“That’s—”
I press my finger to his lips and finish his sentence for him. “What she said.”
“You always think the worst of me, Callie baby,” he murmurs. “I was going to say that’s whatIsaid the first time I saw it. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
I scoff. “I don’t believe you.”
With a deep chuckle, he threads his fingers through mine, picks up the cat carrier, and walks us over to the blanket. Turns out the quick stop at home was so he could bring Atticus along for the adventure. Those two seem to have formed some sort of strange bond when I wasn’t looking.
He holds up my hand and nods toward the ground. “After you, m’lady.”
I set down my tote bag and lower myself onto the blanket. Jaxon places Atty next to me and positions himself behind me.
I open the carrier, and Atticus flops beside us dramatically. I run my hand through his long tufts of fur. “Good boy.”
Jaxon shifts uncomfortably and clears his throat. “Read, if you want. Or just sit here with me and enjoy the quiet for a while.”
“And then what?”
“I have four days of missin’ you to make up for. I don’t care what we do, as long as you’re with me.” He presses his lips to my temple as I find my bookmark and open my book.
I relax into Jaxon, letting his warmth spread through me. His hands never leave my body, always stroking some part of me—my arms, my cheeks, my hands.
After a few chapters, I glance up at Jaxon, studying his serene expression. “Aren’t you bored?”
He tilts my chin and looks at me through piercing emerald eyes. It feels like he’s seeing past all of my barriers, unsettling and comforting all at once. When he responds, his voice is as soft and reverent as his touch. “Never. I could stay like this all day.”
I set the book down on the blanket and slide into his lap, facing him. Atticus settles at the other end of the blanket, as though I’ve just inconvenienced him.
“What’s going through that pretty head of yours?” I ask.
“Wondering how I got so goddamn lucky.” He glances from one of my eyes to the other. “Your eyes are green today.”
“So are yours.”
“Mine never change. Yours are like magic. I swear they’re never the exact same shade twice.”
“Clio used to say my eyes were like mood rings.” My mouth goes dry as the confession comes out unbidden. I never talk about my sister to anyone—not even Mo—but it’s too late to take it back.
“Clio?”
I swallow around the lump in my throat. “My sister.”
“But I thought?—”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
“Because she left me when I needed her most.”
“I’m so sorry.” His fingertips ghost over my cheekbone. “Do you want to talk or forget?” he asks, echoing something he’d said to me once before, back when I didn’t really know who I was talking to—when confiding in a stranger felt easier than reaching out to form a connection with someone real.
My first instinct is to bury my memories beneath the remnants of my past, but that would make me a hypocrite. If Jaxon can open up to me about his loss, I can tell him about mine.
“I think… I think I want to talk.”
“Are you sure? You’re not just doing this because of what I told you?”
