Finally, after what feels like an hour, I figure it out. With a smug expression on my face, I settle on the letters:
C. G.
Must be initials. Running my fingers over some of the other marks, I pick up some of the others.
J. G.
S. G.
And of course,C. G.again.
I get goosebumps I didn’t know angels were capable of getting, and my breathing grows more rapid.
Is this really just a coincidence? It can’t be, can it?
C. G.
Cleo Graves.
My jaw drops in perfect synchronization with the blankets in my arms as I take a step back.
“And you make fun of others for their theatrics,” a quiet voice mumbles from behind me, causing me to nearly stumble. I turn around in a flash, facing her.
“When did you get here?” I ask, still rattled. She’s leaning against the wall, crossing her arms. She seems to be holding it together a bit better than she was a few minutes ago.
“I witnessed your full-length investigation of the carvings.” She breaks my gaze to peer at them behind me. “Impressive work, detective.”
I shrug. “It wasn’t much. The layer of paint is pretty thin if I’m being real.”
She suppresses a smile. “Did you figure it out?”
I swallow subtly and gesture toward the carvings. “Are we looking at little Cleo’s height measurements right now?”
She exhales a deep breath and stares at them like she’s contemplating how much to tell me.
Finally, she nods slowly.
“You’ve been here before,” I say, matter-of-factly.
She nods. I gaze at the wall again.
“You’ve been hereseveraltimes before.”
Again, she nods, staring into my eyes.
Without thinking, I bend and pull her into my arms for the second time tonight, unable to help myself. At first, she resists my pull, but then she folds into me, wrapping her arms around my sides. I rest my head atop hers and calmly breathe in and out.
“I get it now,” I whisper into her thick dark brunette locks, grasping her nape with my hand. “Are you ready to talk about it?”
Her breathing slows.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready,” she whispers.
“What about them?” I incline my head to the other markings, lower than the C. G. markings. “Do you want totalk about them?”
A beat of silence passes, then she leans harder into my chest, nodding.
“That’s my girl.” I grin with a sense of pride and lead her back to the couch after gathering the blankets I dramatically dropped earlier—she’s right, you know. I’m going to give Stephen a run for his money when it comes to this whole acting gig.
