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“What do you mean?”

“Just drop it, Emily,” he snapped, and his mouth settled in a grim line.

Oh! “Chill, will you!” I snapped back.

He blinked, and his mouth twitched with a suppressed smile. “Chill?”

“Yeah, calm down.”

“I know what it means; it’s just not something I’d expect you to say, Beauchamp. You’re an old soul.” Tristan straightened suddenly and looked at the door.

Dylan opened it. “You talking to someone?” he asked.

“Just myself,” I said and gave him a dazzling grin.

Dylan narrowed his eyes. “Really?” Irony dripped from his tone as he surveyed the room.

“You don’t believe me?” I put as much moral outrage as I could into four words.

“Okay, Emily, if you say so,” he said and sighed, then sniffed the air, puzzled.

Oh no.

“I can smell something,” he said.

I inhaled deeply. Tristan’s scent filled my lungs, and I couldn’t help but close my eyes and savor it. When I opened them, both Tristan and Dylan were staring at me. Tristan was smirking, and Dylan was regarding me with apprehension.

“Yes,” I murmured. “I can smell something too.”

Why is he noticing this now?

“I wonder what it is?” Dylan looked at me as if I might know the answer. I shrugged. “Well, it’s very pleasant,” he said, and Tristan gave a hollow laugh.

“Tell him I’m here,” Tristan said, sounding bored.

I ignored him, and inspiration hit me as I found a topic to sidetrack Dylan from Tristan’s scent. “Did you manage to find hangers?” I unscrewed the liquid detergent.

“Yes,” he said. “Are you trying to distract me?”

Hell!

“No, why would I do that?” My voice was a little too squeaky as I poured the liquid into the dispenser.

“I don’t know, Emily. Something’s going on with you. But if you don’t want to tell me”—he looked resigned—“that’s your right.”

“Nothing’s going on.”

Tristan glared at Dylan. “Tell the nosy son of a bitch I’m here. That will shut him up,” Tristan repeated.

Again, I ignored him. The last time I mentioned Tristan to Dylan, I was subjected to an intrusive interview with a psychiatrist. I wasn’t about to mention him again.

“Nothing’s going on,” I stated. “You mentioned cricket.”

Dylan chuckled. “You’re good at this game, aren’t you?”

I smirked. Yes. Two can play this game.

“Oh, never mind, Emily. You’ll tell me when you’re good and ready. Yes, cricket. I play on the hospital team, and there’s a bank holiday match tomorrow and they need me. It’s a grudge match against Ealing, so what would you say to a picnic tomorrow, if the weather holds out?”