“The charm,” he said once we were alone, voice low and controlled. “Where did you get it?”
I touched it with my fingertips, felt its gold weight against the silk. “A man gave it to me. Older gentleman. White-haired,” I said, trying to catch his eyes, but he kept looking forward as he led us farther and farther into the dark.
Judah’s jaw worked beneath his skin, a muscle tightening and releasing. Then — as quickly as it had appeared — it was gone. The tension, the urgency — all of it. He stopped before me, on a path nobody had walked, and smiled, his eyes a little glassy from drink. “I apologize I wasn’t much entertainment tonight.”
“You had other guests to attend to.” I tried to keep my voice light, but it came out more brittle than I intended.
“I did.” His fingers reached for the cherry charm, hovering near my collarbone. “This isn’t... appropriate for you.”
“Why not?”
His eyes met mine then, pale and clear despite the bourbon. “Because it means something you don’t understand.”
The world seemed to contract around us, the air growing thicker. Somewhere within the manor, glasses clinked, and laughter rose and fell like a tide.
“Then explain it to me.” I didn’t move away from his almost-touch. Didn’t flinch when his fingers finally made contact, not with the charm but with the silk strap it was pinned to.
“No.” The word was soft but absolute. “Not tonight.”
He unpinned the cherry with careful fingers, his knuckles brushing against my skin. I felt goosebumps rise despite the Louisiana heat pressing in.
“Give me your hand,” he said.
I did.
He placed the cherry in the midst of my palm and wrapped my fingers closed around it. Then his eyes were back on mine. “Never accept jewelry from men in Louisiana, Mercy.”
I watched his lips. “Not even you?”
His lips curved into the ghost of a smile. “Especially not from me.”
The moment stretched between us like taffy, sweet and dangerous. His hand was still wrapped around mine, the gold cherry trapped in our shared grasp. I felt the weight of it — heavier than it should have been for something so small.
The sound of Darlene’s Buick on the drive made me realize we weren’t alone.
“I have to go,” I told him.
He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Thank you for coming,” he said, and leaned in to press his lips to the corner of my mouth.
I felt the warmth of his breath, smelled bourbon and something underneath — cloves, maybe. My heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to escape. For one wild, dizzymoment, I thought about turning my face those crucial few millimeters.
“I can’t get the taste of you out of my mind,” he admitted in a whisper, as his mouth moved to kiss me just below my dangling earing.
That sent a shiver through me.
“Judah—” I started, but couldn’t find the words to follow.
“I pray your shower breaks with increasing regularity, Mercy,” he said, smirking, and brushed his thumb against my lips. “Now go. Before Darlene throws a fit.”
I slipped away from him into the night, the gold cherry still clutched in my hand like a burning coal. Darlene’s headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating Spanish moss that swayed like spectral fingers in the breeze.
She didn’t ask questions when I slid into the passenger seat, simply watched me tuck the charm into my clutch with a pinched expression.
At first I’d wanted to throw it out the window, but I didn't, which I think said something about me that I wasn't ready to say out loud.
The house was empty by midnight.
Judah stood at the window of his study with his fifth bourbon and watched the last car disappear down the drive and waited for the sound of gravel to go quiet. It took longer than it should have. Men like Hargrove never left anywhere quickly — leavingwas its own kind of negotiation, every exit a reminder that they could always come back.
