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I smiled as I took in the tiny cat’s fragile body.
“I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness—” I began.
“—against all discouragement that could be,” Christopher finished. He paused as he seemed to digest the beauty of the sentence and then asked, “How did you know I named him after Pip inGreat Expectations?”
I nodded at several boxes in the corner of the living room next to an empty bookshelf. Like the ones King and I had carried into the house, they were sealed up and had the wordbookswritten on them.
“You clearly like to read, so I took a chance,” I said.
“It’s one of my favorites,” Christopher acknowledged.
I told myself to keep my mouth shut because we seemed to be in a good place. But the need to know was too great. “And the ones in the kitchen?” I asked.
Christopher stopped petting the cat and started to look in that direction before stopping abruptly and reaching for the weird tackle box thing.
“Fairy tales. Nothing more,” he muttered coldly.
He flipped open the box, which revealed a whole host of medical supplies.
“What’s wrong with fairy tales?” I asked carefully.
“Nothing,” Christopher responded as he began rifling through the box. “Unless you’re too foolish to realize they’re all lies. And by the time you do…”
When he didn’t continue, I said, “And by the time you do?”
Christopher stilled for several long beats. If I hadn’t been watching him carefully, I would have missed the slight tremor in his hand as his fingers hovered over something in the box.
“Then it’s already too late.”
CHAPTER TWO
CHRISTOPHER
Iwanted to smack myself as soon as the words were out. I hadn’t meant to say any of that. I hadn’t meant to say anythingat all, but something about the man before me was making it nearly impossible to hold my tongue.
Just patch him up and get him out.
The internal voice was mine, but the words weren’t.
Not really.
It wasn’t something I could easily explain, even to myself. It was like my mind was warring with itself. New Christopher versus old. Cynical, bitter Christopher versus shy, quiet Christopher.
The battle usually only raged when I was around my family, but for some reason, the dual sides decided Rush fell into that category of wishing I could go back to the past.
To before I’d let my life become the mess that it was.
I sighed and forced myself to focus on the task at hand. But even as I began automatically pulling the supplies I’d need out of the box, I couldn’t help but shoot glances at Rush.
He looked much like he had four years earlier with the only noticeable difference being that there was now a hint of silver in both his hair and the scruff that did nothing to diminish the fullness of his lips.
There was also one other difference between now and the last time we’d met.
I wanted him.
Badly.
Considering the circumstances of how we’d met four years ago, being attracted to the man hadn’t even been on my radar at the time.
