He makes a point. In my defense, I didn’tknowshe was the key at the time, but I somehow doubt Henry will give two shits. He walks back around the island and begins aggressively shuffling papers back into his folio. I rarely see him angry, but right now, the frustration rolling off him could kill grass.
“You’re right. I was a dick,” I say, hoping the admission might calm him. “I regretted what I did the second she walked away.”
“Thenapologize. She lives on the grounds, right?”
At the thought of seeing Gracie again, even if it’s to beg for forgiveness, I feel like I’ve swallowed a lightning bolt. But no. I need time to—
“I’m going to see her,” Henry announces.
My head snaps up as he begins walking. I practically knock my stool over in my haste to follow. “No, wait. Stop.”
But he’s striding toward the kitchen door that leads to the garden, which isn’t far from the cottage.
“Henry, please,” I say as he opens it, letting in a swirl of rose-scented air and sunlight. “Let me apologize to her on my own.”
He finally turns to look at me. “Jude, as the probate lawyer on the case, I need to tell her about the will. Also, if you want any hope of selling Larkwood to Bono or whoever it is, you’re going to need that cottage. Just do yourself a favor and let me handle it.”
“I can handle it just fine,” I say through my teeth.
His gaze turns pitying. “Listen. I stopped expecting you to tell me why you hate this place so much a long time ago. It’s fine. Keep your secrets. But Idoknow you’re going to be seriously considering arson until it’s off your hands, and I want to keep you out of prison.”
“And how exactly are you going to convince her to sell the cottage to someone she’d love to push off a cliff?”
“Easy. Property taxes.”
He begins walking again, and I put a hand on his shoulder. “Wait.”
He stops, and I take a breath, trying to find the words to explain feelings I hardly understand myself. “I know I fucked up. She didn’t deserve to be let down so hard, and I want to make amends if I can. At the funeral luncheon, before I—”
“Gave her your divorce lawyer card to pass on to all her newlywed clients?” Henry says dryly.
I wince. “Yes. Before that, we… connected.” The word feels foreign in my mouth and mortifying when Henry’s eyebrows shoot up. He knows I don’t typicallyconnectwith anyone unless it involves swiping right and sending them a photo of my driver’s license. I push through. “Gracie knew Nana really well. I think telling her the news myself could help repair things. Maybe.”
Henry is eyeballing me doubtfully, but before he can come to a decision, we both spot someone on the far side of the garden. It’s Gracie.
“Shit, is that her?” Henry whispers, and suddenly I feel like we’re a couple of middle schoolers spying on a girl.
We watch as she walks along the sunlit garden path that winds through much of the grounds, pausing occasionally to stretch. She’s wearing running shoes, faded blue yoga pants that show off every inch of her long legs, and a cropped white T-shirt that does almost nothing to conceal her hot-pink sports bra.
I try clearing my throat, but it’s gone so dry it makes no difference. “Yeah. That’s her.”
“Gracie!” Henry promptly calls out, and I have to physically restrain myself from pushing him into a bush and diving in after him.
Alarmed, Gracie’s head snaps toward us, her thick, dark ponytail swinging. Even from here, I can tell the moment she spots me. Her wide eyes narrow as she crosses her arms over her chest.
“Gracie, do you have a second?” Henry calls out again, already striding toward her. I have no choice but to follow.
When we reach her, she’s every bit as lovely as she was at the funeral, even in worn-out leggings with holes at the knees.Suddenly remembering the estate’s payroll I’ve been reviewing, and the pitiful salary my well-meaning but out-of-touch Nana paid Gracie, I frown. She frowns right back.
“Let me guess: you’re here to evict me,” she says, dark eyes flitting from me to Henry and back.
“No, of course not,” Henry answers with a smile. “Jude just wanted to say hi since we saw you passing. He said that you, ah,connectedat Agatha’s funeral.”
I’ll murder him. It’s actually the perfect solution—I’ll go to prison for life and never have to deal with this clusterfuck again. Gracie shoots me a look that says she knows very well that I would have chosen a tax audit over saying hi.
“In a manner of speaking,” she mutters.
“I’m sorry, but we haven’t been introduced. I’m Henry Khan,” he says, holding out a hand.
