Bennet, Pride Before the Fall (Love Austen 3)

“He is not gay.”

“Then if I did pursue him, he would not choose me.”

“I don’t understand what’s special about you.” Her voice caught, like she was holding back tears. “What he finds so intriguing. Anyone can smile.”

“Then go,” Bennet choked, trying to keep hold of his patience. “Smile at him. See what happens.”

“He was closer to me when you weren’t around.”

“I’m sorry. I know he considers you a good friend and he’s thankful for everything you’ve done for him.”

Her face pinched. She sniffed and quickly got hold of herself. She moved to his shelves of LGBT fiction. “I offered to help you pay for your Pride event.”

A worried knot formed in his stomach. “What are you saying?”

“You want people at your event. You want the hall to hold your party in.”

Bennet straightened. “That payment for the hall was supposed to go through last week—”

“They called me this morning to remind me. They know I’m good for it, so they weren’t worried.”

“What did you say to them?”

“That I needed to finalize things with you and I’d come by before Friday.”

He let her full meaning sink in, moved to her, and plucked the book she’d taken out of her hand. He met her eyes steadily. “Caroline, you’ve seriously misjudged me if you think I would succumb to this kind of blackmail.”

“But the event. LGBT support in the community. I know what it means to you and your brother.”

“Please leave.”

“I read all the comments to that kiss between Lyon and Will. The village is on edge. They’re starting to argue about what’s right and wrong. So easily swayed either way. I wouldn’t be surprised if they turned out like your parents. If they wanted you both gone—”

“Get out.”

Caroline had said her bit. She delivered an earnest nod and clacked her way out of the van.

Her footsteps died, and he slapped the book back on the shelf.

Thursday evening, after a long ride and hours spent unable to concentrate on edits, Bennet walked. It was a hot, dry summer day. Villagers licked ice cream outside the market, chatted on every park bench, and laughter floated on light breezes—but he felt a chill in his bones.

He could call him. He could ask how things were going. He could ask him to come this weekend, talk face to face, like they’d wanted and hadn’t had the opportunity.

He pressed the green button.

Voicemail. Bennet clicked it off.

He reached the familiar pines outside the greenhouse, and paused. Something was different. Fewer vines strangled the wrought iron. Glass panes looked cleaner.

A flash of blue from within.

A funny feeling overcame Bennet, and his heart leaped into his throat. With a steady stride, Bennet crossed long grass, and for the first time in years, entered the greenhouse.

It was warm and orderly inside. Dead plants had been sorted onto a pile and fresh soil had been laid out. And there, in the back corner behind an ornate picnic table, crouched Lyon. He pressed at the soil with his gloves.

“Oh, Lyon.”

Lyon jerked to his feet and swiped dirt over his forehead as he pushed his hair back. “You weren’t supposed to see it yet.”

This must have been days of work. Longer.

“Might be wrong timing, but I’m trying to grow grapes. It’s kinda advanced gardening, though. Wiremu saw me at the garden store trying to figure it out, and offered to help. I mean, he has been helping me.”

“This is what you’ve been spending your holidays doing?”

An embarrassed shrug.

Bennet picked up the tray of young plants from the table, and they knelt.

“I know Mum ruined this place for you, but you come here all the time. You like it. You made a best friend here once. I thought . . .” Lyon cleared his throat. “I thought you could also make a brother.”

Bennet grabbed Lyon and hauled him into a hug. “I have a brother.”

“A better one. Benny, I’m sorry I fuck up all the time—”

“Hush.” He squeezed his brother tighter, wanting him to feel his meaning to his soul. “You’re the brother I want. You’re full of heart, Lyon. You might try to hide it, but I know. I love you.”

Lyon let Bennet hold him another twenty seconds and then withdrew, flushing. “Want to help me finish this? Then head to the pub for dinner?”

Bennet laughed. “Sure. But it’s Singles Karaoke Night again. And . . .”

“And, what?”

Bennet hadn’t told Lyon about his run-in with Caroline, but here they were in Bennet’s most treasured space that Lyon had transformed for him. He owed him only truth. “Caroline might be there,” he whispered.

“So?”

“Here’s the thing . . .” After recounting her visit to the library yesterday, he let out a long breath. “I checked last night. I can scrape together the money for the hall. I don’t know how many people will bail. I want to go ahead anyway. How do you feel about it?”