I turn back and find him with his hands in his pockets, waiting to see if I’ll take it back.
“Yes. It’s like something out of a magazine, but better.”
“The designer I hired was supposed to be good. I’m glad I didn’t waste my money.”
His whole apartment is like this. I see it now. “She wasverygood.”
“Because it doesn’t seem like anything I would choose?” His tone is almost playful, but his expression is guarded.
“Because it fits you so well.”
The hint of a frown crosses his face, but he takes a breath. “The door on your right is the bathroom. Walk-in closet’s over that way.”
This bedroom has everything. A TV set into the wall across from a big bed, flawlessly made up. An ottoman at the foot. Built-in shelves.
“You can get a closer look if you’re that interested, Ms. Anderson.”
I’ve been caught staring, and the heat from my face spreads down to my chest. “Iaminterested.”
“Like I said.” As if I deserve privacy to snoop, Will heads into the bathroom. Water runs.
I can’t help myself. The shelves have a neat arrangement of items, and I’m drawn in. A woman’s watch rests on one of the higher shelves, almost above my line of sight. It’s old, but clean. No dust. I don’t touch it.
A polished rock.
A picture frame.
I’ve just lifted it off the shelf when the bathroom door opens and Will comes to stand beside me. I tilt it toward him. “Are these your brothers?”
“Couldn’t you tell?”
It’s obvious, on second glance. All three of them have very similar eyes. They’re standing in front of a huge stone pillar in the sun. A younger Will is on the right, beaming, body turned in toward his brothers. I tap his shirt with a fingernail.
“This is you, so…”
“Emerson’s in the middle. Sin’s on the left.”
“Was this a vacation?”
“No. Just a day in the city. We all lived here at the time.”
“And now?”
“Emerson lives out toward Bishop’s Landing, on the beach. Sinclair lived in LA for a few years, but he’s in town now.”
“Is he the oldest?” Sinclair is the only one of them with dark hair. He stands on Emerson’s other side, an arm slung across his shoulders. His other hand is on Emerson’s chest, like he’s holding him in place. It looks very casual. Like whoever took the picture saidget togetherand that’s just what they did. That closeness warms my heart.
“Yes. And I’m the baby.”
I don’t mean to laugh, but it takes me by surprise to hear Will say it in such a dry tone. “You’re at least twenty in this.”
“Twenty-two.”
“You’re all so happy.”
“It was a good day.”
I scan their faces again. Will doeslook happy. Almost violently so. Sinclair’s smiling too, but there’s more in his eyes than happiness. He looks like a man who narrowly escaped a brush with death. He’s relieved about something, that’s for sure. Emerson looks alotlike Will. But the way he looks into the camera is different. Intense. It’s strange, how alike they are, and how different. Emerson’s smile is faint, but he looks proud.