Page 70 of Sterling Stone

“Who?” I ask innocently, glancing up and finding Stone watching me. He gives me that slow smile he has. One that looks sheepish, almost anxious, but is actually rather endearing on him.

“Why would you say that?” I ask, a bit more defensively than I should. I don’t really doubt Stone’s opinion of me. He holds me every night without taking anything to the next level. He spends time with me. But sometimes I’m curious what he sees in me. What do I bring to him?

“Sundays are kind of sacred around here.” Vale’s tone is still light and pulls my attention back to her. “For the longest time, Stone didn’t allow anyone else to be present. Just family.”

She nods at the woman seated in a circle, chattering away with one another. “Only the people who really mean something to someone could attend. You could bring a friend, but no girlfriends, or boyfriend shenanigans. A person had to have staying power to be here.”

Vale’s words hit with a soft punch. Staying power? Did I have it? Simon certainly doubted me.

“Anyway,” Vale continues, not sensing my unease. “Stone has never had anyone here. Never.”

She glances at her brother, shaking her head, but I don’t know if that shake is disappointment or lack of understanding. Like she doesn’t know why he’s never invited anyone to Sylver Sundays, as I’ve learned Enya dubbed the day.

“What about Emerson?” I ask, before I can stop myself. I’m no longer jealous of her, just curious. Stone did pretend to date her, or at least, let everyone believe they were a thing.

Vale’s head whips back in my direction. “Never.” Her blue eyes are more playful than her eldest brother’s set. And they impart all the answers I need.

I’m the only one who has ever been Stone’s guest.

Suddenly, I feel overwhelmed with emotion, and I need a little break. Maybe it’s the sense of community among this family that reminds me I’ve been alone a long time. On the outside, always looking in. A temporary addition on the periphery of something permanent for others.

Who’s fault is that? Trudy’s words come back to me.

“Bathroom?” I blurt, unfolding myself from the blanket and standing, keeping my gaze on Vale. I know where the bathrooms in this house are. I was caught in one over a year ago with the head of this household.

Eventually, I made my way to the one on the first floor back then and I found my way there again, after Vale reminded me where it is.

But just like last year, I’m sidetracked from the fib and find myself standing in what appears to be Stone’s office. A large wooden desk and a worn leather desk chair behind it. Another chair rests in front of the bigger piece. Bookshelves line one wall. An old corkboard hangs behind the desk, overflowing with family photos tacked to it. Smiling faces of his nieces and nephews. Group photos of his siblings from various ages.

And among these photographs that seem important to Stone are the postcards I sent him.

“Lost again, little girl.” His quiet, rugged tenor has me spinning to find him leaning against the entrance to his office.

“Snooping,” I openly admit, caught, as it is, standing here staring at the picture on his wall. “You have my postcards up there.”

My finger shakes as I point toward them, matching a strange tremor in my voice.

Stone presses off the door jamb and enters the room, closing the door behind him, but not shutting it completely.

“We haven’t really talked about them.” He nods toward the collection. His voice lowers. “I looked forward to receiving a new one every month. But I’m curious why you sent them?”

I twist to look from him to the images on the board and back at him. “Guess I just wanted to share a piece of me with you.”

My throat feels thick, not so much from emotion but the admission. Sharing this information is also giving him another piece of me.

“When you left here over a year ago, you seemed pretty clear about how you felt,” he reminds me.

“And I was an idiot,” I whisper to the wall, my arms crossed around my middle. How silly I’d been to walk away so blindly before giving Stone a chance. Not that I would pull away from my work, but we could have had a more open relationship. We could have talked to one another while I was on the road.

“You never messaged me. Through Instagram,” I counter, turning once more to face him.

“Didn’t have a social media account until you shared that you had one. I saw your posts.”

“But you didn’t message me?”

Stone steps closer to me. Close enough that I have to tip my head back to look up at him. My arms drop from their protective hold on my midsection. I flex my fingers at my side.

“Didn’t know if you’d want me to?” he admits.