As Mom shuts the car door behind her, and walks up to them, she asks with a teasing smile, “Jude, did you happen to try and steal a rose from one of my pots last night?”
Jude’s grin falters just for a moment, his eyes flicking to me, and my pulse quickens. I can feel the heat rise in my face, and I quickly avert my gaze, afraid of what he might see in my eyes.
“Not at all, Mrs. Sinclair,” Jude says, his voice smooth but laced with something I can't quite place—nervousness, maybe? He shrugs like it's all too casual. “If I ever needed a rose from your beautiful garden, I’d simply ask you for one.”
I swallow hard, my gaze still lingering anywhere but on his face.
“Of course, I know that,” Mom says, her tone light as she continues, “Must have been the cat who toppled over the pot. He scra
