Page 94 of Bottles & Blades

“I’m notsure this is a good idea,” Tiff says a couple of hours later as she pulls her little beat-up sedan to a stop in front of her parent’s house.

“It’ll be fine.”

I study the home, noting it’s an older style ranch on a decent-sized lot. A two-car garage faces the street and the wide, white rolling door with panes of glass running along the top takes up most of the home’s curb appeal. The rest is hidden by the covered porch, old-growth trees that have gone way beyond shade and now need a good cut, lest a branch breaks off in a storm and lands on the roof that’s seen better days.

Hell, it’s seen betterdecades.

Yet, I can tell this is a house that’s been loved and cared for.

Not recently.

But beneath the leaves on the lawn and the weeds in the planter beds and the dust on the bottom of that white two-car garage door, I see flowers and a bird feeder. A rope swing and carved initials into the trunk of one of those oak trees. A wreath on the door and a cheery mat on the porch.

“Jean-Mi?”

I turn from my study of the house. “Yeah, baby?”

Her throat works for a moment. “I was thinking…”

“Thinking what?” I press when she doesn’t go on.

“Just that…” She nibbles her lip. “Let me go in first and tell them I have someone with me?”

My immediate reaction is absolutely fuckingnot.

But as I study her face, I know I need to table that thought. She’s given a lot. She’s given too much.

And she’s asking me for one small thing.

I reach across the console, touch her cheek. “Okay, buttercup.”

“It’ll only take a few minutes,” she says as though she hasn’t heard me. “I swear, I’ll be right back out.”

I cup her jaw. “Go on, then.”

“I—”

“Baby,go.”

Her mouth curves. “Orders.”

Before I can taste her smile, she opens the door, hurries around the front of the car, and I watch her pick her way up the driveway, along the walkway, bypassing the ramp covering the two stairs there, and disappearing inside.

I have every intention of letting her have those minutes.

I fucking do.

At least…

Until I hear the shouting.

Twenty-Nine

Tiff

I knewthat my mom was pissed about Jean-Michel’s interference even before I walked through the door.

I knew when I overheard his half of the conversation, even though he was trying to be quiet.

---