Page 46 of Unpacking Secrets

When she drew a shaky breath, I cupped her face in my hand and smiled down at her.

“I was there the day she saw your picture from that art gallery, you know,” I said, running my thumb across her cheek. “I don’t remember ever seeing her so happy. I don’t cry very easily, but . . . when she ended up in the hospital right after that, I wept like a baby. It just wasn’t fair.”

Tears slipped past her long lashes, rolling silently down her cheeks, so I shifted us both in order to cradle her against my chest. Her fingers tightened into the fabric of my tee. I held her like that for a few minutes, then pressed my lips to the top of her head.

“None of it makes any sense,” she said, her voice muffled against my sternum. “Why would my mother leave here? Why would she lie to me? All that time, all those years I could have known Nan. Why would she take that from me?”

“I don’t know,” I said softly, “but I’ll help you figure it out.”

When she looked up at me, her eyes shining under a veil of tears, I kissed her with a tenderness that soothed the pain rising in my own chest at her grief. I hoped it would help to soothe her, as well.

“Thank you,” she murmured, lifting her hand to my cheek.

“Anything for you, Red.”

She bit her lip for a heartbeat, then tilted her face up for another kiss. I grinned as her expression shifted from sadness to something entirely different, something I recognized all too clearly as a reflection of my own desire every time her lips touched mine.

Juliet might not have a wealth of happy memories in this town, but as my fingers tangled in her hair to draw her closer, I was determined to create a few for her.

Eighteen

Juliet

Overthenextweek,I focused on my artwork with an intensity I simply hadn’t had time for in years, then started researching local art galleries. After I finished a few more pieces, I might be able to pitch a Spruce Hill installment somewhere nearby—but the closest gallery was almost to Rochester. I’d finally started painting the image of the lighthouse and Blue on a canvas, but I earmarked that one as a gift for Henry when it was done.

Each day ended with Henry coming by after work to have dinner, help me sort through the boxes in the living room, and generally kiss me senseless.

It was a bit like being a teenager again, without the disapproving parent in the next room.

All in all, it was a routine that made me inordinately happy, though my patience with our slow pace was wearing thin. I had only myself to blame, since Henry was clearly letting me set our trajectory, but that didn’t lessen my frustration.

In direct contrast to that, I was enjoying my time with him so much that I was afraid to rush ahead and ruin it.

When the weather cooperated, he brought Blue with him, but Henry teased that unless I was going to let him scrub the wet dog smell from us both in Nan’s fancy bathtub, he wasn’t willing to bring her over in the rain.

Though I wouldn’t admit it to him just yet, Imighthave entertained a dozen or so fantasies about taking him up on the offer to lather up my skin with those strong hands of his.

We made progress working through the boxes, enough to let Henry cart some back up to the second floor to get them out of the way when we deemed the contents not worth deeper investigation, but I'd still found very few answers. Even if it was a study in disappointment, it helped to have Henry at my side through it all. He had an innate ability to tease a smile out of me, to distract and reassure me when I was ready to admit defeat.

“I wish I’d had you around while I was going through my mom’s attic,” I muttered one evening.

When I heaved a sigh and rubbed at eyes gone blurry from paging through decades of old ledgers, Henry’s strong fingers cupped the back of my neck, pressing into the knotted muscles until a soft sigh whispered past my lips.

“I wish I could have been there for you, Red. No one should have to do that kind of thing on their own. It makes me grateful for my brother, even if he annoys me at times.”

I stayed silent while he rubbed the tension from my neck. It was so easy, so natural being here with him. There was no pressure from him to move faster, give more, skip ahead—he seemed happy to let me set the pace, though I would swear there was a growing heat in his eyes every time we pushed the boundaries of our interactions.

Even if there were frequent moments when I was tempted to set aside all of my reservations, strip him naked, and while away the hours in bed together, for the time being, things stayed impressively chaste.

Of course, keeping it that way would be another matter entirely.

LateFridayafternoon,asI stood at the stove stirring a pot of sauce, Blue’s joyous bark sounded from the front yard. I set a timer and gladly abandoned my task to open the door and admire the smooth ripple of muscle beneath Henry’s t-shirt as he pulled a heavy box from the back of his truck.

Blue galloped straight toward me, accepted a quick head rub, then traipsed off to sniff at the wildflowers lining the walk.

“I come bearing gifts,” Henry called.

He paused at the doorway, shifting the box to one hip so he could kiss me in that slow, languid way that set my nerves aflame, while Blue trotted past us and settled into her favorite spot in front of the couch.

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