Page 29 of Henhouse
She nodded once, then made for the bedroom door. She hesitated and looked back to where Theo cleaned a smudge from his glasses before donning them. “Tread carefully there. She’s not our kind,” Talia warned.
If one more person pushed him toward Effie he might scream, but instead, he merely asked, “What do you mean?”
“She’s not the type to fuck around and find out, much as she tried that night. So don’t fuck around.”
With that, she dipped out the door and out of Theo’s bed for good.
17
Brayden walked past the Thatcher house on Austin Street for the fifth time trying to summon the nerve to knock on the front door. His calls, texts, and emails had all gone unanswered. Even a message to Hope’s Goodreads board went ignored. The desperation to speak with her even had him dialing the house phone, only to hang up when he heard the chipperhelloof an elderly woman. Honestly, he would have sent a carrier pigeon if he could have gotten his hands on one. Anything to avoid doing the one thing Hope had ever asked himnotto do.
Show up on her doorstep.
It was likely irrational on her part. Her family couldn’t be that pervasively against romance and men, but she’d been pretty adamant. Scary Hope, the one that spoke in a serious whisper like she’d unleash hellhounds on your disobedient hide, had told himneverto knock on the front door. Not until they were good and ready to face the scrutiny of the Thatcher women. Apparentlygood and readywasa determination only Hope could make.
Brayden settled on a bench at the far end of the block, the Thatcher’s bricked walkway just visible beyond the bend in the road. He pulled an antacid from his pocket and popped it like a breath mint.
Of course, it was Chloe’s fault that Hope cut and ran.
Realistically, it was his fault.
If he’d been honest with Hope about his never-ending divorce proceedings, then she wouldn’t be holed up avoiding him. He didn’t blame her. Despite the certainty that Effie conveyed the truth of his marriage, he knew Hope felt betrayed. Knew she likely felt that he didn’t trust her or love her enough to be honest with her.
In truth, the shame of it all kept a gag on his confessions. Brayden wanted to tell Hope about Chloe the moment he realizedshewas his forever. That had been a month into seeing each other. The words had evaporated though when Hope told him that her family had a huge distrust of men and relationship longevity. It was a convenient excuse he snuggled right up to, not wanting to dig into the past. Not wanting Hope to see him as the divorced-before-thirty guy, the naive idiot who thought he was adored, the guy who fought tooth and nail to not have his inheritance wiped out by a scheming siren.
When he confided in Effie at Glitter & Glue he waited for the hammer to drop. For her to scream at him, to tell him he was selfish, an idiot—just like Chloe had time and again trying to break him to her will. Instead, she took his hand in hers, her eyes full of the warmth and kindness that Hope always bragged about, and told him that she understood.She understood. And she didn’t rake him over the coals for his mistake in keeping the truth from Hope. Instead, she offered to help clear things up, to nudge Hope to reach out, even ifEffie admitted her cousin was notorious for not giving second chances, regardless of how minuscule the slight. He brightened knowing that fate had brought Effie into their little circle. If nothing else, she seemed inclined to see his relationship with Hope repaired, and having an ally in her was invaluable—in ways he was certain had yet to fully reveal themselves.
Brayden tried not to think about how Effie leaned in last night. How she slightly parted her lips and fluttered her eyes. Theo’s smoldering gaze brought panties to the ground, not his. He was friendly, jovial, funny. He didn’t imagine that would ever be interpreted as romantic interest and had apologized profusely if he gave Effie the wrong idea. He thought she was cool and interesting, but obviously, his heart was spoken for. She brushed him off saying it was a silly blip in judgment on her part and proceeded to prattle on about the candles and maybe trying them again if he wasn’t happy with them. At the time, he wasn’t sure he deserved a friend like Effie, but she’d insisted he deserved more than he’d been getting.Odd. But he hadn’t looked too closely at it.
Brayden ran tense fingers through his hair. He checked the time. It was nearly four o’clock and he had a meeting with his lawyer—who blessedly made time over the weekend—at four thirty. If he was going to make his move it had to be now. Nerves steeled, he rose from the bench and strode for the brick walkway.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when he looked up to find a wrinkled old woman in a sun hat pruning the bushes by the sidewalk. The pointy end of a pair of shears hovered inches from his nose as she said, “You are not as stealthy as you think. Why do you keep skulking past my house?”
