private lunch with sushi and organic teas.
