Page 33 of Hers By Summer’s End

“Drew,” a voice called. He whirled on his heel, chest heaving. Theo pushed away from the nearest Ionic column, removing his hands from his pockets. Drew searched his stony expression for even a sliver of mercy but found none. “You missed the whole damn thing.”

“Where is she?” he asked between rasping breaths. “I need to speak with her.”

“She believed in you,” Theo ground out. “Long after I stopped expecting you to show. She kept looking at those doors, convinced you'd come walking through them. How could you leave her standing there?”

“Theo, please.” He scrubbed a hand over his damp brow, his chest aching with mounting dread. “You know me. You know I'd crawl across broken glass before I'd willingly hurt her. So believe me when I say something bigger kept me away.”

Abruptly, Theo sighed. “She wanted to leave immediately, but we convinced her to take a few minutes in my office at the Administration Building. Figured that if you showed up, this would be your only chance to plead your case.”

Drew clapped his hand on Theo’s shoulder. “You’re a good friend.”

“Please don’t make me regret this.”

“I won’t. I swear it.”

“Come on, then. You’ll need my credentials to get inside.”

They crossed the fairgrounds at a brisk pace, Drew explaining between breaths. Theo's anger gradually gave way to troubled silence, which scared the hell out of Drew. All he could picture was Cecelia standing alone before the judges, searching the room for him but finding only gossipmongers. His petal was fierce and opinionated, but she wasn’t immune to cruelty. If she’d been mocked because of him, he would never forgive himself.

They entered the Administration building and wound their way upstairs, past a wall map of the exposition grounds and a clerk hurrying through the corridor with an armful of paperwork. Muffled conversations and clattering typewriters wafted from behind closed office doors. When they reached the end of the corridor, before the door emblazoned with Theo’s name, they stopped.

“I hope you can mend this,” said Theo, “but I’m still going to thump you the next time we’re at the club.”

“I deserve a good punch,” he allowed, his lips twitching.

“Go on, then.” Theo nodded at the door before them. “And good luck.”

Drew raised his hand to knock—and froze. What if he couldn’t fix this? What if she’d finally wised up and decided—no, no. Doubt was for after the fight. He braced himself, then knocked thrice.

The door opened a crack. The earnest face of Theo’s Rosie appeared in the gap. Surprise flashed across it before hardening into fury. Her fingers tightened on the edge of the door as though she were debating slamming it in his face.

“Come with me, darling,” Theo said softly.

She pursed her lips but gave a grudging nod. She slipped past Drew, shooting him one last murderous glare that said, in no uncertain terms, that while Theo might believe in second chances, she thought he'd be better employed hurling himself off the Aero Plunge without a raft. He deserved that, too. He waited until they were halfway down the corridor before easing the door open.

Cecelia stood by the window, arms clasped across her chest. She inhaled sharply at the sight of him, her arms falling to her sides only for her hands to curl into tight fists. The sash he’d sent her lay at her feet in a crumpled heap.

“Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence,” she said with dangerous calm, heels clicking on the wood floor as she strode toward him. She stopped an arm's length away and arched a brow. “Do you have an excuse?”

“I do.”

“Well, I’m not ready to hear it!” She jabbed a finger against his chest. “First, you're going to stand there while I explain precisely why I'm furious, and precisely why you've behaved like absolute scum.”

He couldn’t have looked away from those glittering eyes if he’d tried. This was the Cecelia he knew and loved—a woman who never shirked a challenge worth having. Hope nudged at his despair. “I’m listening,” he said, spreading his hands before him.

“I’m furious because I was perfectly fine before I met you. I had accepted spinsterhood. I had my work, my mother, Rosie. My life was full.” Her eyes narrowed accusingly. “Then you had the unmitigated gall to be…you.

“You met every challenge I threw at you. You insisted on turning every scandal into a joke and every competition into an adventure. Somewhere along the way, I stopped wondering how to beat you and started looking forward to whatever ridiculous thing we'd do next.” She blew out an exasperated breath. “It was nice, damn you. Nice that you never asked me to be prettier, or quieter, or sweeter. Nice that you never cared that I’m opinionated or overly concerned with compost. Nice that you simply…” Her voice caught. “…liked me.”

Every instinct screamed at him to close the distance between them, to gather her into his arms and tell her she'd never been wrong. But one of the first things he'd loved about Cecelia was that she never swallowed her thoughts to make someone else comfortable. He’d sooner bite off his own tongue than ask her to do that now.

“I have never cared what society thinks of me, but I cared what you thought.” Her eyes were limpid pools, drowning him. “Do you have any idea what it's like to discover you've fallen in love with someone on the exact day they leave you all alone?”

His chest cracked open. “Oh, petal. I love you, too.”

Her hand slashed through the air. “This is not the time to exchange sweet words!”

Despite everything, a laugh huffed out of him. “It’s not?”