Page 43 of Our Daughter's Bones
He looked up from his food and gave her a lopsided grin. “The first time I made it for you, I almost burned down my kitchen.”
“I never would have guessed. You pretended to be a pro.”
“Fake it till you make it.” He winked.
She regarded the dark green sweater that she had gifted him last Christmas. He had shaved and had let his hair grow into soft curls. Just how she liked it.
She looked up from her book and found Sterling standing in the kitchen. “What did you do?”
“What?”
“Your hair!” she shrieked. “What happened to your curls?”
“It’s just a haircut, babe.”
“I liked your curls.”
“Why?” he asked, amused.
“They were ticklish.” She pouted.
A mischievous smile broke across his face. “If you want to get tickled, then you just have to ask.”
“No! That’s not what I meant!” She tried jumping away, but Sterling lunged at her too fast.
Their laughter rang in her ears and then faded into a faint echo, eventually drowning in the stuffy silence. Could they ever go back?
“You’re trying to make up for what happened?” she asked.
He licked his lips and dropped his fork. “I’m sorry, Mack. I know you’ve been under a lot of pressure. Two back-to-back cases and now you’re involved in the Perez case as well. I should have been more understanding.”
She felt blood rush to her ears. What was he doing? Was this his way of making her feel guilty? But she watched his earnest eyes—they shimmered as though he was teary.
“I shouldn’t have belittled your emotions,” she mumbled like a petulant child. “I’m sorry too.”
“It’s alright, babe.”
Babe.Did he callherbabe?
She dropped her fork. The sharp clank of metal bouncing off the marble floor jolted her out of her thoughts.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” She climbed off the chair and crawled under the table to retrieve the fork. But even as she grasped it in her clammy palms, a sudden urge to burst conquered her. Her chest heaved uncontrollably, like a boat caught in a storm. She clasped her mouth with her hand to muffle her cry.
“Babe? What’s up?” His voice came from above the table. Before he could check, she quickly crawled out and took her seat.
“I couldn’t see where I’d dropped my fork.” She avoided his eyes and wiped it with her napkin.
“You okay? You look flushed.”
“Yes. It’s just kind of hot in here, and I-I haven’t slept properly.”
“I wanted to talk to you about that.” He set his fork down.
Mackenzie looked at him sharply. She felt a sluggish roll of stiffness take over her body. Like she was preparing for impending doom. He shifted in his seat and struggled for words as he finished chewing his food.
Was he going to ask for a divorce?
