She sits up slowly, pulling the blanket tighter around her bare shoulders. “So we have a name?”
I head to the kitchen. “Yeah. And address.”
“Note to self. I need to get in good with GhostEye.”
“You already are.” I lean into the fridge, taking stock of what I can throw together.
Her voice comes from behind me. “I’m going to clean up before dinner if that’s okay?”
I turn, and she’s adorable, all bundled up. “Course. Take your time.”
She shuffles inside her blanket cocoon to the staircase and disappears up to her room.
Her room. Not mine. Not ours.
I stare down at the ground meat I pulled from the fridge, my thoughts threatening to spiral anyway.
What if this was just a moment?
Like before. Something intense and real and gone as fast as it came. A surge we rode out instead of a bridge we’re actually going to cross.
Enough of that, Easton.
It’s going to take a minute to believe this won’t disappear on me. I know that. I’m not stupid. Old instincts don’t die quietly.
But fear doesn’t get to make this call.
I don’t just want this woman; every cell in my body is screaming that she belongs to me. I can’t walk away from that because it scares me.
Because this—she—is what I want. And I don’t let go of things I mean to keep.
Even with a dozen unanswered questions still waiting for us.
22
We spent dinner,which was a sumptuous spaghetti, I have no idea how he mastered in thirty minutes, talking about the case, almost as if we didn’t just have sex.
GhostEye finding Red Truck Man gives us something solid to talk about. A shared focus. We don’t have to fill the space with what we’re not saying, and even though avoidance is technically in the room, it doesn’t feel like it.
Anton and I always seem to be talking about relevant things that we both care about. We’re also both people who like to think a lot before we speak. Which is probably why there has been a ton of overt praise and attraction, but we haven’t had “the talk.”
We need to do that, and I especially want to define, orredefinethis before my mom comes.
But am I ready to give a full-blown relationship a go?
I cannot, absolutely cannot, enter a relationship with this man if I don’t mean it. He’s been hurt. He’s the father of my baby.
This isn’t a trial run.
And I’ve only ever treated boyfriends as trial runs. Like buying a dress at the store, wearing it to an event with the tag on, with full intention of returning the pretty little thing.
But I feel it in my bones.
Anton is a keeper.
I want him in my life and can’t imagine him ever not being there. I should tell him, but now that I’ve admitted that part to myself, I’m less worried about him being right and more about me knowing how the hell to be right for him. I’ve only ever done casual.
An internal voice laughs at me, mockingly:The baby is already well beyond casual, Freya.
