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I bring the left one up and kiss the thick callous on his palm between his thumb and index finger.
“Why’d you do that?” he rasps, his eyes cracking open.
I shut my eyes, letting my lips trail over the spot. “It’s from shooting, isn’t it?”
He tries to pull his hand away. I press it over my mouth, look at him over his fingertips.
“I thought it could use some TLC, that’s all. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
I loosen my grip on his hand, waiting for him to pull away. Instead, I feel his arm relax, even as his eyes shut and his face tenses.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you think that?” he rasps.
I kiss the callous again. “This is where I think most of your memories come from. The dreams.” I press his palm against my mouth, drag his hand up so it’s curved around my brow. I kiss his wrist.
“Maybe it’s a mark from another Barrett…one I’m never going to know. But it’s on your hand, and I love your hand.”
He sits up, hugs me close, and presses my cheek to his neck. “Why are you so good?”
“Why are you?”
“I’m not.” His body goes tense and still. I bite his neck.
“You are so. Come to Thanksgiving at my mom’s with me?”
He frowns down at me. “When’s Thanksgiving?”
“Two days from now.” I giggle.
“Damn.”
“So that’s a yes?”
“Who all’s coming?”
I shove his chest. “You, me, and some other people. Jerk.”
He shuts his eyes and shakes his head. “I’ll go.” A faint smile touches his lips. “You know I’ll go, Piglet.”
TWELVE
GWENNA
Thanksgiving starts off freaking amazing. Like, amazing. Mom opens her front door wearing an apron and sporting an oven mitt, the smell of macaroni wafting out around her. Barrett smiles roguishly and holds his hand out, but the second my mom’s eyes hit his face, she freezes up—completely obvious—and just stands there gawking, finally blurting out, “So you’re my daughter’s hero!”
Mom knows just the basics about Bear, so she can’t know how perfect those words are. How they’re exactly what he needs to feel welcome and wanted at my family’s Thanksgiving.
Mom hugs him with warm, maternal affection, and I watch Bear’s face from the side. He looks surprisingly relaxed, maybe even peaceful.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Barrett.” Mom reaches for his hair, her fingertips not quite touching it. “Look at those beautiful curls. Gwenna didn’t tell me you’re a model, too.”
Barrett’s face blanches. My mom falters. “I’m just teasing you. Come on inside, you two.” We step into the foyer, and Mom hugs me to her flower-speckled apron. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.”
“So do you, Mom.”
