Page 8 of Almost Beautiful (Beautiful 3)

“You’re not going to jail!”

“If I’d known, I wouldn’t have dragged you down with me!” Travis realized what he’d said, then rubbed the back of his neck.

I grew quiet. “Maybe it’s you having second thoughts.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, I swear to God that’s not it.”

“Wow,” I said, feeling a sinking in my gut. “How has that never crossed my mind before?”

He took my chin gently in his strong hands. “Because it’s never crossed mine.”

I stared into his worried, russet irises. “We’re going to take this one step at a time. The first step is our marriage. We come first, every time,” I said, touching his chest with my finger. “It’s us, our family, then the world. Adam is a lot of things, but he’s no snitch.”

In truth, I was unsure how I would handle the variable of Adam. Even the strongest people did things out of character when afraid. If even one person in that basement during the fight was willing to testify, our alibi might not matter.

Travis nodded, then kissed me. His lips lingered, and I could feel them trembling against mine before he finally pulled away just enough to speak his next words against my mouth. “I fucking love you,” he whispered.

The doorknob jiggled, and then Shepley and America burst through, both holding bulging brown sacks and chatting about jalapeno cilantro hummus. They stopped just behind the couch, staring at us while we were in a frozen embrace.

“The fuck, Shep? Knock!” Travis said.

Shepley shrugged, the sacks moving up, too. “I live here!”

“Lived. You lived here. I’m married. You’re a third wheel. Third wheels knock,” Travis said.

America snatched the keys from Shepley’s hand and held them up for Travis to see. “Not if the third wheel has a key,” she snapped. “By the way, Shep got Brazil to lend us his truck to get Abby moved the rest of the way in. You’re welcome.”

She turned for the kitchen in a huff, signaling for Shepley to follow. She was still angry about our elopement, ignoring that sneaking away in the night without telling anyone was the only way it could be.

They opened all the cabinets and began unloading the sacks, filling the nearly empty shelves with cans and bags and boxes.

“I’ll help,” I said, beginning to push off Travis’s lap.

He pulled me back down, nuzzling my neck.

“Oh,” America snarled. “You’re married now. Let the third wheels put away the two-hundred dollars in groceries they just bought.”

“Whoa! Nice, Shep!” Travis said, turning to look into the kitchen long enough for Shepley to shoot him a wink.

“I buy, you cook. That hasn’t changed, right, Trav?” Shepley said.

“Right,” Travis said, lifting his thumb into the air. “Who wants to eat at the cafeteria three times a day?”

“You're going to have to teach me, babe,” I said sheepishly.

“To cook?” Travis asked.

I nodded.

“But if I teach you, I won’t get to cook for you as often.”

“Exactly,” I said, patting his knee. “I want to help.”

He grinned, his dimple sinking into his cheek. “Then the answer is no.”

I playfully pinched an inch of skin just beneath his arm, giggling when he yelped.

America passed by the couch to the loveseat where the remote was barely poking out between the cushions. I thought about warning her that the large detective had kept it warm like a hen sitting on her nest, but before I could, America tugged on the remote until it was finally free. She pointed it at the television, watching as the screen flashed on, instantly displaying the local news. They were still covering the fire, the reporter standing in front of the Keaton building, black stains above the windows while yellow words scrolled across the bottom of the screen.