He winced, more in surprise than pain, and leaned away.
“Sorry!” I gasped, mortified. “I wasn’t thinking!”
“Does it look bad?” he asked.
“Not really. What happened?”
“Exactly what you think,” he replied dryly. His voice was still soft and low, as if he was afraid to admit it too loud. “When you went through the door, you dragged me with you. Except the second you left, the door slammed in my face. Literally. One second it was open and then . . .” He shrugged. “I can’t explain it. And I can’t open it. I’ve tried everything. I’ve tried pulling it open. I’ve triedpushing.I’ve tried lock-picking. I’ve tried closing my eyes. I’ve even tried pinching myself to wake up.” He shook his head. “Nothing works.”
“Why pinch yourself? Do you think this is a dream?”
He sighed wistfully. “If this was a dream, I wouldn’t have my phone.” I wondered what kind of bad dreams he had. Nightmares of vacations? Of a relaxing weekend at the beach?PTO?
All terrible things to him, I imagined.
He pushed himself to sit up again, and said, “I just realized that I have forgotten your name.”
I didn’t think I ever told him, actually. “It’s Sophie.”
“Sophie. . . right. Sophie,” he repeated slowly, as if chewing on the syllables. “Well, Sophie, it seems like I’m stuck here. Or maybe I’m dead, and this is purgatory.”
“I doubt that.” I leaned back on the bench, giving his predicament a thought. “I think we’re both very much alive.”
He huffed a laugh. “OfcourseI’m stuck in a magical secret garden in my aunt’s estate. Just another Sunday at Lilymoor.”
“It’s Tuesday, actually.”
He gave me a long-suffering look.
“I understand what you mean,” I quickly added. “If only we could—wait.” An idea struck me. “If you can’t go through adoor, have you tried over the garden wall?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Do you take me for someone who wouldn’t have tried? Have you seen these walls? They’re at least ten feet.”
“You’re pretty tall.”
“Notthattall,” he informed me tragically. But then an idea seemed to strike him, and he sat up a little straighter. “Though I could giveyoua boost, and maybe at the top you could help me up? You seem pretty sturdy.”
I gave him a dry look.
“I don’t mean it as a bad thing,” he quickly amended. “I like women who can probably bench-press me.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You don’t seem like a quitter.”
I barked a laugh. I wasn’t self-conscious about my body—not in the way Harrie was, always glancing in the mirror, always worrying about one bite too many of chocolate cake. I knew I wasn’t dainty. I never had been. Neverwantedto be. I left waifishness to people who didn’t have to lift twenty-pound bags of topsoil. I was self-conscious in other ways, and ways he would probably never know. I pushed myself to my feet. “With our powers combined, we can scale a wall.”
“Hopefully,” he said.
“How charmingly pessimistic.”
He shrugged smoothly. “I never claim to be otherwise,” he said, and together we ducked out of the gazebo and found a patch of wall that looked at least somewhat climbable.
I stared up at the vines crawling toward the top, wondering if I could even get up there. “All right. We’re burning daylight. Hoist me up.”
His mouth twitched into the ghost of a grin. I wondered, fleetingly, what he would look like if he ever decided to smile. The world would riot, I was sure. He moved over to the wall to lean on it. “Don’t forget me when you get up there.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’d leave through the door if I was going to do that.”
