Page 81 of Protected By the Sinner

“Do you want to leave?” he asks.

“Not at all. I like being here. I think I’ll walk around the gardens later. My mom loved flowers,” I say, frowning. A sudden image of her crouching in a garden, planting something, flashes in my mind.

“Do you know anything about gardening?”

“I’m not sure. While I was talking to you, I saw this image of my mom tending to a garden.”

“What kind of flowers did she like?”

“Huh?”

“In your memory, was she caring for a specific flower?”

I try to picture the scene again in my mind. “I think she liked them all . . . but now that you ask, I suddenly feel sure I’ve always loved daisies. I guess most people think they’re kind of plain.”

“You’re not most people.”

I stop eating and walk over to him, settling into his lap. “I was scared to come to New Orleans. Back in the Boston apartment, you seemed so distant. But now, I’m really glad we’re here.”

He doesn’t say anything, just looks at me the way he always does.

I start to feel self-conscious and try to get up. “I’m interrupting your breakfast.”

“How do you know I don’t want you for breakfast?”

I choke a little in surprise. We slept together last night, and when I woke up, he was holding me tight. We made love again this morning, but ever since we sat down at the table, he’s been kind of distant.

I decide to get up anyway. “Didn’t seem like that was what you wanted two minutes ago,” I mutter, trying not to sound like I’m whining.

He pulls me into his arms. “My silence has nothing to do with us. I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“I spoke with your sister last night.”

My eyes go wide. “Elodie?”

“Yeah.”

“So we were close before I got hit?”

“I think she’s the most important person in your life.”

I shake my head slowly. “Then she, you, and our baby . . . you three must be my whole world.”

I barely finish the sentence before he grabs the back of my neck and kisses me.

It’s not the kind of kiss that leads to tearing off clothes in seconds—it’s gentle, full of tenderness.

Suddenly, a memory of us arguing flashes through my mind.

“We fought a lot.” It’s not a question. The memory is crystal clear.

The corner of his mouth lifts. “Yeah. Pretty much every day.”

“What about?”

“Anything and everything. Disagreements. Let’s just say we’re both a little hardheaded. But the fights never lasted long, and making up was always worth it.”