Page 51 of Zomromcom

“In all my life…” She drained the water again.

“I think Mom and Dad are the only people who ever loved me that much. That fiercely and wholeheartedly. If I truly let them go, it felt like—I don’t know.

What could ever replace them, really? How could whatever came next possibly make up for their loss? ”

The ache in her throat had eased, and she set the paper cup on the counter.

He hummed a little and gathered her close again, his fingertips drifting through her dripping hair. Working out her tangles one by one, the routine increasingly familiar. Each tug noticeable but not painful.

“But here’s the thing, Max.” Her forehead dropped to his chest, and she sighed.

“Because they loved me that much, they wouldn’t like what I’ve done.

It would hurt them to know I never went to William and Mary or saw the Alps.

They’d hate that I’m still only a single stone wall away from the same threat that ended their lives, and they’d tell me they never wanted me to make myself a living, breathing memorial to their love and their sacrifice. ”

His talented hands weren’t so much detangling anymore. More…caressing. Cradling her head against his shoulder and massaging her nape and stroking her hair.

“I know all that. I’ve always known all that.

” Burying her nose in his neck, she inhaled deeply.

When had his piney scent become such a comfort to her?

“Until now, I just chose to ignore it, because sure, they would hate the decisions I’ve made, but they’re gone, and I have to find a bearable way to live without them. ”

“Ma puce, it’s okay.” The warmth in his voice trickled through her like syrup. “I’m not asking you to—”

“Maybe, though…” Squeezing her eyes shut, she took the leap. “Maybe if I had a new family. New memories. Someone who loves me as much as they did.”

His fingers stilled in her hair.

“Maybe then I wouldn’t need to cling so tightly to the physical reminders of what I’ve lost,” she finished, and now he knew. What she wanted from him. The future she was beginning to envision, with him by her side and at her back. Always. From this moment until her last breath.

When he spoke again, he didn’t sound scared or disdainful. He didn’t sound like he found her presumptuous or overly needy or foolishly impetuous.

Instead, he sounded…settled. As content and steady as she’d ever heard him. “If you decide to stay, I’ll stay too. But I would also relocate for you as needed. And even if we did move, my Edie, we could keep the house. Maintain it.”

We . The most beautiful word in the world.

Gaston Maxime Boucher, committed recluse and cynic, was committing himself to her.

More than that—committing to rejoin the world at large and mingle with actual people again if that was what she wanted.

Even knowing she’d bring plates of cream cheese–swirl brownies to all their new neighbors’ homes and invite them over for coffee or lunch.

Yep. He definitely, definitely loved her.

Most likely, he would also discover urgent business in his former lair that required his immediate attention shortly before their neighbors’ arrival, but so be it. The offer was still incredibly sweet.

“Yeah, but…” She’d leapt, and he’d caught her with ease. Gods, she loved him right back. “That would be a terrible waste of money.”

“What did I say about money?”

As she smiled against his neck, she deliberately tickled his throat with her lashes. “That you have far too much of it, and you’ve chosen to spend it on an enormous underground lair, apparently in preparation to become Superman’s next archnemesis?”

“Ingrate.” His retaliatory tickling targeted her ribs, and he had to cover her mouth again when she squeaked in helpless laughter.

“Listen to me, human. I’m not asking you to leave your home, and I’m not asking you to abandon all tangible mementos of your lost family. If I did, I’d be an utter hypocrite.”

“You don’t care if you’re a hypocrite,” she pointed out, lifting her head.

He grinned down at her. “True. But in this instance, I don’t qualify anyway.”

“You have mementos of your family? Where…” Those uber-modern rooms in his lair hadn’t contained a single sentimental item. She’d swear to that. Which meant—“Your library. Your family’s possessions are in your library.”

That warm, cozy nook with honeyed wood and a thick, silky, now-stained rug. The small private space he’d initially kept locked away from her.

Because, she now understood, it revealed the softness of his heart, its reluctant vulnerability, beneath all that cold, harsh armor.

“I didn’t keep much. But the things I had, I wanted displayed in a suitable location.

A room my parents would have found comfortable and welcoming.

” After one last stroke of her now-smooth hair, he crouched to search the pockets of his hoodie where it lay on the floor.

“And there’s one memento I always bring with me. Here.”

Rising, he flipped over her hand and placed something in her palm.

Metallic. Round. Cool.

Instinctively, her fingers curled around the silver sphere to protect it from falling, and she lifted it for closer scrutiny.

A band of the shiny metal ringed the middle of the ball, splitting the item into two clear hemispheres, both finely pierced and engraved with birds, leaves, and delicate flowers.

At the top, a small suspension ring—also silver—attached to nothing.

The piece was gorgeous. Clearly very old. And she had no idea what it was.

When she looked up at him questioningly, he touched a reverent fingertip to one of the tiny birds. “My mother’s pomander. A long-ago gift from my father. At one time she wore it everywhere, either hanging from her neck chain or attached to her girdle.”

