Genni was inside the penthouse apartment in the new development, “setting the mood,” as she called it—usually lighting some candles and baking cookies so the cinnamon sugar smell filled the space, inspecting the cleaning job of the corporate service she always hired.

If she’d known who was coming, she probably wouldn’t have bothered. Or she would have poisoned the cookies. Which didn’t sound like the worst course of action, at the moment.

Theo stared out over the water. Jack was late.

He began to pace in front of the gate. The building had elaborate security measures and glass and steel polished to a silver gleam. It rose high above him, so unlike the historical row houses that had been torn down in preparation for new development, and yet it maintained a certain charm, the wrought iron gate, the interior walls of exposed brick. He had no idea if Jack would like it, and a little mean part of him felt pretty damned good about possibly wasting his time.

And another part of him, which he was resolutely ignoring, wondered if he wasn’t just excited to spend any time with Jack at all.

He gritted his teeth. Fuck that.

He heard footsteps behind him, and the strong bay breeze carried a familiar scent—bergamot, oakmoss, labdanum. Fresh and earthy and distinctly Gardner, like wind over a lacrosse field, sweet vermouth, and the rot-rich floor of the woods and creek behind Gwynns.

He took a moment, just three seconds with his eyes closed, to revel in the scent, and remember.

“Hey.” Jack’s voice, soft and tentative. “This the place?”

He turned, and Jack gestured up at the impressive building. He was unusually well-dressed, an emerald green sweater and charcoal trousers, that black hair with silver highlights ruffling in the breeze. Theo wondered how he was able to look so handsome, even after twenty years of separation, of aging. His heart clenched; he smoothed out his face.

“Mm. The agent’s inside.”

“Please tell me it’s not the whole building.” He looked up, intimidated.

“No, Gardner. I doubt even you have that much money.” He jerked his head. “It’s upstairs.”

“Oh, okay.” Jack opened the gate, gave a little bow, smiled crookedly. It should not have been cute. What a dork. “After you.”

Theo entered a code on a keypad next to the front door, a buzzing sound indicating it was correct—Genni had given him access for the day—and he turned toward the camera above them, showing his face. Jack looked surprised.

“Neat.”

“Impressed?”

“Definitely.”

The door slid open, and they walked through a lobby with marble floors, a large floral arrangement sitting on a cherrywood table, an elaborate but modern chandelier, two elevators hidden in a warmly lit niche. Everything was hushed; everything felt like discretion and money. It smelled of white gardenias and green tea, a hint of smoke, a whisper of imported scotch.

“Isn’t this kind of—”