Isaiah
“Is this it?” I held up a necklace I’d found at the bottom of a plastic tote.
Genevieve looked up from the tote she’d been digging through and frowned. “No. It’s not in this box either.”
“Damn. Sorry, V.” I put the necklace back where I’d found it.
“I hate that Dash might have been right about this.” She put the lid on her tote. “I hate that I didn’t think of it myself.”
“I know. But you’ll feel better if we catch a break.”
“I hope so.” She sighed. “We’d better get going, or we’ll be late.”
I nodded, closing the tub to stand and grab my coat. I shrugged it on and helped Genevieve into hers. We collected hats and gloves and scarves and walked outside.
It was pitch black. The stars and moon were hidden by the clouds that had rolled in this morning. The forecast was calling for a light snow, fitting since we were headed for the Clifton Forge Christmas Stroll downtown.
Genevieve gripped the railing as we descended the slippery stairs. “I wish I could remember if I’d packed up that necklace at Mom’s house. Maybe she lost it. Or maybe I lost it. Maybe it’s in all my stuff in storage.”
“You put everything in those totes?”
“Yep.” She nodded. “Everything else I left in her house to sell furnished.”
“Lee might have taken it.”
“Bastard,” she muttered. “I liked that necklace and I don’t want to think of him touching it.
It was the one I wore to my senior prom.
It had this dainty gold chain and a small North Star pendant with a white crystal in the center.
It probably cost ten bucks but she’d had it forever.
At least I have the ones she wore more often. ”
We’d spent the better part of the afternoon going through those totes, like we’d promised Dash and Bryce earlier in the week.
The minute we’d pulled the boxes down, Genevieve had started cataloging jewelry.
I was glad she had the task, something concrete to focus on so that rummaging through her mother’s things didn’t make her as sad.
It worked. Not once had I caught her teary-eyed.
Instead, she’d held her face in utter concentration, inspecting everything she touched.
She’d searched through every book, every envelope, every item.
The necklace was the only thing she couldn’t find.
And there had been no hint of Amina’s boyfriend Lee. Nothing he might have left behind.
We reached the last step and she let go of my arm to walk to the driver’s side of her car. “Are you sure about this?”
I took a deep breath. “Yeah.”
“I don’t mind if you want to drive separately.”
“I’ll be all right.” I opened the door and climbed inside. Riding shotgun was better than driving her around.
She got in and gave me a reassuring smile.
The car was warm and running. I’d come out ten minutes ago to scrape the ice from the windshield and give the seats a chance to heat.
As she pulled away from the garage, I gripped my thighs and stared out the window. I waited for the anxiety.
One block passed, then two. My heart rate was normal. My hands weren’t sweating. I wasn’t ready to fling myself out of the moving vehicle. What the hell?
I looked at Genevieve’s profile. I hadn’t had the nightmare of her dying in a car crash in two days.
Not exactly a feat, but considering I’d had it nearly every night since she’d been sick in November, the break was welcome.
And now I wasn’t panicking at being in a car with her.
Something was off, but I had no complaints.
“What?” she asked. “Do I have something on my face?”
“No.”
She stretched to see her face in the rearview anyway.
I faced forward, breathing again. Waiting for that feeling. But it was . . . less. Not gone. I was very aware we were in a car together. This was not relaxing, but I wasn’t in a panic.
Maybe it was the sex. Maybe jerking off in the shower for years hadn’t been enough to relieve the stress. Or maybe the past two days of peace were because of Genevieve. Because I’d finally confessed.
Whatever the reason, a weight had come off my shoulders. There was a lightness in the apartment too, like we weren’t tiptoeing around each other anymore. For the first time in a long time, I could breathe.
“Brrr.” Genevieve shivered. “I hope we don’t freeze tonight.”
“I’ll—” Keep you warm. I swallowed the words, covering with, “We’ll be fine.”
Shit. I’d been close to making those types of slips for two days.
We hadn’t had sex since that first night. I’d slept on the couch. She’d been in the bed. We didn’t avoid touching, but we didn’t touch more than we had before either. She’d reach for my arm when we took the icy stairs. We’d brush as we passed one another in the kitchen.
I was afraid to do much more for fear I’d get carried away. But, fuck me, I wanted to touch her. I wanted to be inside her again.
There’d be no avoiding touch tonight. We were meeting Dash and Bryce at the stroll. Emmett and Leo would be there too. We’d be playing the happy, loving couple—though it didn’t feel as much like a lie.