Somehow, she didn’t think he meant midcentury shapewear. “It’s beautiful.”

He didn’t offer any further explanation. Just watched her study his offering.

Apparently he thought the average twenty-first-century human would know precisely what a pomander did besides look pretty and—evidently—dangle from an outfit. So…okay, maybe she could figure it out on her own. Challenge accepted.

As she bent down to study the gorgeous openwork, a whiff of something delightfully citrusy made her crinkle her nose in thought. “Was a pomander…something she wore and sniffed whenever things smelled bad?”

“Her human friends would roll together various perfumes in a net—ambergris, cinnamon, musk, civet, and so forth—and put the ball inside their pomanders. They thought it would protect against infection during times of pestilence.”

Pestilence? That was an awfully archaic term. And the reliance on a spa-scented silver ball for continued health instead of, say, antibiotics or vaccines kind of implied…

“You’re talking about the Plague, aren’t you? Like, Black Death.” Holy shit. “Oh my gods, you are so fucking old .”

He merely rolled his eyes. “Since vampires don’t get sick, Mom wore it to help combat foul odors instead, as you suggested. But she also paid a witch to create a recovery charm that would fit inside, with orange peel, clove, oils, and a golden ribbon.”

“Is that what I’m smelling?” She gave the sphere another sniff. “Because the scent is yummy, but it’s also remarkably strong for something that incredibly, unbelievably ancient .”

It was also very…familiar? And she had no idea why.

He didn’t bother responding to her gibe. Instead, his eyes narrowed on the pomander in her palm, and he did something subtle to the band circling its center. “Here. Look inside.”

The top and bottom of the gorgeous silver sphere opened like a book, and—

“You stole one of my soaps?” One of her shaped soaps, to be exact. Custom-ordered, scented with orange and clove, and made to resemble the iconic citrus fruit for a farmer’s market in California. “Do I need to hire security guards for my garage to prevent shoplifting, or should I simply bill you?”

Despite her tart tone, she smiled down at her own handiwork.

He’d wanted that little orange badly enough to snatch it secretly, while—if she remembered correctly—distracting her with some stupid software question, and then he’d transferred the purloined soap from outfit to outfit every time he’d changed clothing.

He prized it enough to store within his mother’s gorgeous pomander. Which she’d carried with her everywhere. Which he now carried with him everywhere.

“I think I can afford your fee,” he said dryly.

“Calm down, Scrooge McDuck. I already know you bathe in gold ducats.” When Edie glanced up, he wasn’t looking at the soap. He was looking at her. “Does the scent remind you of your mother?”

Edie liked the thought of that, of something she’d created bringing him comfort. A product of her own hands helping him remember the parent who’d loved him and whom he’d loved back with such fierce, bloody devotion.

“It reminds me of both of you.” His tone strongly implied she was a moron, even as his eyes crinkled in an affectionate smile. “Obviously.”

Oh . Oh, that was even better.

The melting sensation in her belly…that couldn’t be healthy, right?

Slowly, the curve of his mouth flattened.

“She didn’t bring it to the festival that night.

The suspension ring had detached, so she’d left both pieces with the silversmith.

By the time I remembered to reclaim her pomander, the charm inside was gone.

But as I said, the witch’s concoction had orange. Clove.”

“Like the soap.”

He inclined his head, then surrounded her hand with his, closing her fingers around the sphere as tightly as possible. “I want you to carry this today, Edie.”

Poised to argue—because like hells she’d be carrying his lucky pomander while he fought fucking zombies —she opened her mouth, only to shut it again when a firm knock rattled the bathroom door.

Kip called out, “I don’t want to know what you two are doing in there—”

“I want to know!” Lorraine sounded wide-awake. Also very curious.

“—but your time is up. Cease canoodling at once, mini-vamp! Forthwith!”

Max sighed, kissed Edie on the forehead, and spoke to the door. “This is because I didn’t let you have the couch, isn’t it?”

“Sure is!” Kip loudly hummed the Jeopardy! theme music until they’d dressed and left the bathroom. “Did you appreciate the old-timey language? You know, since you probably, like, hung out with Plato or whoever?”

Max grunted.

“I appreciated it, Kip.” Edie smiled at him, patting the coveralls pocket where she’d tucked the pomander. For now. “Did you sleep okay?”

His lower lip poked out a tad. “No. And I think we both know why.”

With deeply sardonic courtesy, Max bowed and swept a hand toward the empty bathroom. “Happy now?”

“Yep.” The troll strolled inside, and his grin lit the dim hallway. “Revenge is a dish best served whilst coldly cockblocking vampires.”

The sound Max made in response to that wasn’t quite a growl. But it wasn’t quite not a growl either.

Edie patted his arm consolingly. “Today’s going to be super fun. I can already tell.”

That time, it was definitely a growl.