Page 54 of Unpacking Secrets
“I can see the wheels turning in that pretty head of yours. What are you thinking about?”
“Just this.” She waved a hand over us.
“What? Incredible, heart-stopping sex?” I asked, running my palm over her hip to cup her ass. Every inch of her anatomy delighted me, but this exquisite curve practically inspired me to write poetry in its honor. “The way I fit so perfectly inside of you? That little sound you make when my fingers—”
She laid a hand over my mouth and I chuckled against it. Now I was thinking about all of those things, but she looked so serious that I dipped my head to kiss her one more time before she replied.
“This, us, everything,” she said vaguely.
I got the picture as I noted the deep blush spreading across her cheeks. Juliet was gloriously expressive, physically and emotionally, but it wasn’t until her revelation about the ex-boyfriend’s proposal that I realized she was also wary. I slid my hand to her back, rubbing soothing circles across her shoulder blades until she sighed and dropped her head to my chest, burying her face against my throat.
Though it was clear she was still sorting through what had happened between us, I could think of little aside from how stunning she looked when she'd been thoroughly and repeatedly satisfied. Despite a week of kissing, cuddling, and talking late into the evening on her couch, it took a night of passion to reveal just how affectionate she really was.
It was a beautiful discovery.
“Definitely worth thinking about,” I murmured against her hand. I felt her lips curve against my neck and my arms tightened reflexively around her. “We have the whole day together, if you don’t mind me hanging around. What should we do with it?”
Juliet gasped. “Oh, the box. I totally forgot.”
“You were a tad distracted.”
“Maybe a little.”
“I’m happy to make us some breakfast, but we can save time by showering together.” I waggled my eyebrows and she laughed.
Rising up on one elbow, Juliet leaned over and kissed me, flashing a challenging grin when she drew back.
“Last one to the bathroom has to do the soaping,” she said, then she bounded off the bed before I could react.
A broad smile spread across my face as I rolled out of bed to follow her. This was one race I didn’t mind losing.
Twenty-Two
Juliet
Intheend,weboth triumphed in the shower contest, then ate breakfast together at the counter. What Henry had said about us being good together was absolutely true. Every time he came near me, I was struck by the overwhelming sensation of beingwhole. Even the cavernous emptiness that had inhabited my chest since my mother’s death evaporated, replaced with something warm and fulfilling.
It was beautiful and terrifying all at once. I wasn’t sure how to articulate those thoughts to him without it sounding like some kind of declaration I was in no way ready to make, but from the expression on his face when I caught him looking at me, I suspected he felt it, too.
While Henry finished taking care of the dishes, I sank down to the floor in the living room beside Blue and opened the box. I drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly as Henry came to sit beside me. There was a faint tremor in my hands, but I wasn’t sure if it was from anticipation over the box or a result of his dedicated morning attentions. All of my nerve endings were still singing, so I decided to blame the latter.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
A leatherbound book lay atop the rest of the contents. I leaned against Henry’s shoulder, appreciating his support, and flipped the book open. When a brittle pressed violet fell from inside the cover, I lifted it gently between my thumb and forefinger.
“Nan made me one of these,” I said quietly. “I found some letters and cards she’d written to me, stashed away in the box of journals from the attic. She wrote to me for years, even though she didn’t know my name. Like she knew I’d find them one day.”
Henry put his arm around my shoulders. “Nan loved you, Red, even without ever meeting you.”
The assurance strengthened my resolve. I flipped through the book, running my fingers reverently over pencil and charcoal drawings of the inn, the cottage, even some of the landmarks from my list. There were two more sketchbooks in the box, very much like the first, but I paged through each of them with intense concentration.
Henry seemed less interested in the artwork they contained than in my expression as I studied every sketch. I felt his gaze, warm and soft on my face, and when I glanced up at him, his smile was sweet enough to momentarily distract me.
When I managed to refocus on the last sketchbook in my lap and turned the final pages, my eyes shot wide. Instead of landscapes, these last few drawings were portraits done in bold, dark strokes of charcoal.
At my gasp, Henry’s gaze dropped to the artwork.