In that moment he looked to Hope’s window. She sat at the window seat hugging a pillow to her chest. She shook her head, a subtle plea to not reveal his identity to the polka dot–clad woman before him. He choked back the ire building in his gut. It was a new feeling, being mad at Hope, but this was getting ridiculous.She couldn’t even have a conversation with him like an adult? He was supposed to lie to the old woman in front of him who shared Hope’s hauntingly beautiful eyes?
He may not have been a heartbreaker or wise enough to sniff out his gold-digging wife, but he didn’t deserve this. He deserved to be heard out, spoken to, confronted, screamed at if that’s what it came to. That’s what you did with the people you loved. That’s what he’d done after he followed Chloe to that motel three years ago . . .
“Sorry,” he whispered, gaze glued on Hope. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”
He stormed down the street, but not before catching sight of the old woman craning her neck to scold Hope with a look. It was enough to reassure him that he was entitled to more than the ghost she’d become.
18
Theo spent most of the morning and afternoon ruminating on Talia’s words. They hounded him through the night, and replayed in his head while he went to the gym the next morning, as he stood in line for a coffee and a bagel at The Works Café, and for the whole two-mile walk home he’d forced himself to take.
Even as he unlocked his front door and discarded the wrapper from his bagel, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.Had everyone been able to see something he hadn’t with Effie?It was worrisome, to say the least, given how much journaling and self-reflection he was prone to. Talia’s warning also made him itch.Was she worried Effie was actually a virgin? Did that even matter?He supposed it did because physicality was one of the first things he explored in a new relationship. He enjoyed flinging himself into new situations and experiences seeing if he’d sink or float. But the implication that following his emotions was equivalent tofucking around, had him questioning his methods. He guessed that was his admission that therewerethings he felt for Effie.
Theo drained the last sips of coffee from the paper travel cup and chucked it in the trash with a sigh. He brought his diffuser that rested on the counter to life with the press of a button. The scent of frankincense filled the air around him like a bubble of calm. He took long, deep breaths as he poured himself a glass of water from the filtered jug in his refrigerator. He drank greedily, then filled it to the brim again before carrying it to the meditation cushion that sat in the far corner of the room beside the console table that housed his collection of DVDs and his television.
Theo settled onto the cushion, surprisingly flexible despite the bulk of muscles beneath his track pants. Folding his legs into a pretzel, he closed his eyes.
Theo had been meditating on and off since college, solidifying the practice in the last three years. The habit became a morning ritual that he felt the deep absence of when he missed a session, so he did his best not to. Even when it was delayed like it was that morning—a need to move and release energy superseding the practice. Now with his limbs happily exhausted, he could settle in. It was the one time of day when he could connect with that great unknown force. The one that had him believing in soulmates. That told him fate, destiny, and manifestations were real. It was the force he prayed to to make his life mean something, and the one he convinced himself daily would show him his life could be better than fiction.
Theo inhaled deeply, letting the breath circle all the way to his toes, before exhaling it back along the same path. His mind cleared as he deliberately settled into his flesh and bones and blood. He let himself be present with only his breath and the subtle hum of the diffuser across the room. The frankincense already worked magic on hissenses, imbuing his energy with a tangible kind of hope and optimism.
After twenty short minutes of breathing and focus, Theo opened his eyes. He reached for an oracle deck he kept shelved beside his cushion. His sister had bought it for him for his last birthday with plants, flowers, and vegetables depicted on its seventy-two different cards. It was meant to be a joke gift after a particularly lengthy debate about signs and their meaning. Theo had argued that there was meaning and symbolism anywhere you looked for it. His sister had scoffed and said that that was impossible. When she’d gifted him the deck, she said,I guess they can make meaning out of everything.
He hadn’t used it yet, preferring his traditional tarot deck and another built around moon phases, but intuition had him grabbing for the unopened box that morning.
