Now, as the metal door screeched upward and banged into place, the sound echoing off the concrete walls, she wondered if eight years’ distance was enough. Dust motes danced in the shaft of morning light cutting through the hallway of the storage facility. Emily stood frozen on the threshold as the scent of stale air, cardboard, and the faintest hint of cigar smoke hit her, along with a wave of memories. She had to be imagining it. Still, the scent clung like a ghost—faint, familiar, and impossible to forget.
Mateo whistled low behind her. “You weren’t kidding. This place is packed.”
“I couldn’t deal with grief and bubble wrap at nineteen and had the movers pack it all,” she explained as she stepped inside.
He followed her in, turning sideways to squeeze between two towers of boxes. “What exactly are we looking for?”
“Anything I can sell that won’t make me feel as if I’m pawning off my soul.”
“So, nothing sentimental, nothing practical, and nothing that might make you cry. Got it.”
She shot him a look over her shoulder. “You’re here for heavy lifting, not commentary.”
“Actually, I’m here to keep you safe. But I’m young, strong, and multitalented.”
Emily turned, hiding a small smile. He was also arrogant, but likeable.
She looked around, scanning the labels. The moving company had done most of them, neatly written on white stickers. But a few were scribbled in black Sharpie in her own handwriting:Dad’s Office,Ethan’s Stuff,Kitchen Crap I Might Regret Tossing. Her fingers hovered over the flaps then settled on a small box tucked between the others. The cardboard was soft at the corners, the tape yellowed and curling.
She peeled it open and froze.
Inside, cushioned in a faded dish towel, was her grandfather’s gold watch. He’d given it to Ethan the day he’d graduated from the police academy. The one she’d rarely seen him without, until…
“Nope,” she said, replacing the lid. “Not this.”
Mateo glanced over. “What’d you find?”
“A blast from the past,” she said, voice thick. “And a reminder I’m not ready to sell my history.”
She dug into another box. A photo surfaced—sun-bleached and curling at the edges. Alec, Ethan, and her fifteen-year-old self, in oversized sunglassesand a crooked grin, at the beach. Alec had his arm slung around her shoulders, his chin resting lightly on her head. She remembered the moment—Ethan had just dared her to jump off the pier, and she’d chickened out.
Alec had whispered, “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, Em. Least of all him.”
Her smile faded into a frown. As long as she could remember, he’d always been that way. Her knight. Protective. Steady. More so than Ethan, even.
She found a book next.Wuthering Heights, its spine cracked with age and use, the pages yellowed. Like her mother before her, it had always been her favorite classic.
Inside the limited first edition, she found a pressed violet—brittle but intact. But it was the slip of paper tucked behind the front cover that stole her breath.
Happy Sweet 16, Em!
You’re stronger than you know.
But if you ever need a little extra muscle, I’m here for you.
~A
The words blurred as time folded in on itself. She sank onto the cold concrete before her knees could give way. The book lay open in her lap, the note trembling in her fingers.
He’d pulled her aside at a family celebration to give it to her privately. She hadn’t known what to make of it then, only that she’d fallen even more hopelessly in love with him.
Her knight. Her anchor. Her safe place.
He’d been that all along, before she’d truly understood what it meant.
She’d always sensed the steel beneath his sweetness—instinctively, without knowing why it made her breath catch or her pulse skip. Only now, after the spanking, the way his voice could coil through her, did she recognize what that edge truly was.
And why it had always been him.
