While I hesitated, the first drops of rain splattered my face. I turned up my hand. Several more landed and I sighed. I hadn’t brought my rain jacket or an umbrella. Maybe a ride would be okay; I wouldn’t be behind the wheel.
“I’m driving you home. No arguing.”
Christopher took my hand and led me toward the stairwell to the parking level of the museum. His warm hand covered mine, dwarfing it in size. There was nothing sexual about it, but I hadn’t had physical contact for so long, that jolts of electricity raced throughout my body. Humans aren’t meant to exist alone. This casual touch was one thing I missed, something I craved. A cold evening with Brandon had done nothing to help.
Christopher towed me to his low-slung black 370Z. I’d always admired the sleek look of that model.
“Get in. Still live in the same place?”
I got in and I sent him the address. The car smelled divine. Like a combination of coffee and chocolate. I breathed deep, inhaling the scent. Somehow, it seemed comfortable. Christopher sent me an amused glance.
The drive to my townhouse took only seven minutes, though it would have taken half an hour to walk. Throughout the ride I sat tense, white knuckles in my lap while the windshield wipers swished back and forth, but his driving was smooth and confident. When we got to the block, I pointed to my door. I’d forgotten to leave my light on again. I wished I had the kind of life where someone turned lights on for me, where I wouldn’t always be returning to an empty house.
Christopher turned off the engine and got out with me.
I shook my head.“Thanks for driving.”
“I’m walking you to the door. It’s dark.”
I could see it would do me no good to argue.
At the top of the stairs, I fished around in my purse. When I found my keys, I jingled them to indicate that he could go.
He jammed his hands into his pockets. I’d seen him do it a few times now. He did it when he was nervous or uncomfortable. I enjoyed learning that about him.
“I’m going to talk to my brother. You’ve got me a little freaked out. He hasn’t blocked my calls, but he doesn’t return them. Can we meet again soon? This week? We can compare notes.”
I nodded.
I unlocked the door and turned to wave. Christopher hugged me, catching me off guard. He was warm and hard and smelled even better than his car. It signified more to me. Not only did he believe my improbable story, but I wasn’t in this alone. He had an even bigger stake than I did in saving his brother.
I burst into tears of relief.
“It’s okay.” He held on and squeezed.
I could have lived in his hug; I didn’t want him to let go.
“We can solve this together, Lizzie.”
Shocked, I stepped back.“What did you call me?”
He looked confused and glanced at his screen. “You told me to call you Lizzie.”
I shook my head. I hadn’t spoken. At that moment, the name had been in my head, a memory of his taunting. That was his name for me in the future. What was going on?
Chapter 5
Once inside, I remained jittery, unsettled. I couldn’t sit still. While successful, my conversation with Christopher hadn’t gone as expected. I downloaded the photos from Brandon’s place to my laptop, but couldn’t sit long enough to examine them. Normally, I had karate on Mondays and Wednesdays. I’d joined karate in this time too, but I’d missed my classes last week and again tonight. I had too much pent-up energy, so I pushed the coffee table out of the way. In this time, I had no gear, but had signed up to start karate again. I didn’t have the actual blue belt here, but I knew the kata. I’d work my way up again if necessary, depending on dojo policy.
The patterned movements of my kata brought my memories rushing back.
I’d started karate a year into my marriage after I’d taken Eric’s abuse one too many times.
I remembered the night that had pushed me to seek lessons in self-defense. Eric made dinner plans for our first wedding anniversary. He wanted me to cook—for us to stay home. I would have preferred to go out, but despite his professional success, he was tight with money. So, we planned a night in. He asked me to make his favorite dessert, homemade cherry pie.
I meant to do it; I wanted to do it. I looked up the recipe and bought the ingredients, but the head of my department had asked me to stay late at work the night before. However, I’d lost track of time and arrived home after nine p.m. Instead, I would make the pie after work on our anniversary. It could bake while we ate dinner.
Putting the pie together and making the filling and the crust from scratch took longer than expected, as I’d never done it before. I wanted it to be perfect. When it went into the oven, it was the best I could do, but the top crust was uneven. Dinner became later and later.
