Page 61 of Once Smitten, Twice Shy

I draw my hand away. “Sorry, I—”

“No.” She waves her hands, shaking her head. “That was all me.I’msorry.” She takes my hand, then awkwardly tries to set it on her lower back again. “Please proceed.”

“I don’t have to, Juliet.” My good mood’s evaporated, and the familiar sting of getting it wrong echoes through me. “I shouldn’t have assumed. I was just…It was instinct.”

“Exactly,” she says. “And that’s what you’re supposed to be listening to.”

“Andyou’reonly supposed to be receiving the kind of romance you’re comfortable with,” I remind her.

She sighs, her shoulders falling. “I am comfortable with it, I promise. I was just zoned out and it caught me off guard.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Pinkie promise?”

She smiles up at me, pinkie outstretched. “I swear.”

I hook her pinkie gently, then let my hand fall.

Juliet’s smile deepens. “Now, get that hand on my back, Orsino. And let’s go look at some flowers.”

Gently, tentatively, I set my hand on her back again, like she’s asked. I brace myself for her to pull away again, still reeling from that reflex. But she doesn’t. In fact, she does the opposite. She leansintomy touch, just the littlest bit, but I feel it—the press of the curve of her spine into my palm, the warmth of her body. I get a whiff of something faint and floral that I already know has nothing to do with the flowers we’re about to be surrounded by. It’s her. She smells so fucking good.

“So many flowers, so little time.” She smiles up at me and rubs her hands together in excitement. “Where do we even begin?”

—

We’ve been walking the place for an hour and a half, seen nearly all of it, and at some point Juliet’s hand found its familiar place curled around my arm. The past ten minutes, I’ve felt her weight more as she leans on me. It makes me feel so good that she does that—that she leans on me. But it also makes me worry that she’s hurting, that walking’s wearing on her and she’s not telling me.

I decide not to bring it up. I’ve learned, since my mom’s diagnosis, not to push, not to act like I know better than someone else what’s best for their body. Instead, I point to a bench tucked into the corner of the native plants room. I’ve saved the best for last.

“Mind if we sit for a little?” I ask.

“Sure.” She sounds distracted as I start to walk us toward the bench, but I think she’s just taking it all in, peering around, a soft smile on her face. “Any reason in particular?” she asks.

“Because I’d like to take some time in here. This is my favorite room.”

She glances my way, her expression curious as we lower onto the bench together. “Why is this room your favorite?”

I ease back and stretch my arm along the bench behind her. Juliet nestles in close against me and sighs. It feels exactly right.

“When I first came to college,” I tell her quietly, “I was homesick. My first weekend after move-in, it was so bad, I nearly packed up everything and took the train home. But I knew I’d be miserable if I went home, too. That I’d feel like I’d failed myself and my parents, who were so proud of me for pushing myself out of my comfort zone, throwing myself into city life and a new social circle. So I did what I always do when I’m worked up. I went for a walk.”

Juliet settles in closer against me, like she’s getting cozy, ready to listen.

I take another deep breath and blow it out. “My student ID gave me free access to the conservatory. I’d seen the place mentioned in my orientation materials, so I walked in, went from room to room, then I ended up…here.” My gaze wanders the space, drinks in the blossoms, shrubs, grasses, and trees surrounding us. All native to the state, tethered to the land and its seasons. “I walked into this room that was filled with every kind of plant that had been the background of my childhood, and I just…felt like I could breathe again, like my heart was beating right, like I wasn’t about to crawl out of my skin anymore. I felt like I was…home.”

Juliet’s quiet, but I feel her eyes on me, like the press of a hotsummer sunrise burning through the curtains, warming my face. Finally, I peer down at her.

Her smile is still soft, her eyes fixed on mine. “If it’s anything like this, home must be pretty beautiful.”

I nod. “It is.”

Our gazes hold. Softly, I curl my hand around her shoulder. Juliet lets out a faint, content hum.

“So.” I drag my fingertips over her skin.

She sucks in a breath, eyes still locked with mine. “So.”

“I’ve got a bit of a hang-up with third dates,” I tell her.

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