Page 363 of The Romance Adventure

My chest swells at the idea of our laundry mingling because it’s what makes a marriage. Well, obviously, love, commitment, and honesty above all. But the little things in the background—like me making sure the toilet seat is down and her that the toothpaste cap is on—are the mortar.

I’m new at this, but it feels like it matters.

As for the honesty part, I’m working on that.

I go to the closet and slide on a pair of board shorts, a T-shirt, and a hoodie. It’s been cool in the mornings, at least for way down here. My friends up north would laugh in my face at what I consider chilly.

I’m nearly out of the walk-in closet when I pause. Jolie never did tell me where the earrings came from or fully explained her fear of lightning. Her response was vague. I’m trained to look for gray areas, pull them back, and reveal the black and white. I understand if she doesn’t want to talk about past hurts. But if the earrings were from an ex, and she still wears them, I can’t help but wonder how damaging the lighting was.

Maybe she keeps them as a reminder to be cautious, to guard her heart. That not all that glitters is gold. A sweet little idea filters into my mind. I’m not known for being romantic, but chocolate could change that.

Turning around, I survey the walk-in closet. In the center, beside the settee, is a cube that’s about counter height. It has drawers and a glass top like a jewelry display case. Sure enough, the earrings are in there. I take a photo of them to reference later.

Just as I’m about to exit again, I check the photo to make sure there isn’t a glare on the glass, but something catches my eye. Instead of a flash, the corner of a familiar type of old paper reflects in the image.

I tilt my hand, but that shifts the perspective of the photo, which doesn’t help. Retracing my steps, I return to the display case. Glancing up to make sure Jolie isn’t rousing, I carefully lift the glass. Velvet lines the bottom and striped tiger wood constructs the four sides. I shine the light on my phone into the back, where the glass turns to a marble surface. More velvet, more wood, a silk scarf, and a piece of paper.

A very old piece with torn sides.

My pulse hammers as I carefully remove it. Eyes wide, I cannot believe what I’m looking at.

My skills and talents include deep diving, magic tricks that Chip taught me, authenticating valuables, lying, and picking pockets. I’m not necessarily proud of the last two. But they do come in handy. However, none of those were needed to come across the piece of the map we’ve been seeking.

Glancing at Jolie, still peacefully asleep, my heart sinks.

What is she doing with the fourth piece of the map?

Through the doorway comes a soft sigh. “CJ?” she calls.

I hastily snap a clear photo and return the map fragment to its hiding place. I fully intend to find out why she has it and where she got it. Thanks to Chip. I’m also really good at cards and won’t play my hand until I fully understand what’s on the table.

“Morning,” I say, acting casual. “This early bird was going to make you breakfast in bed. How does French toast sound?”

“Divine.” She stretches, letting out a little yawn.

I blink a few times, not sure if I’m looking at my wife with her tousled dark hair and sleepy eyes or someone else entirely. My mind streams through these last days and the months before that.

If there were navigational directions for a relationship, we’re off the map. I’m not sure who she is. But she doesn’t know me either. I can’t be too upset. I just have to figure out where we are in relation to each other and how not to get lost on the way.

“Are you okay?” Jolie asks, pressing to sit.

Giving my head a shake, I say, “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About...?”

“Secrets.” That’s true.

“Do you have any hidden in the closet that I should know about?”

I laugh at the irony. “No, but if I were married to someone who I didn’t want to find me, where would I go, what would I do?”

“Do you mean your aunt?”

With the recently discovered map piece burned into my mind, the other two maps—from the Sip & Scoop and Glandman’s office—overlay each other in my mind... and then they snap into place.

Realization dawns, along with the actual sun, streaming through the bedroom window and painting my wife golden. I want so badly to be upset, to let whatever she’s hiding eat me up. Instead, I set about making breakfast.

When I return to the master bedroom, tray topped with French toast, maple syrup, orange slices, and coffee in hand, I debate coming clean—telling Jolie everything.