His eyes lifted.“Yeah?”
“Yeah.What am I gonna do with it?Strap it to my violin?Sword fight on stage?”
She reached for the last big item—an old toolbox, dented red and covered in more rust than paint.
“I knew it,” Nash growled, snatching it straight out of her hands.“I fuckin’ knew he stole it.Hell, all Mav’s antique tools were—”
He popped the latches and let loose a string of curses.
“All the tools are gone—sold,” Cassie said, apologetic.“But the shopkeeper found this inside.”She pulled a dented Polaroid from her pocket and offered it to Nash.“Said she keeps photos and such—case someone comes back.”
A slow smile spread across Nash’s face as he took in the snapshot of Maverick and Margie—Mav’s arm around her waist, Margie tilted back in a kiss.She looked half-laughing, half-scowling, like she’d been caught mid-protest.Mav and Marge, 1986was scrawled across the bottom in fading black ink.
“Do you think she’d want it?”Cassie asked, nodding toward the photo.“All things considered…I wasn’t sure.”
“Can’t hurt to ask—might do her good, seein’ it.Knowin’ where it’s been all this time.”
Cassie frowned.“You think her findin’ out Mav kept her picture in his toolbox all the while he was married to your mama would do her good?”
“I don’t know—would it do you any good?”
“Would what do me any good?”
“Knowin’ I kept your picture in my kit all these years?”
The room went quiet, their eyes locking.
“Did you?”
Nash stared at her long enough that her stomach flipped.Had he really done that?And why did she suddenly want the answer to be yes?
Then he jerked back with a laugh.“Nope.”
“Asshole,” she hissed, smacking his arm.
Catching her wrist, Nash yanked her closer.“But I think you just answered yourself.”He dragged his mouth over hers—slow at first, then deeper when she leaned into it.
“Stubborn and oh, so fucking arrogant,” she breathed, between kisses.
“You’re the one suckin’ my face,” he retorted, pulling back just enough to look at her.“’Sides,” he continued, his hand moving from her wrist to her waist, “I didn’t need a photo.Your face is everywhere.The club’s books.Margie’s mantle.The walls of the Rooster.Ain’t a damn place in these hills I’ve ever been able to hide from you.”
For a moment, they just looked at one another, Cassie seeing the truth of them so clearly it hurt.She’d been able to disappear into other places, other noise, while Nash had stayed right here, confronting it every day without answers.It didn’t erase what he’d done—didn’t erase what she’d kept from him, either.
Cassie found her hand on his face, fingertips grazing through his beard.“I really am sorry for how I handled things.”Her voice caught slightly.“For all of it.”
Nash held her gaze, looking like he wanted to argue, then didn’t.His eyes softened for half a second before dropping to her mouth, the hand on her hip squeezing tight enough to make her breath catch.His other hand came up, sliding into her hair, gripping tight.
And then they were kissing, hard and hungry, and when he shifted as if to pull her into his lap, she broke away first, shoving him back against the mattress.
Climbing over him, she shoved his cut open, hands sliding up his chest before tangling into his hair as she bent and caught his mouth again—
—until another peal of Junie’s laughter reached them.
“Shit,” Cassie breathed, rolling off him.“So much for not jumping you in Margie’s spare bedroom.”
Scrubbing his hands over his face like he was trying to reset his brain, Nash sat up slowly.“I should probably get back down there,” he muttered.“You comin’?”
Cassie pushed herself upright, smoothing down her shirt.“Where?”
