Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Sinclair
I tug open the lid of the box with ‘Guestroom’ written on it since that’s where we came from.
Jameson decided to yank open one of the boxes marked ‘Kitchen.’ So far, he’s pulled a cracked yellow spatula shaped like a star out of it and a small cookie jar that looks like a koala bear.
I couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of both of those things since Denia Sheppard was the definition of elegance and class. It feels like the box came into her possession by accident at some point, and it was shoved into the closet and forgotten.
Jameson holds up a piece of yellowed newspaper. “Get a load of this, Sin. This is the front page of the Times from a day sixty years ago.”
I lean forward and reach out a hand. “Are you serious? Give it to me.”
He holds it just out of my reach as he clears his throat. “I’ll read the headline to you.”
“No.” I swipe that idea away with a swat of my finger. “Let me see, Jameson. Please.”
That last word is enough to grant me my wish. He shoves the newspaper at me, and I happily accept it because I consider it a gift.
This is a rich piece of history.
I glance down at the headline and the byline. It’s a reporter that died years ago. I know because when I was a kid, I heard all about the history of The New York Times from a sitter.
My mom asked our retired neighbor to watch over me after school most days, and she loved the newspaper.
She’d bring over her daily copy, and then while I thumbed through it, she would tell me about when she worked for the paper.
She had more stories than time, so when I went to college to study journalism and English Literature, I often stopped by her apartment to hear more of her tales while I told her about my assignments.
If she were still alive today, I’d gather the scraps of the newspaper that someone used as packing material and go over to her place.
“My grandmother must have packed this box up back then.” Jameson rubs his forehead. “That would have been right around the time she got married.”
I stare at him. “You think Denia used that spatula? Can you picture her pulling a cookie out of that koala bear?”
His gaze drops to the box. “Wait a second.”
I try to peer into it to see what he’s staring at, but he doesn’t give me a chance. His hand is out and clutching onto something before I can register what’s going on.
A square picture rests in his palm. He can’t tear his gaze from it. “Jesus, Sinclair. You should see this.”
“Show me,” I whisper.
Holding it by a corner, he turns the picture to face me. It’s a black and white photograph of a dark-haired woman wearing a blouse and a skirt. Her hair is tucked into a tight bun on the top of her head, and there’s an apron around her waist.
“That’s my grandmother,” he says in a low tone. “I think that’s Denia.”
I pluck the picture from him and draw it closer to study it. The woman is so young. She can’t be older than I am now, and the smile on her face is beaming from ear to ear. The star-shaped spatula is in one of her hands, and a bowl is tucked into the crevice of her opposite elbow.
“There’s something written on the back of it.” Jameson reaches to take it back.
I’m too quick though. I turn it around and read what’s written in masculine handwriting. “My darling D experimenting. Mint chocolate bites. Attempt number one.”
Jameson snatches the picture away, this time to study the handwriting. “Mint chocolate bites were Carden’s first product.”
I gaze at his face because I hear the tremor in his voice.
“My granddad wrote this,” he whispers. “This is his handwriting. I’d recognize it anywhere.”
I nod. “I think we just found a treasure. It’s a piece of Carden’s history.”
“Yeah.” A smile ghosts his lips. “I think you’re right, Sin.”
I thought the spatula and picture Jameson found were treasures, but I just stumbled on something that put both to shame.
I stare at the item resting in the box that I tugged open.
Is this real?
For real, is it real?
I scratch my chin because I have two choices right now. I can pretend I’m not staring at something that made my heart skip a beat, or I can confront Jameson with it.
I glance up to see him rummaging through a box labeled, ‘Bedroom.’ It should have been marked ‘Library’ since it contains even more books. Denia definitely loved to read.
“Hey,” I say to test the waters.
Jameson’s head snaps up. “Hey.”
He shoots me a smile that kind of melts all of my insides. His smile hasn’t changed much since we were kids, but now that he has a sharp jawline and some stubble, it’s more of a breathtaking thing than it used to be.
I point at the interior of the box. “I found something.”
He glances at the box before his focus returns to the books in front of him. “What did you find?”
I’ve jumped off the cliff, so I might as well nail the landing. “This.”
With a flourish of my hand, I tug a red heart-shaped card out of the box. The edges are trimmed with pink lace, and there’s a picture glued to the front of it.
It’s of Jameson and me with our arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders.
I have bangs, and I’m sporting pigtails tied with yellow ribbons. Jameson’s hair is cut short, and his smile shows the braces on his teeth.
All the color drains from Jameson’s face. “Holy fuck.”
I hold in a laugh. “What is this?”
He lunges toward me to grab it, but I try to inch back out of his way. Dudley won’t have that, though, since he’s bouncing around barking at the sight of Jameson coming right at me.
Even though I’m already sitting on the floor, I fall backward.
Jameson jerks to the left to avoid Dudley. He lands on top of me with his head resting squarely on my chest between my breasts.
“What the hell?” I exhale. “Jameson!’”
He fumbles with his hands, trying to find the floor to gain leverage to push himself up. “I’m sorry.”
“Get off of me.” I push on his shoulders to no avail.
He’s rock solid and firmly planted on top of me.
For no good reason, my nipples harden beneath the thin fabric of my bra.
Dammit.
Jameson finally scrambles back and onto his knees. He reaches out a hand to help me sit upright.
I ignore it and push myself back up, still holding tightly to the red card in my hand.
I flip it over.
“Don’t read it,” he says gruffly. “Don’t, Sin.”
“To Sinclair,” I start reading it. “You’re the prettiest girl in the world. Be my Valentime.”
“Valentine,” he whispers. “It’s Valentine.”
I turn it toward him and point at the letter m in the last word. “It says Valentime.”
“I was a shit speller.”
I smile. “I know.”
Before I realize what’s happening, he’s got the card in his hand. “I made this with Denia. I can’t believe she kept it.”
“You never gave it to me,” I point out.
His gaze skims my face. “No.”
The question I long to ask sits on my lips, but Jameson answers it before I can get it out. “My mom bought a box of generic cards, and I gave you one of those.”
I know that because I kept it along with every other card he ever gave me.
“You could have given me that one too.”
Chuckling, he shakes his head. “My art skills back then weren’t up to par. You would have laughed at this.”
That spears me. I feel an ache in my heart.
In grade school, Jameson and I had the same dream for our futures. We wanted to be artists. We’d practice drawing and painting at a makeshift studio in his parents’ apartment. He always complimented all of my creations at the same time he’d find fault with his own.
The truth is neither of us had any great hidden talent, but we loved creating in the same space. It felt safe.
“I wouldn’t have laughed,” I say with a straight face.
“You say that now, but…” The words morph into a deep-seated chuckle.
“But even then, I would have been touched that you made it for me,” I complete his thought.
I hold out my palm, not adding anything to the expectant look on my face.
He glances at the card before he offers it to me.
I greedily grab for it, feeling the same wonder and excitement I would have if he had given it to me fifteen years ago.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Happy belated Valentime’s Day, Sin.” He smiles softly.
“To you too, Jameson.”