Page 31 of Henhouse
“Only in passing,” Theo confessed, and he somehow felt like sharing that truth was not the right thing based on the hurt behind Effie’s cornflower-blue eyes.
“She didn’t want me to meet him,” Effie uttered, her words laced with disappointment. “That’s why I didn’t know who he was. She never even told me his last name.”
That added up. Theo wondered how the connection wasn’t made that night at the bar, but if Hope kept her relationship with Schilling secret, even from Effie, it was no surprise that Effie had been blindsided. He hoped it hadn’t hurt too much when she realized that their candle-making wasn’t a date.That was new, empathy before envy.Maybe the eggplant was as prophetic as he’d read earlier that day.
Effie glanced at the box of chocolates he placed on the counter as she ran his card for his purchases. “They’re for you,” Theo said, feeling way off his game. He slid the box in front of her. She handed him his receipt inreturn.
“You’re not just giving them to me as some kind of pity offering after the whole Talia, Schilling, Hope debacle?”
She definitely thought her night with Schilling was meant to be a date.Shit.“Believe it or not, I didn’t come here to talk about any of them.”
“Then why did you come? Aside from the journal of course?”
Theo’s palms slicked with sweat. He hadn’t been this nervous to ask someone out in ages. Probably since high school. “I came to ask you out,” he said matter-of-factly.
She said nothing but fought the smile that tugged at her cheeks. Droves of buzzing bees swarmed his chest as he waited for her answer. Something about the way she carried herself, like her identity was hers to keep secret until she deemed him worthy, had him fearing her rejection. “Well?” he asked.
“You haven’t actually asked me anything yet,” Effie cooed, amusement dripping from her tongue.
Theo’s mouth quirked. “Effie, will you go out on a date with me? Saturday night to be exact. Details redacted intentionally so I can woo you with surprises.”
Her smile broke free.
But instead of answering him, she reached for the luxuriously wrapped box of chocolates he’d procured from the local sweet shop that made them in-house. She took one look at the truffles within, and her cheeks flushed a sensual shade of pink. He couldn’t help but wonder how else he could elicit that heated flush as he watched Effie pluck one of the bite-sized morsels from the tray and pop it into her mouth.
Her eyes closed as she bit around the soft caramelcenter. A pleased moan, which she seemed unaware of, rumbled from the back of her throat. Theo’s mouth went dry.
Effie worked the sticky caramel from her teeth, licking the grain of salt from the corner of her mouth that Theo had spotted seconds before. A nervous laugh tumbled from her lips and Theo thanked God he didn’t opt for the eggplant. The air charged with Effie’s delight, and he waited eagerly to see what she’d do next. “Do you believe in fate?”
The question nearly knocked him off his feet.Of course, he did, but why did she want to know?“I do. Why?”
“Because these are my favorite kind of chocolates . . .” She hesitated. Theo hung on every word. “And Theo tastes exactly like salted caramel chocolate truffles. So I guess I kind of have to say yes.”
Goddamn, what was the question again?Theo calmed his racing heart enough to say, “I’ll see you Saturday, Effie Thatcher.”
“See you then, Theo.”
Theo collected his things and sauntered out of the store. It gave him no small amount of satisfaction to know that whenever she said his name, whenever she thought it, she’d taste the sweetness that gave her such palpable pleasure.
19
Coziness enveloped the Thatcher house that evening. The air was fresh after a day of thrown-up sashes and late spring cleaning. The scent of lemon oil clung to the damp dusted surfaces of the great room, adding a zesty, uplifting energy that Hope desperately needed.
She sat on the floor, legs crossed in front of her mother. Tibby methodically pulled strands of Hope’s waist-length waves into twin French braids. She’d known how to braid her own hair since she was about eleven, but it always looked better when her mother did it. It felt better too. Hope wondered aloud if there was some threshold of maturity where you were no longer allowed to get your hair braided by your mother.
“If there is, I vote we ignore it,” Tibby said plainly, and it brought an ease to Hope’s chest. Nights like these were usually peaceful, the entire brood gathered in a room. They sometimes played games together, but more often than not engaged in their own little hobbies while making light conversation. Hope was grateful that after the initialBrayden-bashing, the room had fallen silent once more.
Louisa played on a floor mat with Hazel by the hearth. It still had a fire going in it to ward off the lingering chill in the air, even though summer was just around the corner. Aunt Bea dozed in her chair, Issa playing watchbird by her side. Ellen, Lilah, and Vivienne did a puzzle by the window while Pamela was enraptured in her romance novel. Hope wondered what her aunt would think if she knew Effie had the same taste in books. The thought amused her, but she’d never betray those parts of Effie that were kept hidden from the world. Especially, not after the sting of regret in revealing Effie’s role in Gil’s disappearance, though she’d heard it ended up being a relief for Effie. Not from Effie herself, mind you. They hadn’t spoken all week. It was unkind of Hope to cast dispersions on Effie to avoid her own pain, and now Hope suffered the consequences.
Finally, Hope glanced across the room to where Dorothea sat with a new cross-stitch project. This one was a bookmark set that Grams promised to split between Effie and Hope when she finished. The old woman side-eyed Hope and shook her head in obvious disappointment. Apparently, their conversationwasn’tfinished.
“He didn’t look like a delinquent to me,” she barked, and Hope tensed. Everyone had already heard about the male suitor and his wife and all the gossip because it was too unbearable to let their imaginations run wilder than reality. But it still felt grating that Brayden had at least played intosomeof her cousins’ fears.
“Mom, drop it. It’s none of your business,” Tibby scolded. “Like you can tell by his face anyway.”
Guilt churned in Hope’s stomach. Brayden wasn’t a delinquent. He was perfect in so many ways and Hope didn’t deserve him. Learning of hishistory with Chloe had only solidified her belief that she was the real problem in the relationship. The one with too many rules and even bigger secrets. She didn’t know how to overcome it. How to fix it. She wanted Effie’s help, but after how she exploded at her cousin the other night, she felt coated head to toe in shame. She could only slither into the unconditional embrace of her mother. Not even Grams could engage without making her opinions known about this one.
“He’ll forgive you, you know,” Grams added, her uncanny way of reading minds almost evidence that magic was real.
