Page 8 of Sweet Sinners
I sighed, tossing the trowel aside and brushing the dirt off my palms. “I meanthere, Cali. The greenhouse. Didn’t think you’d want to see me after last night.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, tracing over me like she was daring me to flinch first. Silence tightened between us, pulled taut and ready to snap. Eventually, she took a measured step forward. “The last thing I’m going to do is tiptoe and hide around my own house.” Her voice had bite, but beneath it flickered something softer, something uncertain. She gestured vaguely behind her. “Besides, I used to read here.”
My gaze drifted toward the back corner she pointed out, the one I'd barely registered earlier. It hadn’t noticed it back then when my mother practically lived in this greenhouse,thishad Cali written all over it. A white wicker couch sat quietly beneath sun-stained glass, cushions a bright splash of yellow, now faded with time and dust. Beside it stood a small wooden table, a couple of old books stacked neatly on top, their covers worn and curled from neglect. It looked abandoned, frozen in time, like a memory she hadn’t revisited in years.
Guilt prickled beneath my skin. The only times I’d ever stepped foot in here were to drag my mother out. I'd never wandered deeper, never even realized Cali had carved out her own sanctuary here.
Cali’s voice drew me back, sharp enough to cut. “Didn’t expect to find you playing gardener,” she snapped.
I shrugged slowly, meeting her eyes with a quiet challenge. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”
My eyes slid over her before I could stop myself. The denim hugged her curves perfectly, teasing at the hips, and strands of hair fell loose from her messy bun, framing that face felt painfully familiar, yet different enough to leave me restless. Her eyes sparked with defiance, daring me to look a little longer.
She caught me staring and lifted a brow, a silent challenge gleaming in her gaze. "What?"
I cleared my throat, looking away. "You’ve grown up."
“So have you,” she shot back, her voice sharp but layered with something softer—something cautious. She stepped closer, her perfume mingling with the earthy scent of the greenhouse, a gentle floral note that felt out of place among the dirt and sweat. "But gardening? Really? Didn’t peg you as the nurturing type."
I smirked, spinning the trowel lazily between my fingers. "I have layers, Cali. You’ve just never cared enough to peel them back." No fucking way was I admitting her grandfather had forced me into this.
Her eyes narrowed, studying me as if she could see past every wall I'd ever built. "Why would I?" she murmured, her voice low and challenging.
I held her gaze, refusing to give her the satisfaction of an answer. "Good question."
Her gaze slid briefly to the rosebush I'd been working on, as if she was searching for something beneath the surface. Something I wasn't sure I wanted her to find. Then she straightened, her guard slipping firmly back into place.
Her attention shifted briefly to the rose bush I'd been digging around, uncertainty flickering behind her eyes. But it was gone as fast as it came, replaced by cool indifference as she turned for the door. "Just don’t mess up my books."
Chapter four
Cali
Hewasinsufferable.Everyword from his mouth, every slight arch of his brow, every measured breath seemed perfectly designed to crawl under my skin. And the way he watched me… His gaze was intrusive, relentless, like he was hunting for secrets I wasn't willing to share. Instinctively, I tightened my grip on the self-help book in my hands, pressing it against my chest like a flimsy shield against his prying eyes.
The the scent of blooming roses and damp, fresh soil—a scent that usually eased the knot in my chest, wrapped around me as I kept walking on. This place was my sanctuary, my escape. Here, I could sink into words and forget the pressure of tomorrow. My first day as CEO loomedahead, heavy and suffocating, and this was supposed to be my last chance to breathe. But with Connor so close, calm felt impossible.
I could feel his eyes burning into my back, his silence filling every inch of space between us, louder than any spoken words. And that damn comment earlier 'You've grown up'had burrowed beneath my skin, making me acutely aware that he had, too.
The angry, brooding boy I used to avoid at family dinners had disappeared, replaced by someone sharper, harder, more dangerous. His frame was lean but solid now, muscles defined beneath his white shirt, every line tight and deliberate. I wondered briefly if prison had been good to him in some twisted way, giving him endless time to build himself up. To reflect. Tochange.
His hair was shorter now, cropped close instead of the messy strands his mother used to scold him about. Did he miss her? He had to, right? I remembered my mother, the slow, painful loss to leukemia, the quiet songs she sang to comfort me at night. Did Connor’s mother ever sing to him like that? I’d only ever seen him smile around her, soft, genuine, away from my father’s shadow.
Maybe I was looking at this all wrong. Maybe he didn’t kill her out of anger, maybe, in his twisted logic, he thought he was protecting her.
Get a grip.I scolded myself, pushing the thought away.
"Running away, Cali?" His voice sliced through the humid air, dark and mocking. I was steps away from the greenhouse door—steps away from escape—but his words made me pause, my fingers tightening around my book. I didn’t turn around. Didn’t answer. Didn’t dare give him the satisfaction of seeing he'd gotten under my skin.
He scoffed, clearly irritated at my silence. "What, are you afraid I’m gonna slit your throat, too?"
I froze, breath catching in my chest asthe brutal words hit me with all the subtlety of a slap. Slowly, my body turned toward him, the blood draining from my face, my heart stuttering painfully against my ribs.
That’s how our parents had died.
Throats slit. Blood painting the floors. A suffocating, endless silence swallowing our lives whole.
And now he had the fucking nerve to joke about it?
