“No. Something that has meaning to us.”
“An anchor,” he said. “What’s it mean?”
“My grandfather was in the navy. Vietnam,” I explained. “But he’s also always been my anchor in this cruel world.”
My hand covered his—the one touching my ankle with such tenderness.
“But now I think you’re my anchor, Brooks.”
He took a deep breath and reached for me. He cradled my cheek and stared into my eyes. “I don’t ever want to be something that holds you down.”
“What about holding me in place?” I asked quietly. “What if we could be that for each other?”
He brushed his lips tenderly against mine in affirmation.
I pulled back and gently removed my ankle from his grasp. I covered my tattoo and climbed off the bed. “Can we go home now?”
Brooks smiled. “Home. Yeah.”
“When are you telling your grandfather?” Brooks asked as we drove back to town.
“When everything is all neatly wrapped up and the bookstore is full steam ahead.”
“And when do you think that will be?” he asked.
“No idea,” I admitted. “There are some things I need to handle first. Hoops to jump through.”
“Hoops?”
“Bank-like hoops.”
“Ah,” he said quietly.
“What are you going to do with the RV?”
“Sell it.” He shrugged. “Just got it serviced so it’s in top shape now.”
I tapped my finger on my thigh. “So should we talk about it?”
“Talk about what?” he asked as he turned onto Silver Street.
“Finances,” I said. “Couples who are going to live together should probably talk about that.”
“Probably,” he agreed.
But then he fell silent.
“Brooks,” I snapped.
“Freckles,” he drawled. “I know you don’t have any money. I’m not worried about it.”
“But rent,” I began.
“I’ve got it.”
“No.” I shook my head. “You can’t.”
He glided his truck into a parking spot across the street from the vacant storefront and cut the engine.
