She simply swallowed, nodded once, and then stared out the windshield as the rolling landscape of the cemetery slipped by. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm, quiet. “Thank you, Hew.”
He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until it leaked out of him in windy relief. “I’d do anything for you, Sabrina. Surely, ya know that.”
She reached for his hand, twining her fingers through his, and squeezed. “And I’ll do anything for you. Everything for you.”
His heart swelled so big and wide he thought it a wonder his chest managed to hold it.
After a while, she laughed and said, “Graham was right. You are my lobster.”
He frowned and pictured the red stuffy that now lived on her bed along with her pile of pillows.
“Apparently, lobsters mate for life,” she explained. “And Graham says you and I will still be walking around our tank holding claws”—she made interlocking circles with her thumbs and forefingers—“even when we’re old and gray.”
He smiled at the imagery. “I like the idea of bein’ your forever lobster, stuck together until our shells are crusty and our claws are cracked. Sounds like the perfect life.”
“Spoken like a true Mainer.”
As Hew drove out of the cemetery and into his future with Sabrina, he remembered something he’d read once.
The universe has three answers to any question you might ask. The first is ‘yes.’ The second is ‘not yet.’ And the third is ‘I have something better in store for you.’
He’d spent his life asking the universe…when will I be loved?
It had answered with Sabrina.
And she was more than worth the wait.
47
Stockholm, Sweden
Vivian Drake lounged at a corner table in the little café she’d been frequenting since her move, a steaming coffee cup between her hands.
She wasn’t a fan of the cold. It sank into her bones and made her joints feel stiff. And she hated the long, dark nights of a Scandinavian winter.
But Sweden had one thing she craved more than warmth and sunshine.
Privacy.
The Swedes were big on individual rights. They didn’t believe in omnipresent CCTV cameras or government drones tracking the steps of every citizen. Stockholm was a city full of people minding their own goddamned business. And that was exactly what she wanted.
It’d been nearly two months since she landed in the new country she was determined to call home. She’d spent that time renting a flat, learning the back alleys and side roads—just in case—and waiting for the paranoia that had dogged her back in the U.S. to find her here.
It hadn’t.
Thankfully.
Her shoulders were beginning to relax. The hairs on her neck were beginning to stand down. The sense that she was lined up in someone’s crosshairs was beginning to fade.
She took a slow sip of her coffee and smiled in appreciation.
It was stronger than the dishwater the Americans brewed. Thicker. Darker. With an earthy bitterness that clung to her tongue.
Outside the frosted window, the narrow street bustled with pedestrians covered in chic coats and flowing scarves. Bicycles weaved between tiny hatchbacks. A food cart steamed in the cold air. And pastel building fronts leaned into each other across the road like gossiping old friends.
Bishop, I hope whoever you are, wherever you are, you’re feeling the heat of the Black Knights’ breath on your n?—
She didn’t finish the thought.
