Page 78 of What We Keep
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Haven
Sunshine woke me the following morning. The light was angling through the windows because, for obvious reasons, we hadn’t thought to close the curtains the night before. When I rolled my head on the pillows, I discovered Elsa curled on her side, the sun catching on the glints of gold in her hair.
My lips curled into a smile. We were tangled up together. Oh, how I’d missed this.
Maybe it had only been a matter of days, but those days had been long and the nights even longer. I couldn’t resist sifting my fingers through her hair, watching the way the sunlight flickered like strands of gold with the motion.
I slid my hand down her back. Her skin was warm, and of course, my palm slid right over the sweet curve of her bottom because I couldn’t help it. Her lips curved into a smile, and her eyes opened to meet mine.
“Hey,” she murmured, her voice softened on the edges from sleep, a little raspy.
“Hey.”
I had to clear my throat, and suddenly, my heart felt tight because everything felt real. Not that it hadn’t been before, but we’d put voice to so much last night.
“I know where we should go,” I said, surprising myself with even the thought.
“Where?”
“To Spruce Green.”
Her eyes widened slightly before she nodded. “We should. Let’s go before breakfast.”
We tumbled out of bed and into the shower. Of course, by the time we were out and getting dressed, my knees were a little weak.
Starting the day with Elsa was everything I wanted. I hoped I could look forward to thousands more mornings with her.
Our breath misted in the air as we walked to my truck. The distant bleating of a goat elicited a chuckle. A short drive later, we walked hand in hand in the cemetery. We stopped first in front of Bree’s marker.
“I miss her,” I said softly.
Elsa squeezed my hand. “I know you do.”
My throat ached with it when the grief slammed into me for a moment. Even though years had passed since my sister died, my grief still hovered. At first, you tricked yourself into thinking the worst had passed, but then you learned that some days, the weight of it was almost paralyzing. On other days, there was a sharpness to it, like a blade slicing through your heart just to remind you.
I cleared my throat, lifting Elsa’s hand to brush a kiss on the back of it. “But we’ll be open soon, and I know she’d love what we’ve done at Heartfire Falls.”
Elsa’s laugh was soft. “I’m sure of it.”
“Where’s your dad’s grave?”
Elsa and I walked just a few steps before she traced her fingertips over her father’s name.
“We cremated him too, in case that wasn’t obvious.” She took a big breath, letting it out in a gust. “My dad was such a funny guy.”
“He always seemed like it,” I offered.
“I was surprised when he died. My mom wasn’t, but I was because I didn’t really understand.” She wrinkled her nose. “Once I understood, I was angry for a while. I’m not anymore, but it didn’t have to happen, you know?”
“I know.”
Last, we walked back to my dad’s marker, just above Bree’s.
“You miss him,” Elsa said softly, squeezing my hand.
“Always.” My voice was hushed.
