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"Where's everyone else?"

The interconnectedness of the people they both loved meant forced proximity was a fact of life. But despite their attempts to exist in a sort of emotional demilitarized zone, they had more than a decade-long record of messy behavior whenever they found themselves alone together like this. Prolonged contact tended to result in verbal battles, hastily discarded clothing, or their tongues in each other's mouths.

Sometimes all three at the same time.

It was like she had one of those fill-in-the-blank safety compliance signs hung inside her brain. It has been three hundred ninety-five days since we couldn't manage to keep our panties on while alone with Duncan Brady.

Thirteen months was a new record for them, actually. At least the last few times she'd been smart enough to not let him kiss her. Her mouth seemed to have a direct line to her heart, and the aftermath of being kissed by Duncan Brady was way harder to get over than anything they did with the rest of their bodies. Vivian Ward in Pretty Woman had been onto something.

"I assume Harry's put them all to work, too, but I don't have everyone's social calendar. Colby Everett will be here in about an hour with all the flowers, though." He lifted the heavy bag of soil away from her with one hand, like it was a five-pound bag of sugar instead of the size of a kindergartner.

Temperance watched him walk to the back of the greenhouse. Even in that worn-out T-shirt and the old denim, Duncan Brady was the kind of gorgeous so audacious he was distracting to be around. When her best friends had met him, Rowan had said he was the hottest person she'd ever seen in real life. Frankie'd said he'd be a dream to photograph, with a face and frame suited for a spread in an edgy fashion editorial. It had been easy for Temperance to imagine—he'd smolder at the camera in some gritty, subversive location, like the parking lot of a run-down motel or a mechanic's graveyard for vintage cars. It would be nighttime in the shoot, but maybe he'd wear his vintage aviators anyway, looking sulky-hot and intimidating. But there'd be something about the way he carried himself that made you want to figure out the ways he was soft. Once the camera was off, he'd make half the crew laugh and the other half fall in love, because what really made Duncan Brady so damned compelling wasn't a corporeal thing like the angle of his jaw or a pair of cocoa bedroom eyes. It was in the way his expansive smiles felt like they were for you instead of at you, and how, when you had his attention, it felt like you were the sole object of his mind.

It was the same thing that made him so hard to stay away from, even though he'd repeatedly cracked her heart open like a pistachio.

He caught her looking at him. "You mad again, Madigan? You look like you could suck the yellow off a lemon."

She shook her head and met his eyes. "I'm good."

"You here to help, then? Or are you just going to scowl at me?"

"I don't scowl. This is just my face."

He breathed out a bland laugh that was the nonverbal equivalent of "Bullshit, but okay." Without hesitation, he picked up a terra-cotta pot full of rosemary that was as big as her torso. It had to weigh at least a hundred pounds.

"Surprised you're here today," he said.

"I've been here a lot lately."

"I noticed."

"Then why are you surprised?"

"You worked a twelve-hour shift at the hospital last night." Over by the sink, he set the massive pot down on the ground so gently it didn't make a sound. Then he picked up a tray of baby trees from an adjacent table. "And you were at the clinic most of the day before."

"How do you even know that?" Temperance grabbed a flat of basil seedlings and headed to the back of the greenhouse.

"Your sister is married to one of my brothers. One of your best friends is marrying another brother." There was a rueful slant to his smile as they passed each other. "You come up in conversation."

"Rowan hasn't said yes yet," she said to his back.

Duncan turned and cocked his head to the side. "Temperance. Come on. Harry wouldn't be proposing tonight if he wasn't already sure of her answer." Quieter, he said, "That's how this usually works."

That felt like a personal dig. "I heard that," she wanted to say.

She didn't.