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“Here.” Naomi sets a steaming mug by my elbow. “Before you go cross-eyed.”
I stop her with a gentle grip, drawing her down onto my lap. “My savior.”
“Dramatic much?” She settles against me, peering at the screen. Her plate from breakfast sits empty on the counter,actually empty, not just pushed around empty. “What’s wrong with this one?”
“Kitchen’s outdated. Would need at least fifty grand in renovations.” I rest my chin on her shoulder, breathing in her familiar apple pie scent. How does she manage to smell like that? “The one before had potential, but the lease terms were garbage.”
“Mmm.” She reaches for my coffee and takes a sip. “What about that place on Fourth?”
“Too close to Elliot’s.” My fingers find the hem of her shirt, tracing idle patterns. “Don’t want to compete directly.”
“Smart.” She sets the mug down and scrolls to the next listing. “Oh, this one?—”
“Has character,” I finish, studying the exposed brick walls and high ceilings. The layout’s decent, location’s prime. “Could work.”
“The numbers look solid.” She turns, studying my face. “You’re really doing this.”
It’s not quite a question. I meet her gaze, steady. “We.”
Her lips part, slightly. She wasn’t expecting it. Then, slowly, she nods, and a heartwarming smile breaks across her face, real and bright. “We.”
A year ago, I couldn’t look at a kitchen without drowning in grief. Now…
“Want to check it out?” she asks. “Maybe we could visit it today.”
“We’re at your dad’s later. Did you forget?”
She shifts slightly, gaze flickering back to the screen. “What if we don’t go?”
THIRTY-SEVEN
NAOMI
The porch light of my childhood home casts long shadows across the manicured lawn, making the house look like something out of a horror movie.
My stomach churns. “Maybe we should?—”
“Nope.” He kills the engine. “No maybes.”
My fingers tighten around the seatbelt. “Brandon, you don’t understand. The last time I was here?—”
Blood. The gun. My mother’s lifeless eyes.
The air inside the car suddenly feels too thin.
His hand finds mine across the console. “You can’t avoid this place forever.”
Through the window, I catch glimpses of movement, Thomas setting the table, probably.
“What if I’m not ready?”
“Then we leave.” His thumb traces circles on my palm. “But you’re stronger than you think, cupcake.”
I take a deep breath, inhaling the leather scent of his car. “You’ll stay?”
“Right beside you.” He squeezes my hand. “Unless you want me to wait in the car like a chauffeur.”
A laugh escapes me, surprising us both. “Don’t you dare.”