“Oh, you did?” Definitely time to gently let Harry’s hopes down. “About West—”
“He was hand in hand with Josh.”
Lake blinked in confusion, face pinching. What?
Harry continued, “Can you believe it?”
What Lake couldn’t believe was how easy-going and jovial Harry was about it.
Not even a flicker of disappointment.
Harry sat forward, voice serious. “You look shocked. Are you sad? Did you like him?”
Like him? No! Shocked? Well, a bit. He’d expected to drag Harry to the grocery store for ice cream. “I’m beginning to see how bad I am at reading people. I thought you’d be bummed West was taken.”
“Me? Why?” Harry cocked his head, frowning. “Did you think I was interested in him?”
“I mean, it’s good you’re not? I was waiting all week to tell you because I didn’t want it to affect your audition.”
“So you knew.”
“Yes.” Lake’s frown deepened. “You said you had a spark. You’ve been ultra-happy all week, watching all those rom-coms. Singing dreamily as you tended the garden.”
“I was never into West. I barely know him.”
Fear wormed inside him, and he rubbed his palms against his thighs harder. “But—”
Harry chuckled. “You misunderstood me.”
Lake’s voice thickened; fear multiplied. “What do you mean?”
Another laugh. “I didn’t want to jinx it, but I assumed you knew who I meant. Especially since you’ve been flirting with him.”
Terror had Lake frozen on the couch. “Are you talking about Knightly?”
Harry nodded. “Thought it was obvious.”
“But you said he came to your rescue. I thought you meant falling into the pool!”
“That was good of West, but I meant the other Knight in shining armor.” He giggled at his pun. “I was embarrassed when Philip turned me down for the Lindy Hop, and then Knight swooped in and took the hurt away. I felt cared for. Seen, liked. He’s such a good, kind man, reminds me so much of Mar—anyway, does this change things?”
Lake paced the length of the hearth. How could he have misunderstood Harry? Why had he assumed and not clarified? Had he not learned anything since Philip?
His stomach lodged itself somewhere around his knees.
“It does change things then.” Harry’s disappointment was palpable, and Lake couldn’t look at him.
Knight had warned Lake about messing in others’ love lives, and look at the mess he’d made with Harry. Look how much Lake had screwed with him. Angling him away from Martin, foisting him toward Philip who didn’t care for him at all, convincing him Lake didn’t have feelings for West when Harry had meant Knight . . .
Knight, who Lake . . .
But did Knight feel the same way? Lake thought he’d felt understanding pass between them at the Ask Austen party. Or was that also misunderstood? What if these momentous feelings were only on his side?
He’d read Philip wrong. Harry, too. Who wasn’t to say he’d dreamed up this wondrous connection too?
Lake spun on his heel, facing Harry. “You spent Sunday evening with Knight while I worked. Did you have more sparks? Did they feel reciprocated?”
Harry bowed his head, biting his lip. “Maybe?”
The word hit him like a punch. Lake collapsed onto the couch and stared at the fireplace. Pain ripped through him like a burning arrow.
His throat closed, his jaw clenched, his hands balled the edge of the cushion. He didn’t want Knight loving anyone but him. Not Paul, not Josh, not Harry. He wanted Knight’s sole loving attention, and he wanted it . . . forever.
God, Lake had been so blind. Clueless of his own feelings. If he were honest, if he really dwelled in his history with Knight . . . he’d felt this way for a while. A seed when they first met, slowly growing, until these last weeks . . . the springtime of its life, blooming for the first time. The most beautiful flower Lake had ever known.
Beautiful, and delicate. Standing tall in a field of grass, wind pummeling it from every direction. Would it last? Would Knight tend to him with as much care as he did everything else in his garden, and in life?
Or was it doomed to shrivel and die?
Lake’s insides knotted as he glanced at Harry. Maybe. What had he meant?
Knight had danced with him, then cradled him in his arms when West had brought him home. He had offered him the front seat to the strawberry fields, and weeks ago, had stopped Lake from burning his shirts—even telling Lake that he liked Harry just as he was.
Oh, God.
“When did you have another ‘spark’?” Lake did not sound like himself.
Harry hesitated. “At the strawberry fields. He toppled over me. I thought he did it on purpose. And . . .”
There was more?
“He asked me if I was still in contact with Martin.” Lake frowned, and Harry continued, “It felt like he was fishing. To see how available I am?”
“What did you say? What did he say?”