Page 52 of Knocked Up By the Silver Foxes

I take a breath. “I just… I can’t really talk to Soph about it because of who it involves and I’ve been carrying it around for a week and I think I need to say it out loud to another human being before I lose my mind.”

Raph goes still in a way that tells me his brain has already started running candidates. I watch him get there. I watch his expression do the thing where someone is trying very hard not to react while they’re very clearly reacting.

“You didn’t,” he says. Very carefully. Trying not to smile.

I nod. Fast. Several times.

He loses the battle immediately. The laugh comes out of him loud and sudden and completely uncontrolled and I slap both hands over his mouth before it can get across the room.

It doesn’t entirely work.

Sophia’s head comes up from across the space. “Stop watching us, you pervs.”

“Doing the shelving” I call back, voice impressively steady.

She goes back to Lorenzo. I grab Raphael by the sleeve and pull him around the corner of the half-built display unit, putting a rack of empty hangers between us and the rest of the room, and he gets himself under control with visible effort, shoulders still shaking.

“All of them,” he says. A statement, not a question.

I look at the ceiling.

“Harper.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“How would you like me to say it?” He’s grinning so hard it looks like it hurts. “How? How did this happen?”

“The opening summer event and a lot of wine and apparently a complete absence of my better judgment.”

“And then?”

“And then nothing. Radio silence. It’s been a week and they’ve all gone perfectly professional on me and I’m sitting here deciding whether I’m devastated or relieved and I genuinely cannot tell which.” I pick at the edge of the display bracket. “Killian only talks to me about the midsummer event. Maddox was flirting with some investor at the tasting on Thursday like I wasn’t standing eight feet away. Asher texts me asking if I’ve eaten like someone told him he’s only allowed to communicate via food recommendations.”

Raphael is nodding slowly. “So they backed off.”

“Completely.”

“Maybe they’re giving you space.”

“Then they could have said that. I know what space is, I know how to ask for it. Nobody asked me if I wanted it, they just…” I gesture vaguely. “Retreated.”

Raph leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching me with the thoughtful expression he gets when he’s working something out. “For what it’s worth,” he says, “none of them look like men who’ve lost interest.”

I look at him.

“Raphael.”

“I’m being objective. I see them every day. There’s a difference between a man who’s moved on and a man who’s trying very hard to look like he hasn’t moved anywhere.” He raises an eyebrow. “Trust me. I know what the second one looks like.”

I don’t ask how he knows. I have some idea.

“I’m not chasing them,” I say.

“Good. Don’t.”

“I’m not playing games either.”

“Also good.” He picks up one of the loose shelf pieces and hands it to me. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. You’re good at your job, you’re good with Sophia, you’re here. That’s enough.” He pauses. “Also if any of this gets back to my brother I’m blaming you.”