Presley was planning to come with her fiancé, Jeremiah. In all the months I’d worked at the garage, I’d never met the guy. From the way Dash, Emmett and Leo talked about Jeremiah, he wasn’t well liked, and I wanted to see for myself how he treated Pres.
I got the impression that Jeremiah was stringing her along. He’d asked her to marry him but had been dragging his feet about the actual wedding. I didn’t want to make a judgment based on grumbles and rumors, but my gut said if a guy never came to see his fiancée at work, something was up.
Hell, Genevieve and I were pretending, and I picked her up and dropped her off every day. Sure, that was for her own safety, but no one could say I wasn’t attached to my wife.
And damn was I ever attached.
“I don’t want you to go,” I blurted. Son of a bitch. Of all the slips to finally make its escape.
“Go where? Here?” She pointed to the grocery store’s parking lot, where she’d been about to park. It was where most people left their cars for the stroll since Central would be blocked off. “Where should I park?”
“No. Park here.” I pointed her into the spot. “I meant, I don’t want you to go. To leave.”
“Oh.” She gave me a small smile as she put the car in park. “Good. I wasn’t going to anyway.”
I grinned. My stubborn wife.
We hadn’t talked about the argument again. We hadn’t talked about the accident. I didn’t want to talk about either. Maybe we could simply leave it as settled.
Genevieve wrapped a scarf around her neck and made sure the ends of her gloves were tucked into her coat sleeves. She pulled the beanie covering her hair lower over her ears.
I zipped my coat all the way up my neck and got out, meeting her in front of the car. “Yeah, it’s gonna be cold as fuck tonight.”
She giggled. “We need hot chocolate. Stat.”
Her laugh drew me in and chased away the chill. I took her gloved hand in mine. Her nose was already red from the cold. She smiled, a full, bright, white-toothed smile.
I nearly fell on my ass. There was no pity in her gaze, only affection. She looked at me like I’d never told her about Shannon. Like those years in prison had never happened.
Genevieve looked at me and saw the man I’d once been. The man who’d laughed easy. The man who hadn’t appreciated his freedom. The man who’d needed a woman like Genevieve to straighten him out—though apparently, I was still that man.
I don’t deserve her.
“Ready?” she asked.
I managed a nod as she tugged me along.
As we approached Central, she buzzed with excitement. Her grip was firm on my hand as she urged me to walk faster.
Above us, large garlands streamed from one side of the street to the other.
Five of them created a canopy that stretched for blocks.
The businesses and shops along Central were open late, some serving hot cider and others handing out cocoa.
Groups huddled together. Mothers and fathers corralled hyped-up kids into Santa’s line for pictures.
“Wow.” Genevieve tipped up her gaze to take in the lights wrapped around lampposts. “This was worth it.”
“Worth what? The cold?”
“No.” She flashed me that smile again. “Worth moving here. Maybe Clifton Forge isn’t so bad.”
Before I could respond, Genevieve’s attention shifted, and her smile got impossibly wider. She waved at Bryce and Dash, who were wandering our way.
“Hey, guys,” Genevieve said, not letting go of my hand to hug Bryce.
I shook Dash’s hand. “How’s it going?”
“Good. Better if Bryce would stop asking me to get my picture taken with Santa.”
“Oh, stop.” She rolled her eyes. “One of the guys from the paper, Art, is Santa. I promised I’d stop by and I’m not going to stand in that line and not have my picture taken.”
“Or you can just see him at the newspaper tomorrow,” Dash said. “Skip the line altogether.”
Bryce ignored him. “Do you guys want to get one taken too? All the proceeds go to charity.”
Genevieve sandwiched my hand between hers. “Can we?”
“Fine by me.”
After going through Amina’s things today, I’d been baffled at the sheer number of pictures she’d taken. The tubs had been crowded with photo after photo, most rubber banded into tight stacks. Maybe it was a mother thing, wanting photos of your kid.
In all the time she’d lived here, I couldn’t remember Genevieve taking a picture.
She didn’t post selfies on social media. She didn’t snap pictures of anything in town. I wouldn’t mind having a picture of us together, something to remember her by years down the road when she was gone.
Who would she end up with? Genevieve deserved a good man, but I could barely stomach the thought of her in another man’s arms.
I shook off the envy, holding her hand tighter as we strolled through the crowd, following Bryce and Dash as they led the way.
Dash seemed to know everyone tonight. He’d wave or jerk up his chin to those we’d pass. He’d nod and introduce Bryce to the people who’d stop, but for his sister, he’d barely spared a single glance.