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“Nope.” I shook my head. “I pop the center out with my thumbs, and it leaves the chocolate ring intact so I can eat that last.”
“No way,” he said, shaking his head in dumbfounded awe. “That’s not even possible. How do you leave the chocolate ring intact? Wouldn’t it crumble apart on you?”
“Oh, it isn’t easy to do,” I agreed, nodding astutely. “But if you have the right talent, which I happen to have, it’s totally possible.”
“Huh. Now I really wish that bitch hadn’t stolen your Reese’s cups so I could try it.”
I blurted out a laugh, only to grow sober so fast again that tears wavered in my eyes. Shaking my head to fight the sensation off, I forced my attention back to Wick, who watched me steadily, as if he were prepared to jump up any minute and keep me from choking on my own misery. I swear, he looked as if he were prepared to give me an emotional Heimlich maneuver.
“What does Wick stand for?” I asked. “I mean, is it short for anything, or is your first name just—”
“Wickham,” he said quietly, cutting me off. “Wick is short for Wickham. My mom has a thing for the Jane Austen book Pride and Prejudice, so she named all her children after a character. Izzy’s actually short for Elizabeth. Then there’s my sister Darcy for, of course, Mr. Darcy. And Charlie—”
“Is short for Charlotte,” I guessed on a soft smile. “Who is Elizabeth Bennet’s best friend in the book.”
Wick tipped his head toward me in agreement. “Right.”
“Well, that’s a neat idea,” I started, only to pause on a frown. “Wait. But isn’t George Wickham the—”
“The bad guy?” Wick answered dryly. “Yeah. He is.”
“Then why…” I shook my head, suddenly feeling kind of sorry for him. Honestly, I liked the name Wickham, but to learn he’d intentionally been named after the villain in a novel must suck.
“She liked how it sounded,” Wick answered with a pursed mouth as if he wanted to add how much that bothered him.
“And she wasn’t worried you might turn out like your namesake?”
He shrugged one of his famous shrugs. “Apparently not.”
When he said nothing else and I couldn’t think up a suitable reply, a bit of the following silence soaked into me with doom. So I gushed out, “Want to know where my name came from?”
The expression Wick sent me seemed to ask me why in the world I would assume he’d ever care where my name had come from, but what he said was, “Sure.”
“Well, my middle name is Dawn,” I started. “For my grandmother. My mom’s mom, not my dad’s mom. She died when my mom was only a teenager, so I never met her. And my dad’s mom—well, I never met her. I guess she wasn’t a good parent, so Dad doesn’t want any contact with her. We don’t know where she is or what she’s doing, or if she’s even alive anymore. But the Haven part of my name was because my parents were, like, best friends when they were growing up. They told me that no matter what happened in their lives or what was happening in the world around them, they always had a safe place with each other, which is what, you know, Haven means.” With a shrug, I grinned ruefully and rolled my eyes. “Plus, Mom says she just liked how Haven sounded.”
One side of Wick’s mouth kicked up. With his ever-serious expression and huge, hulking arms crossed over his defined chest, that one small sign of amusement made something in my chest swell with pride.
I’d made the stone man almost smile. I could accomplish great feats.
“Makes me wonder if moms just pick out random names that sound good to them, and then concoct a deeper meaning for them later on,” he murmured.
I smiled wide because, “That’s exactly what I was thinking.” It totally wasn’t, but I liked the sentiment, so hey, I fudged a little.
He glanced my way. Something in his expression was wary and untrusting, and yet sad and achy, as if he wanted to like me but was too afraid to give it a chance. It made me a bit uncomfortable—not in a creeped-out way, but in a this-is-too-intense sort of manner—so I shivered and rubbed my arms, even though I was no longer as cold as I’d been in the basement.
Wondering how much longer the wash cycle had left to clean my sheets, I frowned thoughtfully at Wick.
“Hey, you never asked about my mom.”
He frowned right back, the confusion in his gaze deepening as he gave a slight shake of his head. “Uh. Okay. What exactly was I supposed to ask about her?”
Blushing, I tucked a piece of my hair behind one ear. “Oh, you know. The usual. What’s wrong with her? Why can’t she walk? What’s up with the constant shaking and speech impediment?” Rolling my eyes, I bitterly muttered, “Everyone always asks.”
It was actually refreshing and awesome that Wick hadn’t; I didn’t have to pull out my nothing’s wrong with her spiel.
He lifted one shoulder. “I just figured she was in a wheelchair because she couldn’t walk. And I didn’t even think to ask what was wrong with her because I didn’t think anything was wrong with her. From what I saw, she seemed perfectly capable of tackling any issue she put her mind to.”
Glowing with pride, I nodded. “She can. She really can.”
