She accepted the bag, eyeing the store name. “What is it? Cookie butter and artisanal marmalade?”
“What’s cookie butter?”
Shaking her head, she placed the bag on her desk and reached inside. “Tell me, Jacob, is your life utterly devoid of all joy and pleasu—?” Her fingers brushed against something wooden, and she froze, unable to do anything but stare at the man in front of her. Unable to hope.
He shoved his hands into his back pockets. “I didn’t know about it when you came to see me. Mei gave it to Kati.” His lips twisted. “Told her to keep it a secret from me and use what was inside to pay for her education.”
Of course her mother had given the box to Kati. A finalfuck youto Akira.You weren’t good. You don’t get what you want.
The worst part was Akira was certain her mother didn’t fancy Kati as the daughter she should have had. The woman had been fond of the Campbell family, that might be true, because of her nostalgic memories of their father and because they were quiet and humble and respectable, but she’d never particularly wanted any children. No, this had been a convenient gesture, a way to screw around with Akira without having to leave her sickbed. All she’d had to do was target the weakest link.
Had her mother handed Kati the contents of her entire safe, Akira wouldn’t have quibbled. Hell, Mei had earned every penny of wealth she had extracted from Hiro Mori as his wife of three years. She reserved the right to leave it, and the larger fortune it had grown into, to whomever she wished.
But this box had been Hana’s. It should have been Akira’s the second Hana passed away, as her grandmother had intended. It would have been hers, if the elderly woman had had a will. If her mother hadn’t snatched the box away and hidden it. If Akira hadn’t been a dumb nineteen-year-old and used a better attorney than her mother’s when she’d tried to get it back from her.
The ifs had run around in her brain far too long. Time to end them.
She pulled out a mahogany box decorated on each side with dozens of narrow, inch-long panels in varying shades of brown. She nudged one panel, and it moved, though stiffly.The boxwas heavy and sturdy, the wood warm, as if it were capable of retaining the heat of those who had previously touched it.
Jacob shifted. “I didn’t open it… I don’t really know how it opens. You can check, if you want, to make sure whatever’s in it is still there.”
“I can’t open it. Not yet,” she said absently. There was something inside. She could hear it when she tilted the box.
I got it, Ba-chan. It’s mine now, finally.
Her grandmother had been dead for fifteen years. She was never going to pat Akira on the back the way she used to, with her soft hands.
However, those hands had curled around this box. They had shown it to a fascinated young Akira, adeptly manipulated the panels on the sides.
Akira ran her fingers lightly over the panels. Two hundred and twenty-six. Two hundred and twenty-six moves until she could get inside. Her eyes stung, and her nostrils flared. She knew it looked weird, but she lifted the box to her nose and inhaled. Surely she imagined a hint of baby powder clung to the item?
“Are you crying?”
What? No, she was not crying.
Don’t do it.Not in front of Jacob. She would rather the man find her disgusting than pity her.
Distantly, she was aware her legs had weakened, that Jacob was suddenly at her side, his hand lighting on her arm, steadying her none-too-graceful slide to the floor. The softness of her expensive rug cushioned her butt.
“Akira.” Jacob crouched in front of her. “Talk to me. Are you okay?”
Yes.Her mouth moved. She was certain of it. But nothing came out.
A vertical line formed between his dark eyebrows. The hand on her biceps grew more sure, smoothing down her arm to touch her fingers, which were wrapped tight around the wood. He tugged at the box and eased it from her grip, setting it to the side before his much larger digits returned to curl around hers. “You’re like ice. I don’t like this.”
Too bad.
She was like ice. It was in her veins. Ice in her veins. Steel in her…
His arm slipped around her, and he adjusted her with no discernable effort, arranging her so her bottom was now resting against his lap instead of the rug.
He was…hugging her.
Akira didn’t really seek out hugs from anyone, though she didn’t shove away embraces from people she liked.
But Jacob hugging her was a whole other kettle of fish. This was crazy and dumb and fraught with peril.
His big hand skated up her back, subtly massaging her spine.
