Page 47 of Unpacking Secrets

“I see that,” I said when he drew back to wink and lug the box into the living room. “Dinner’s almost ready. I’m no master chef, but it should be edible.”

Henry set the box on the floor and returned to my side to kiss me again now that his hands were free. The man could work wonders with his mouth alone, but when his hands joined the action, I was a goner. He'd spent the previous evenings learning my responses until he knew exactly where to trace his fingers along my spine to draw that purr from my throat, where to cup his hands without tickling me, just how I liked to be kissed and held and cherished.

When he reluctantly released me, I gazed up at him in that dazed way that always drew a smile from his lips.

“What’s in the box?” I asked once I'd recovered my senses.

Henry grinned, looking excited enough that I didn’t think it was full of tax documents or elementary school report cards.

Thank heavens for that.

“Gramps found some stuff in the basement of the inn, he thought it might help in our quest for information,” he said, gesturing to the other boxes still lining the floor. “They’re not diaries, but there are some sketchbooks and notebooks in there, along with a bunch of file folders. He didn’t want to pry and neither did I, so they’re yours to discover.”

As much as I wanted to dive immediately in, the timer I set for the pasta went off with a loud ding. I sighed as I returned to the stove, waving off Henry’s offer of assistance. When I laid our plates on the counter, his expression shifted from excitement to something darker, more troubled. He was almost always smiling these days—either that or giving me the intense, heated look I was coming to know so well, the one that made my breath catch in my throat with anticipation.

After I sat beside him, he tucked my hair behind my ear, his fingertips lingering on the sensitive skin.

“What is it?” I asked.

“This smells delicious,” he replied, but I narrowed my eyes at him. “Right, fine, I’ll stop buttering you up. It’s probably nothing, but I’ve been asking around about the sound you heard that day at the Point.”

I had nearly forgotten he’d promised to do that, distracted as I’d been by this thing that was developing between us.

“So? Spill it, Walker.”

Henry flashed a grin and leaned over to kiss me before he continued, but he knew better than to press his luck, so he kept it quick.

“The Partridges, who live along the road by Cooper’s Point, thought they heard a gunshot that day, too. They were outside in the yard with their grandchildren that afternoon so everybody heard it. Mr. Partridge assumed it was either a hunter or some kids messing around out in the woods.”

“But you don’t think so?”

“I don’t know what to think, to be perfectly honest. Folks in Spruce Hill are pretty careful. I’ve talked to enough people that word will get around, so maybe we’ll find out more. Either that or whoever was responsible will realize they’re about to get busted, and it won’t ever happen again.”

Something in his expression said he didn’t agree, but he reached over to touch my cheek, his gaze softening. A faint streak of heat blossomed under his fingertips.

“It pisses me off that you were hurt because someone was out there dicking around. I’m still amazed your injuries weren’t worse.”

“Well, thank you for asking about it,” I said softly. “My knee is feeling better, and I don’t look like something from a horror movie anymore, so that’s definite improvement.”

“Oh, I don’t know, sometimes there’s a hot redhead at the beginning of the movie, right before everyone starts getting murdered. You might still have a backup career in film, you know,” he replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief now.

I snorted and whacked his arm. “Eat your dinner, you scoundrel.”

He did, with such gusto that it made me feel marginally better about my subpar cooking skills. I’d managed to feed myself for years, but between popping over to the inn for breakfast, exploring the town’s takeout options, and letting Henry cook for me, I was spoiled now.

And enjoying the hell out of it, to be perfectly honest.

After dinner, he insisted on taking care of the dishes. I propped my chin in my hand and basked in contentment as I watched him bend over to load the dishwasher, giving me a pristine view of his ass in those faded jeans. There was something so captivating about him, all lean grace and understated strength.

After a few minutes, he threw a glance rife with promise over his shoulder and smirked ever so slightly.

“I can take off my shirt, if you’d like a better view,” he offered.

I learned very early in this budding relationship that he enjoyed throwing me off balance with such comments, but I'd also come to understand that he didn’t generally expect me to call his bluff.

Lest he start to think I wasn’t up to the challenge, I decided it was time to change that.

“Yes, please,” I answered, delighted by the flash of surprise that crossed his face.

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