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Shane had to return to the office briefly, but he’s coming back with Burke and Leonard—and presumably Delia and Shauna. I don’t know what Mira’s said to her sister, but I’ve seen her bent over her phone, so I’m guessing she’s said something.
Hopefully Delia and Shauna will leave the rest of their salt at home. I keep finding grains of it everywhere.
My mind flickers from the ever-present salt to what’s on my computer screen. I’ve been doing searches on my laptop while Mira makes us drinks. Mostly, I’ve come up empty, but I’ve just found something interesting.
I glance at Mira, intent on giving her an update, but I’m riveted by what she’s doing.
I love watching her make drinks. It’s methodical, but there’s artistry to it. A pinch of this, a dash of that. I watch her until she looks up, her brow furrowed as if she’s a little annoyed with me for interrupting the process. I lift my hands. “I found something, but I don’t want to freak you out.”
“Not a propitious start,” she says, shoving the cocktail stirrer aside. “But youarewearing your glasses, so I’m more inclined to listen to whatever you have to say.” She swings over on her crutches, moving closer until her side is pressed against me, her scent cocooning me. I feel an instant unwinding of some of the stress that has held my shoulders rigid, and also a pounding sense of need. It wasn’t enough earlier, not nearly. I want her naked and spread out on my bed. I want to spend all weekend, and possibly the rest of my life, alone with her so I can explore every last inch.
I look at her. Swallow. “The apartment across the way is unoccupied. It’s going up for sale next spring.”
“How do you know?” she asks, cocking her head.
“I’d rather not say.”
Plausible deniability and all that.
Fear flashes through her eyes, before she says, “Could I have been spying on the real estate agent?”
“It’s possible,” I say, but I don’t believe it. What real estate agent would stage an apartment with a folding chair and table? And why spend hours in the place if it’s not going up until spring? Why would she, of all things, knit there?
“So that woman really is spying on us,” Mira says flatly.
“I’m going to ask Deacon to look into it.” I run a hand over her back, her hair, remembering the leaf that was tucked into it earlier, when we were hauled into the station. I knew I should pluck it out, but she looked beautiful in such an unearthly way with that leaf tucked into her hair—yellow and red and orange—almost like she was a fae creature.
It’s a fanciful thought, but then again, my whole life I’ve been accused of being stuck in my head—of going in so far it’s hard to pull myself out.
“Okay,” she says with a nod.
“I still think you should leave,” I say. “You can stay with Burke and Delia, or even—”
She reaches for my chin, turning it up to her. Fire pulses through me from her touch, as if it’s yanking me up out of the ether and tethering me to this existence. Her eyes are resolute but warm. “I amnotleaving.”
“I’m the one who did this. I’m—”
Her hand tightens around my chin, sending that buzzing fire feeling all over my body. She needs to be safe, but at the same time, I feel impossibly grateful to have earned this woman’s devotion.
“All you’re guilty of is helping people,” she insists. “Because you couldn’t help yourself. Because you didn’t want to give in to a bully with a shit-eating grin, an ego complex, bad taste in ties, and really, really off-color teeth.”
“You looked him up,” I say, smiling despite myself.
“Of course I did. I’m an incurable gossip. You should know that about me.”
I lean up, my chin still captured in her hand, and kiss her. Then I do it again, because I can’t get enough of her lips. Soft and slightly swollen, bold, like she is about everything.
She watches me for a moment, her eyes shining and vulnerable. “I don’t know what I’m doing with you, Danny. I feel like I should be worried about it.”
“I don’t know what’s going on in general,” I say. “The world felt very predictable a couple of weeks ago, but now, I have no idea what’s going to happen next. Yesterday, we agreed to host Thanksgiving dinner here. I hate Thanksgiving dinner.”
“So do I,” she says with a hint of a smile. She runs her fingers across my scar again. It feels like she’s helping me reset a memory. Which is why her next words send a jolt through me: “Maybe Josie’s right and we need to reclaim it.”
I hold her hand there. “At least you haven’t started in about Christmas trees yet.”
Her eyes light up. “I may not be a fan of Thanksgiving, but I love Christmas. I love ithard. This place is begging for a seven-foot tree. With glitter garland, obviously.”
“Let’s get through Thanksgiving first.” But I like the bright glimmer in her eyes. I don’t feel much excitement about Christmas, other than for Izzy, who is at an age where she talks about Santa Claus as if an old, bearded man is her close, personal friend, but I want to bask in Mira’s excitement. If she’s here for Christmas, and by God I want her to be, I have a feeling I’m going to be lugging an eight foot tree up those stairs. Because I want to give her more than she asks for.
