“No.”I stare down at the photograph for another second before setting it carefully back into place.“It hurts to talk about her.”
“I know.”
There’s no judgement or pity in her reply, just understanding.And somehow that makes it easier to move back into the day instead of sinking into the grief that usually sinks in its claws until I’m fraying at the edges.
Chapter Nineteen
Hayden
Tennessee Whiskey
Chris Stapleton
I hold out a hand.“Come on.”
She slips her fingers into mine without hesitation.“Where are we going?”
“Outside.”
“It’s cold.”She shakes her body in a mock shiver.
“I noticed.”I grin before tugging her into my arms.“I’ll keep you warm.”
“You always do.”
I kiss her once, and then bundle her up with one of my scarves over her coat before I lead her toward the door.The lakefront wind hits hard when we step outside, cutting sharp enough that Vanessa pulls her coat tighter around her body.I shift closer without thinking, blocking the worst of it as we start walking along the path.
She notices.I know she does.But this time, she doesn’t call it out.Instead, she moves closer, and that feels like a victory I haven’t earned but claim as one anyway.We walk for nearly an hour, the city stretching around us in late October color with bare branches beginning to show through thinning leaves.Waves break hard against the concrete edge of the lake.Other couples bundled up in heavy coats.Dogs pulling at leashes.And the sky darkening into the evening gray that comes too early this time of year.
Conversation comes and goes.We talk about music, the museum, her cat, the band and have an intense debate over whether good deep-dish pizza is truly a thing here in Chicago or if it’s just a tourist trap.
She insists it’s amazing and worth any amount of money one comes here to spend on it.
“It’s not.”I shake my head firmly as I oppose her belief.“It’s a casserole with ambition.”
“That’s offensive.”She scoffs, tugging at my hand in mock anger.
“It’s accurate.”I laugh out loud, surprised by her passion on this subject.
She looks over at me when I do, something warm and startled crossing her face.I notice and stop mid-laugh, my brow furrowing.“What?”
“It’s nothing.”She assures me with a gentle smile.
“That wasn’t nothing.”
Her smile turns soft enough to make me nervous.“I like when you laugh.”
The words hit me square in the chest and I look away to stare out at the lake.Not because I don’t like hearing it, but because I realize I like it too.I squeeze her hand as we continue walking, unable to form a verbal response.
We find a small restaurant tucked a few blocks from my building, warm and narrow, with low lighting, a good wine list, and food that makes Vanessa close her eyes for half a second after the first bite.I watch her do it.
She opens one eye.“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”I defend on a crooked smile.
“You look awfully smug.”She points her fork at me.
“Just admit that I chose well.”
