Brothers of Paradise Series

“Yes, you are.”

I roll my eyes and take a seat on one of the couches. Hayden follows me, sitting on the opposite one and stretching out his long legs. Friends, I remind myself.

“Tell me about the galleries you worked at in New York.”

“You’ve never liked all that artsy stuff.”

“I’ve always liked yours,” he says, voice entirely sincere.

I rub the back of my neck. “Thanks. Well… I worked in a place in Soho before switching to two on the Upper West Side. It was a lot of fun, that world. Seeing new artists come in and help curate exhibitions. I loved it. But everything has its time, you know? I missed the ocean, and I missed doing something practical with my hands. It was so conceptual all the time. I wanted to actually create, not just curate.”

“So you came back here.”

I nod. “I wanted to come back here and paint. To see the ocean every day, to be closer to my family. It was good to be away for a while, but it was even better to be back.”

Hayden nods. “I can imagine.”

“How about you? How does it feel to be back?”

“Weird.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Good.”NôvelDrama.Org owns all © content.

“How’s Gary doing?”

“Oh, you know him. He’s doing the same old things he’s always been doing. He’s talking about trimming the lawn mower for your parents’ place, getting it to go faster. I asked why speed was necessary, but he just laughed me off.”

Hayden’s uncle had always been one for tinkering. “Remember when he made us homemade rockets for New Year’s one year?”

“Yep. I was pretty sure he was going to get fired for that.”

“What? My parents would never fire him.”

His eyebrows rise. “If they found out about those rockets, I’m pretty sure they would’ve.”

I don’t believe that. “Well, he became my brother’s hero after that.”

Hayden snorts. “That’s true.”

“Anything Parker knows about cars today, he’s learned from Gary. He still goes there sometimes, you know, just to ask for advice.”

“Yeah, he told me something about that,” Hayden says.

There’s something I want to ask. Something that’s been nagging at me for years, in the back of my mind. About being a fish out of water-dropped into a strange new place.

“How was it, growing up with us? Truly?”

His smile flashes again. “Truly?”

“Yes.”

Hayden shakes his head, still smiling.

“What’s funny?”

“You,” he says.

“Why?”

“You just are. All right, I’ll try to answer your question.” He looks away, running a hand through his hair, the smile still playing around his lips. He’s arrestingly handsome like that, sitting casually in his own home, freshly showered and shaved.

“It was great. You four, you were… well, I think it’s something you only see from the outside. But you have each other. And as intensely jealous as I was of that, I also loved being close to it. Seeing what a family was supposed to look like.”

It’s more than he’s ever told me. I run my hand over the throw on the couch, thinking about all the times we were together, all of us. “Everyone missed you, you know. After you left.”

“They did?”

“Yes. Henry tried to hide it, but I could tell he was rattled. He was the one who kept us all updated on your military achievements.”

Hayden’s eyes are wide. “He did?”

“Yes. I’m sure it took meticulous research, but you know how he is. He has to have control over everything.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s true.”

“Rhys wasn’t surprised, though I don’t know why. Parker missed you the most, I think.”

Hayden nods, but not like he believes me. More like he’s humoring me.

I frown. “They did, you know. I know things were complicated at times. But they did.”

He nods and stands, stretching lightly from side to side. His gaze is softer, and I don’t know if it’s because of what I said or because he thinks it’s cute that I tried. I never know what really gets through to him.

“I’ve been a bad host,” he says. “Do you want something to drink? A piece of the tarte?”

“I can’t eat my own gift.”

“Of course you can. I’ll be right back, Lils.”

I sit in silence on his couch, hearing the rustle and bustle in the kitchen as he prepares plates. It’s oddly domestic in a way we haven’t been for years, perhaps ever. As children, we mostly spent time together with my brothers. Any moments for just him and me had to be stolen, to be carved out and guarded. They were some of my favorite memories.

My gaze snags on something on the mantlepiece. A large, pinkish cone shell, with a painted landscape on the side. No way.

He kept it?

I want to look at it-at the scribbled handwriting I know is on the other side-but Hayden returns. He hands me a glass of white wine and a paper plate with the tarte on it. “Sorry,” he says. “I don’t have plates and all that stuff yet.”

“Just wineglasses?”

“I found some in the back cupboard.”