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“A good one.” I moved a little closer to her. “One that led you to me.”
“It did.” She smiled at my comment.
I took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. And as I did, I realized how nice it felt to be linked to her like that, with a simple gesture that was more about comfort than sexual tension. If she wasn’t careful, ifIwasn’t careful, I was going to open myself up to her in a way I hadn’t done with anyone else. But wasn’t that what I wanted? What I was searching for? And what was the missing link in a life that otherwise seemed like a runaway success? My life was already horribly full. Considering the headquarters move for Chatter, skimming through underperforming staff, and attempting a smooth transition, did I really have time for this?
Iwantedher, there was no doubt about that. But was it tragically the worst possible timing to find something I truly want to hold on to?Someone I felt I needed?
“Tell me more about them,” I said and returned my attention to the simple graves in front of me. “What do you remember?”
“So many things.” She laughed once, as if going over a plethora of memories in her mind. “Dad loved chili...the Cincinnati kind. But not just any type. Blue Ash chili. It always had to be Blue Ash.”
“And your mom?”
“She always wore red lipstick,” Rebecca mused. “She loved books—almost had a compulsion for buying them. Never met a bookstore she didn’t like, but the sad part is, I don’t think she read half of them. When she died, I had a mountain of them to go through, and it was so hard. I ended up donating them one day; I couldn’t bear to keep them in storage boxes.”
“It must have been so awful when they died.”
“Oh, yeah, it was.” She shook her head and I tightened my grip on her hand, giving her another reassuring squeeze in the process. “The worst part was, there wasn’t a trial. No justice, since the guy who caused the accident was already dead. There was a simple police investigation, and then...nothing.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“People always are,” she murmured, not really looking at me.
“It’s not the same, but I know pain like that too,” I tried. “Pain of not knowing...not knowing why something happened. Like with my birth mom. I don’t know why she abandoned me, why she prioritized her heroin addiction over me, why I wasn’t important enough for her to put me above that.” I broke off as a lump formed in my throat. “I’m...please excuse me. I know this conversation isn’t about me.”
“No, it’s okay. I...I want to hear this.”
“You do?”
She paused. “I want to get to know you better, Landon. I want you to open up to me.” She gave me a weak smile. “In a way that’s...real. That’s true.”
“I never knew my father,” I said after a moment. “I did some research about him a few years ago and narrowed him down to a couple of candidates, but...two were in jail. One was homeless. And the other guy was...dead.”
She gasped.
“And when I told Mom what I’d found, my adoptive mom, I mean, not my biological mom...I just...after that, I decided I didn’t want to know anymore.”
“I’m so sorry, Landon.”
“You know, I’ve spent a lot of my life closed off to people. I never let them get too close. Not even my mom, even after she showed me that I could trust her. But I’m glad I agreed to the interview,” I murmured. “I’m glad you came into my life.”
“I’m glad I did too,” she replied.
I studied her for a long moment, my body angled to hers, the closeness of the moment heightening every one of my senses, intoxicating me as I realized I was on the cusp of doing something that involved risks I hadn’t ever taken.
I was falling for her.
Holy shit.
