He didn’t even hide his scowl. “I’m sure. Is he still dating that doctor?”
“Not that he’s said. And I hope he isn’t, since he’s been flirting with me so much.”
“Of course he has. Let me guess”—and he ate the strawberry, tossing the top into the garden—“he took you to Pinch.”
I eyed him. “You’re notjealous, are you?”
“Ofhim?” He scoffed. “No, I’m good. I’m not jealous.”
“Then why do you look like you’ve just sucked on a lemon?”
He poked through the basket of fruit, refusing to meet my gaze. “Why would I be jealous of him?”
“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you.”
“I amnotjealous,” he reiterated strongly—strong enough that I knew when to stop teasing. We dropped into silence while he picked out another strawberry. He only ate the oddly shaped ones and saved the perfect ones for me.
Which was thoughtful. If I lingered too long on that thought, the butterflies in my stomach would wake up, so I distracted myself. I looked out into the sun-drenched garden, twirling the stem off one of the perfect strawberries. “You know, this garden doesn’t look half bad with you messing around in it. You might have talent.”
“It doesn’t look halfgood, either.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re the glass-is-half-empty kind of guy, aren’t you.”
“If you want a glass half full, that’s Oliver.”
There it was again. I shook my head. “You don’t have to compare yourself to him.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it again, looking back down at his strawberry. “I … just always have. Even when we were inseparable. And everyone always compared us, too, since I came from Henry’s side and Oliver came from Eula’s—it was kind of justnormalfor everyone to compare us.”
“I’m sure it was hard growing up like that.”
He gave a one-shouldered shrug, as if to say it didn’t bother him, but I couldn’t see how it wouldn’t. There were enough people who compared me to Harrie that I had a taste for what that felt like. Harrie was always the go-getter, the class rep, thestar. She was the one who excelled at everything, much like Rus, I guessed. Gifted in anything she put her mind to, though I was the one who was tenacious enough to see it through to the end. While she was talented, I was stubborn. I had a feeling that Rus was the stubborn one, too, along with being talented, but instead of excelling in life, he seemed to do the opposite—make himself rigid and uncaring, though I could tell he was neither of those things.
He was like a thorny rose in need of a little care and attention, though he was used to not getting either.
“Comparison is the thief of joy,” I said decisively. “Besides, you’re nothing alike.”
“I guess I amtoo ginger,” he replied with utter seriousness.
I rolled my eyes. “You won’t let me live that down, will you?”
His mouth twitched into a grin. “Never.”
“Well, youareginger. I won’t take that back.”
“You like it.”
“Oh my god,” I muttered, turning my face away so he didn’t see the blush across my cheeks. “You’re the worst.”
He grinned. “Worse than Oliver?”
“Somuch worse than Oliver.”
“Tsk, tsk,” he said, shaking his head, “and here you just said that it was silly to compare us.”
Turning my own words against me. How utterly mortifying. I picked up another strawberry. “You’re infuriating.”
“You must like it if you keep coming back,” he teased, leaning toward me.
