In contrast, Britt took a slow sip, savoring the sweeter notes of butterscotch and custard before thezingof alcohol hit his palate.
To excitement and adventure,he thought and then immediately shoved away the image of Agent Julia O’Toole when it formed in his mind’s eye.
20
Eliza held the ring Charlie had given her up to the lamplight and appreciated the way the diamond sparkled with white fire.
She couldn’t begin to guess what the thing had cost. But it was surely plenty. And if she’d needed another reason why she and Charlie had only been a good match on paper and not in person, it was the stone staring back at her.
She’d never been one to wear flashy jewelry. For one, she thought it was a classless show of wealth. For two, she viewed the entire diamond market with a jaundiced eye and was quite vocal about her beliefs.
Even if a person could be assured the stone they purchased wasn’t a blood diamond, mined off the backs of the poor and desperate to finance regime change, insurgency, and genocide, then they still had to contend with the idea that the value of the gem was a construct.
De Beers held a monopoly on the market and hoarded their stash of the world’s rough-cut diamonds to artificially create a shortage and push the idea that diamonds were rare and therefore expensive.
Yes. She definitely didn’t believe diamonds were a girl’s best friend despite what the ineffable Marilyn Monroe once sang. And she and Charlie had discussed this at length one evening over lobster bisque and crab legs.
So…either he’d forgotten their conversation, or he’d assumed it had simply been an intellectual exercise and not a personal belief she actually put into practice.
She sighed as she turned the ring again and watched the light reflect on the facets of the stone.What the hell should I do with this now?
She certainly couldn’t keep it. It had never really been hers.
So, what? Donate it to one of his charities? Start a scholarship fund in his name at his alma mater? Sponsor some refugees from Nigeria where Charlie had spent so much time volunteering after the floods in 2018?
She would have to think about it and hope his memory would steer her in the right direction. But she was too emotionally wrung out for such an exercise tonight.
Fisher had been right. The hot bubble bath had worked wonders on her sore muscles and aching bones. But the soft, steamy water hadn’t been able to touch the ache in her heart.
Good people had died in front of her eyes. People who, if Agent O’Toole was right, had been working to expose corruption within their own ranks.Charliehad died saving her. And then there was Fisher who loved her too much not to love her enough.
She rubbed at the pain behind her breastbone.
She knew grief. She’d been touched by it when she’d been far too young. And it felt the same now as it had back then. Like a canker on her heart. A sore spot that she could sometimes forget about and thenwham!The pain would catch her unawares and she had to fight not to let it drag her to her knees.
She took a deep breath, forced her diaphragm to expand, and then let it out slowly.
Nope. Still there. Still feels like someone has stuck a hot poker through my aorta and?—
The hard rap of knuckles on her door had her jumping. After gathering her wits, she carefully placed the ring back inside her nightstand, cinched her robe tight, and made sure the terry cloth covered her bare thighs.
“Come in,” she called. Or at least shetried.The lump in her throat meant the words were barely a whisper. She cleared her voice and tried again. “Come in!”
The door opened and…cue the butterflies.
Fisher stood on the threshold and the hallway light haloed him in a golden glow. His grin was slightly provocative when he asked, “How was your bath?”
“Fine.” She narrowed her eyes, trying to pinpoint what was off about him. Then she caught the faintest whiff of burned bread. “How’d the sourdough come out?” she asked with feigned innocence.
His grin slipped off his face. “I swear I did everything right. I think the cookin’ gods have cursed me.”
She snorted. “Given all the other ways you’ve been blessed, that’s probably only fair. No one should be good ateverything.”
“Name one thingyou’renot good at,” he challenged.
I’m terrible at not loving you.
She turned to stare briefly out the large window as she thought of an answer she could share aloud. There were no storm clouds to block out the stars tonight. And the sickle moon cut its white slice out of the black sky.
