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“He wants free rein to run,” Ethan said, laughing. “Or are you afraid he’ll run away?”
Elliot’s heart jumped hard against his ribcage. “I—I think we need to trust he won’t.” He crouched down and fussed over the excited puppy. “It’s a scary thing to do.”
“To trust?” Ethan asked.
“Yes.”
Wentworth sagged against a nearby tree trunk. Breezes rippled over them, whistling in their silence.
Honey yipped again.
Ethan got a face full of tongue and laughed gently. “So Honey’s really yours now? I thought you were afraid to have a pet after your mum—”
Elliot gazed at those big puppy eyes, the wagging tail, the cute cold tip of his nose. “When you care so much it’s devastating when they’re gone. But I wanted to keep him. In the end, the hurt won’t compare to how much I care for him now.”
He nuzzled his face against Honey’s soft ears.
Ethan caught sight of Finley slipping down the muddy bank and jogged over to check on him. Elliot’s pocket vibrated and he jumped in surprise, startling Honey into a frenzy of barks.
Elliot calmed him and showed him the phone. “Just a message, Honey—”
Wentworth: I haven’t felt like I can let people get close, either.
Elliot whipped his head toward Wentworth watching from the hazel, phone in his hand. Fingers flew over his phone, and Elliot’s pulse ticked wildly.
Wentworth: Let Honey off his lead?
Elliot swallowed hard and set the puppy free.
Wentworth pushed off the trunk and closed the distance between them. Hunched together in the middle of the hazel grove, they watched Honey frolic through the grass, sniff at every tree, roll in a pile of fallen leaves.
An edge of panic affected Wentworth’s posture.
Elliot settled a hand over his forearm. “He’s behind those trees there. See, he’s coming back.”
Wentworth laughed as Honey greeted him with a long lick to his cheek. Elliot took the lead and hooked Honey back onto it. Wentworth looked over at him and held his gaze. “Elliot . . .”
Ethan called, “Do you know if these hazelnuts are ripe?”
Elliot loved his friends but—couldn’t they see they were interrupting a moment? He looked deep into Wentworth’s eyes. “I think they are. Do you?”
Dropped into my arms
At the sound of my voice
Smiled at me
His number one choice
W. McAllister and Ask Austen Studios, “Trusting me, trusting you”
The air pulsed with tension. Ethan and Finley covered it with detailed discussion of the plans for their wedding until they shared their parting hugs, and Elliot drove Wentworth and a tired Honey to the boat.
They settled Honey safely in his basket in the galley then rested against the stern railing, Wentworth taking in the sunset, and Elliot, Wentworth.
Hands loose in his pockets, hair haloed in gold, smile warm and wide.
His eyes latched onto Elliot and his posture stuttered, as if he were taking a mental picture of him. The desire to pull him close, closer than the one foot away he was now . . . he let out a long breath.
Awareness crackled between them.
“You okay?” Elliot asked.
“Yes. Fine. No, not really.”
“What’s going through your head?”
He shook his head fondly. “You always liked talking.”
“It’s not the only thing I liked.”
“And arguing.”
“You mean winning.”
Wentworth shovelled a hand through his hair. “Damn, Elliot. Why do you have to be so . . .”
“Right?”
“No.”
“Annoying?”
“No.”
“Frustrating?”
Wentworth craned his head back and laughed toward the aqua sky. Navy eyes landed on him. “You make my soul shiver. I’m half agony, half hope. My heart is just as much—no, more yours than when you almost crushed it fifteen years and three months ago.”
Each word wrenched through Elliot. He couldn’t quite . . . breathe.
“Ever since I first saw you again. Everything rushed back. Strangled me. Almost to the point of suffocation. But I chose the smaller music studio because I had to be in the same room as you. I never wanted you to leave my sight.”
Elliot stumbled over his emotions, his words. “Why act so . . . cold?”
Wentworth looked at him, remorseful, tortured. “Stubbornness. Pride. I didnae want you to see how much you still meant to me.” He found Elliot’s hand and clutched it in both of his. “I ached when I thought you didn’t have anyone and then I was jealous when I realised you did. I wanted to be those friends. I wanted to have known you all those years. But that had nothing on what I felt seeing Philip flirt with you on my boat. Or watching him wi’ you at our opera.”
Elliot’s pulse pounded in Wentworth’s hands.
“You don’t know half the things I did. The journalist on my boat? I begged her to come so I could convince you to be there. Seeing your phone in my room . . . God, my insides leaped.”
Elliot spoke quietly. “I wish we’d talked earlier, Wentworth.”
“No. No, we couldn’t have. I’m shaking as it is even now. Any earlier . . . I was still figuring it out, Elliot. I wanted you always close, but I was so angry. So hurt. You’d pushed me from your life when you needed support the most—” He sucked in a violent breath and his next words broke, “Thinking of you suffering. . . I know you did it for my benefit. But partnership. Family. That means more to me than my career ever could.
