Page 84 of Unpacking Secrets

Her expression filled with dread, but she must have seen the softness in my eyes as I gazed down at her. That seemed to ease her tension before I even spoke.

“I love you,” I whispered. “You don’t have to say it back, but I need you to believe it’s true. The thought that I could have lost you without ever saying it, without you knowing, I can’t risk that happening. I love you, Juliet.”

She released my hand only to throw her good arm around me, then buried her face in the crook of my neck as I wrapped both of mine around her, clasping her to me. I rubbed one hand soothingly along her spine and cupped the back of her neck with the other.

Even though the breath shuddered from her lungs, no tears dampened my skin, which seemed like a good sign. Still, I asked, “You don’t hate me for saying it, do you?”

Her nose brushed against my throat as she shook her head. I kissed her temple, content just to hold her again. After a few minutes, she drew back and tangled her fingers in the front of my shirt. The fierceness of her gaze made me want to kiss her, but I forced myself to wait patiently instead.

“I love you,” she said finally, firmly, a declaration that came without hesitation or doubt. “I need you to know that, too.”

A tremor ran through her just before my lips met hers. There, in the warm circle of my arms, I knew Juliet had finally come home.

Epilogue

Juliet

Asspringblossomedintoa hot, beautiful summer, I worked hard with the physical therapist Libby recommended—and also with Lewis Zoratti, who swiftly came to appreciate my visions for renovating the cottage into something new. I sometimes suspected he might've had a moment or two of regret over offering to help once he finally understood the scope of my plans, but the man was a godsend and I desperately enjoyed fostering a friendship with someone who'd known my mother so well.

Every tiny connection to her and Nan was a blessing in itself, each one of them worth far more than the journals and notebooks that had been lost in the fire.

In the early weeks of my recovery, I ventured once or twice to mention that I could find an apartment if I needed to, but Henry had pinned me with his intense hazel gaze and made sure I knew just how much he wanted me there with him at his house.

The memory of his efforts to convince me to stay still brought a rush of heat to my cheeks.

With my project to keep me busy and Henry’s renewed focus on updating the inn’s website and reservation systems, the summer passed in a flurry of activity. Though I didn’t think I’d ever get used to being the topic of small town gossip, I did finally start to feel like I was no longer an outsider, thanks in large part to the continual stream of well-wishes from everyone in town after our final confrontation with Heller. Henry’s house was swiftly filled with flowers, gift baskets, and enough prepared meals to keep an army fed for months.

By the final week of August, I looked forward to Nan’s memorial. The arrangements would all be carried out by Mr. Escobar and the staff at the inn, leaving me with little to do as far as preparation.

I did, however, decide to use the occasion to unveil my official plans for the cottage, which added an edge of nervous excitement to the days leading up to the event.

The day of the memorial dawned bright and sunny. With a cloudless blue sky overhead and the promise of a gentle breeze along the lake, I didn’t think I could have orchestrated more perfect weather.

When I came downstairs in a gauzy, flowing sundress of pale yellow, Henry drew a sharp breath as his expression heated. I paused in front of the lighthouse painting I’d gifted him with—I'd started it from scratch for him as soon as I was able after my surgery. It was the only painting of mine to hang in the house rather than the inn, at Henry’s insistence.

He held out his hand to usher me down the last few steps and drew me in for a kiss. “You look absolutely ravishing.”

The scar on my left shoulder was only partially covered by the thin strap of the dress, and Henry brushed his fingers over it as he kissed me again. It had become something of a habit, as though he needed to reassure himself that I was really there in his arms, that I'd survived the nightmare.

When I questioned him about it, he confessed it was more like an act of reverence, a reminder of what I'd risked for his sake and how much I meant to him.

Though the area was neither tender nor ticklish, the way my skin shivered under his fingertips reminded us both of other, more pleasurable things.

In pressed khaki pants and a short-sleeved linen dress shirt, he cut an impressive figure himself. Henry drove us over to the inn in my car, with Blue in the back seat to keep her hair off my dress as she stuck her furry face out the window.

I clasped my mother’s ring in one hand, the other toying nervously with my skirt until Henry covered it with his own. The gentle stroke of his thumb across my knuckles gradually drained some of the tension from my body.

“Do you think many people will show up?” I asked.

“Whether they do or not, it’ll be perfect.”

Henry lifted my hand to his lips and smiled over at me. I tucked his simple reassurance around me like a blanket.

The parking lot was nearly empty when we arrived, but there was an hour still to go before the memorial was scheduled to begin. Though I'd been at the cottage regularly over the months that had passed, neither Henry nor I had been back out to Nan’s clearing since that fateful day.

We were both ready to lay the ghosts of the past to rest, even if it had taken some encouragement from him to convince me I could handle it.

Leaving the car in the lot, we strolled together through the gardens on our way to the woods. Blue danced excitedly around us, pausing here and there to sniff at the flower beds. I laughed at the dog’s antics, but I gripped Henry’s hand a bit more tightly than usual.

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