“Fine.”
My mother reaches across the side table between them. “You’re not your father. And none of us is as bad as the worst thing we’ve done. If you love someone, accepting them with thorns and all doesn’t feel like a chore.”
“I love Sin,” he says it like he’s answering a question.
My heart smiles and I wish we were alone. “And I love him,” I add.
My mother nods, her smile as wide as mine. “Yes. That is obvious.”
My dad clears his throat. “Okay. Well now that’s settled. Can we have dessert?”
Chapter Forty-Three
Sin
Beware of the Thorns
“Someone’s New Year is off to a good start,” the lady delivering my flowers remarks.
“Yeah, it is.” I smile and sign for the massive bouquet of roses.
I take them into the kitchen and open the card.
I knew they would be from him but seeing his name on the card still makes everything flutter.
Kwame.
He’s so romantic and sweet. He brings flowers home randomly, makes my coffee perfectly every morning, and lets me be when I need it.
I couldn’t ask for more.
I’ve never been so well fed, rested, and doted on.
I find myself smiling at nothing a lot.
Just…smiling.
My heart skips a beat as I remember falling asleep with his arm for a pillow last night and how hard it’s getting to leave his house every night to go back to my place to get ready for work.
I open the card stuck to the arrangement. A picture falls out and flutters to the ground. It’s a four-digit code and a note. “It’s been nine months since the night we met. When you get here tonight, let yourself in with that code. Come ready to celebrate.”
I’ve never celebrated a milestone like this. It’s so sappyand sweet. I can’t believe it's’ happening to me.
I’m so in over my head. But… Flowers like this, and the way I catch him watching me tells me that he might be in over his head, too.
My phone rings and I see Leon’s name. I haven’t heard from him since that day at the museum. “Hello stranger, Happy New Year!”
“Hey Sin. Did you get my message on your website?” He sounds out of breath.
“No. I haven’t checked that mailbox since it got hacked. What’s up?”
“There’s been another robbery.”
“Where?”
“Here at the museum. Someone broke into our storeroom. We only realized when we came in to gather items for a new display. I don’t know how this happened.” His voice breaks.
My stomach dips. “How can I help?”
