Page 34 of This Reckless Home

“And I'm Anatole,” Ant adds, crossing his arms rather than shaking James's hand.

James doesn't seem fazed by the hostile reception, just smiles like he's used to it. “James Carter. I'm the therapist who works with some of the kids here.” He sits back down, still too close to Blossom for my liking. “I usually come by on Mondays, mostly to check in with Sally and Rachel, do some sessions. But I’m available to all the kids.” He looks us over. “You too if you ever want to talk.”

I snort. “Right.” I cross my arms, mirroring Anatole's stance. “The therapist.” I practically spit the last word, but his perfect fucking smile doesn’t even dip once. Asshole.

Blossom's brows draw together slightly at my tone, but James just keeps on smiling.

“Blossom and I were just discussing Sally's progress,” he continues, turning that warm smile on her. “She's doing remarkably well. You should be very proud.”

“I am,” Blossom acknowledges softly, and the genuine affection in her voice when she looks at him makes something ugly twist in my gut.

“Well, I should go see if Sally's ready for our session,” James says, standing again. He leans down, and I tense as he drops a kiss on Blossom's cheek. “Thanks for the tea, Blossom. You're a gem, as always.”

His hand lingers on her shoulder as he straightens, and I want to rip it off.

“No problem, James. Sally should be in the conservatory,” Blossom replies warmly.

He gives us all a nod. “Gentlemen. Nice meeting you.”

None of us reply.

Once he's gone, Blossom stands up, turns to us, hands on her luscious hips. “What was that about?”

“What was what about?” I ask, even though I know exactly what she means.

“Don't play dumb, Nox. All three of you were practically growling at him.”

I shrug, moving into the room. “Just don't like strange men getting cozy with you.”

Her lips part. “Cozy? James is⁠—”

“Yeah, yeah. He's the therapist. Got it.” I drop onto the couch with a huff where she'd been sitting, her warmth still in the cushions, her scent lingering. It loosens something in my chest. “Doesn't mean I have to like how close he was sitting.”

“Or how he was touching you,” Steele adds sullenly, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

“Or how he kissed you,” Anatole finishes, his blue eyes intense as he gazes at her.

She stares at us for a long moment, something shifting in her expression. Her eyebrows fly to her hairline. “Are you three... are you jealous?”

“No.”

Yes. Absolutely fucking yes.

“You are!” Her eyes widen, then a smile starts tugging at her lips. “You're all jealous of James.”

“We're not—” Anatole starts.

“We are,” I admit, because what's the point in lying? “So what?”

She's still smiling, shaking her head. Then she starts laughing.

Not a small laugh—a full, genuine, doubled-over laugh that has her wiping tears from her eyes.

“Oh my god,” she gasps between laughs. “You're all—you're jealous of James!”

“It's not funny, Petal,” I mutter, but even I can feel my lips twitching. She just has that effect on me.

“It really is,” she manages, still laughing, swiping her cheeks. “James is gay.”