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Together they unpacked the boxes of knickknacks and memories. She laughed at the stories he told about each object, learning more of the enigma of Will, uncovering truths about his past.
Lucy caught sight of a young Will in a stack of photos near the bottom of one of the boxes. She ran her finger along the edge. In the image, a teenage Will with an earsplitting grin stood next to a woman with the same expression. His mother? He had her eyes.
His father stood behind them. Will looked exactly like his father—minus the gray hair and the lines around his eyes. It was like a glimpse into Will’s future. His father leaned against Will’s truck. It was much newer back then, but still hadn’t come straight from the Ford showroom floor.
“Is this your mom?” Lucy asked.
He glanced at the photo, and his expression gentled. “Yeah, that’s Mom, right after Dad and I fixed up the truck. I saved up for it. It was the first thing I ever bought for myself.”
Lucy squeezed his hand. He went back to unpacking the box in front of him.
“Your mom’s beautiful.”
His throat worked. “Yeah.”
Lucy set the picture aside with the other photos so they could be framed.
“Whose is this?” She tugged a blue lace bra from under the stack of photos.
He had the decency to blush when he snatched it out of her hand.
“Let’s not talk about that.” He rose to toss it in the trash bin.
She should’ve been jealous. Should’ve gotten angry. Surprising herself, she laughed. “Do you keep trophies from all your conquests?”
“No.” He kissed her forehead. “Would you believe me if I told you I have no idea where that came from?”
“No.” She giggled again.
Before she could process what happened, his body covered hers.
“I don’t want to think about who that belonged to. The only thing I want to think about is this.” He ran a hand up her shirt, over the cup of her own lacy bra. Her whole body buzzed with arousal. “And who it belongs to.” Desire flared in his eyes.
They fooled around on the couch like teenagers, kissing, groping. Everything she’d wanted to do with him when she was seventeen. When things heated past the point of no return, he carried her to the bedroom.
* * *
This was a spectacular day to turn thirty. William couldn’t help the smirk forming on his lips. For the second time that day, he was inside Lucy. Astride him on her knees, she moved, giving him the birthday present she promised.
Her.
Naked.
He ran a hand down her belly to where they were joined. Eyes glassy, she fell to her elbows, panting against his mouth.
If today was any indication of the future, his thirties would be a fantastic decade.
He stroked her hips and buried himself deeper.
She closed her eyes, leaned back, and smiled. He groaned.
In one smooth motion, he twisted her to her back, thoroughly enjoying the little O of surprise her mouth made before he drove home. She hitched a leg over his hip, pushing into him farther—moving with him harder, faster.
“So beautiful.” He slipped his thumb between them, tracing the line of her belly to the soft spot between her legs.
Her breaths quickened, then her muscles clenched around him, pulsing rhythmically as she arched. He relished the intensity as she finished. And then he followed. He dropped his forehead to the pillow beside her and let himself go.
They were both breathing heavily when he lifted up on an elbow.
