Page 52 of The Wrong Brother

“Once,” I reply. “Years ago, for business. I didn’t have time to actually see much of it.”

Her eyes light up, and I know she’s about to ask me more. “And now?”

“Now,” I say, glancing at her, “I suppose I have the time to actually take it in.”

Her smile widens, but she doesn’t press further.

Jenny’s smile lingers as she stretches her legs out in front of her, crossing one ankle over the other. The soft fabric of her sundress shifts with the motion, catching my attention briefly before I look away, forcing my focus elsewhere. A couple strollsby with ice cream cones, the faint scent of vanilla and citrus wafting on the breeze.

She glances at me, a flicker of something playful in her eyes. “I feel like a drink. Something cold and sweet. Do you think they have anything here?”

I nod toward a small kiosk nestled near the edge of the courtyard, shaded by a colorful awning.

“Looks like they might. Want to check it out?”

“Absolutely,” she says, hopping to her feet with an enthusiasm that makes me want to smile. I follow her to the kiosk, scanning the handwritten chalkboard menu listing an assortment of drinks…freshly squeezed juices, Italian sodas, and local wines.

She takes her time reading through the options, her fingers brushing her lips as she decides. “Limonata,” she declares finally, her tone light. “I’ve never had a real Italian lemonade before.”

“Good choice,” I say, stepping up to the counter to order. “And I’ll have a—” I glance at the menu again and point. “Aceddu Verde.”

Jenny raises an eyebrow as the server nods and begins preparing our drinks. “Green bird?” she asks, amusement dancing in her tone.

“It’s a mix of fresh herbs and lime,” I explain. “Should be refreshing.”

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “I should’ve guessed you’d pick something… sophisticated. You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

I want to tease her back, to say that of course, I’d expect her to go for the sweetest thing, but I hold back. It’s too easy to slip into a rhythm that feels friendly again, too easy to act as though there isn’t a boulder of tension walking beside us, looming over every word. I don’t know how to resolve this, and whenever I’min this state…even in business…all my guards go up. I can’t help but slightly detach myself, toning down any expression of my enjoyment of this current moment with her.

It helps that she’s trying to mask her discomfort too, though she doesn’t realize how easily I can read her. Maybe it’s the countless moments of quiet, unintentional observation over time, moments I never consciously acknowledged but seem to have etched her subtleties into my mind. The realization sends a strange thrill through me, sweet and unexpected.

The server hands us our drinks, and we begin walking toward a quiet corner of the courtyard. Just as Jenny turns to step onto the gravel path, I notice her shoe…a sleek pair of white tennis shoes with thin laces…has come undone. The loose ends flap against the stones as she steps, and before she can trip, I step forward.

“Wait.” I hold out my hand. “Hold on to my drink for a moment..”

She blinks, startled, but complies, accepting my juice with a quizzical tilt of her head. I crouch down, gripping the ends of her laces and tying them into a secure knot. My fingers work quickly, but the act feels oddly intimate, the proximity grounding me in a way I don’t expect.

“You could trip” I say, standing and brushing off my hands. “And falling here would be especially dangerous.”

For a little while, she’s quiet, which makes me wonder if I’ve done or said something wrong.

“Thanks,” she says softly, her voice quieter than before.

She hands me back my drink, her fingers once again brushing mine briefly.

I glance down at her, and our eyes meet for just a second. Her cheeks flush slightly, and she glances away, clutching her cup. I tell myself it’s nothing, but I can feel the phantom warmth ofher touch on my skin, the lingering electricity between us that no amount of rationalizing can deny.

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

JENNY

My heart nearly stops in my chest. Zack crouching down to tie my tennis shoes is the sweetest, most unexpected thing anyone has ever done for me. I can’t stop processing it, the simplicity of the act making it all the more profound. And now, as I stare at him…taking in the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his dark shirt fits perfectly under that leather jacket, and those jeans…I can’t seem to stop thinking about him. About us. About every single moment we’ve shared.

His words from a few days ago echo in my mind: “Since it is a secret and just between us, I don’t see why it can’t continue on for our time here. We expect nothing out of each other. No rules are being broken, so keep your mind open.” At the time, I hadn’t allowed myself to even consider what he was really saying.

But now, being here with him, his quiet presence impossibly close, every word from that conversation feels heavier than before. His suggestion had been simple on the surface…almost too casual. A way to put the weight of what had happenedbetween us into a neat, manageable box. A way to let it exist without overtaking us.

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