by JM Stewart
“Actually, I wondered if you’d be okay here by yourself tonight.”
“Does that mean I can stay?” She cinched his tie and finally forced herself to meet his gaze.
His eyes searched hers, his worry clear in the crease that formed between his brows. The corners of his mouth curled upward, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Did you really expect me to say no?”
“Thank you. I’ll be fine.” She shook her head and settled a hand on his chest, needing to soothe the worry and awkwardness between them. “You worry too much.”
He glanced at his watch. “Shoot.” When he met her gaze again, his eyes filled with regret. “I can stay if you need me to. I have plenty of unused sick days—”
“Go to work.” She desperately tried to ignore the solid muscles and warm body beneath her hands as she gave him a playful shove toward the bedroom doorway. “You have cases to solve and bad guys to catch.”
He studied her for a moment, the crease on the corner of his mouth deepening. The decision apparently made, he cupped her chin in his palm, his thumb sweeping gently from side to side. “We’ll talk later, I promise.”
When she nodded, he placed a tender kiss to her cheek. The way he used to before tension had taken over their relationship. Then he pulled back, offered a gentle smile, turned, and strode from the room. Cecelia released her held breath, the air rushing from her mouth in a whoosh, and let her shoulders slump. Somehow, someway, she’d get ahold of these wayward emotions. She had to. It was time to heal the rift between them, and it started by squashing whatever the hell these longings were.
With a decisive nod, she followed him around the corner and into the living room. “Please be careful.”
Kyle didn’t do anything without thinking through every possible angle, but she couldn’t help saying it, if only to make herself feel better. He had an important job serving their community. People depended on him to do his job well, and he’d saved more than a few lives. The thought of what could happen to him still scared her more than a little. The thought of him getting shot made her sick to her stomach.
He shot a reassuring smile over his shoulder. “Always am, Ceci. You know me.”
When they reached the front room, she stopped and leaned against the wall, eyeing him as he crossed to the door. “Kyle?”
His hand on the knob, he turned sideways, his brows lifting as he glanced back at her. “Hmmm?”
“Thanks. For everything, I mean.”
“Just doing my job, ma’am.” Doing a bad impression of a Southern accent, he tipped an invisible hat, but the humor in his tone didn’t quite reach his eyes. His gaze searched hers for a long moment, worry clearly written in the depths; then he turned and left the apartment.
When the door clicked shut, the silence enveloped her and the weight of her worries pressed down on her again. She slumped back against the wall, taking refuge in its solidity, as a tide of questions swamped her. How could she give her child a future when she had no past? She didn’t remember the first seven years of her life. Who doesn’t remember the first seven years of their life? And what had happened to her parents? How could she give her baby the mother he or she deserved when she spent half her life in fear, with holes buried so deep inside she didn’t feel like a whole person?
She had no idea where the feelings came from, but an aching emptiness lived inside of her she’d never been able to shake. Like she was missing something, and some way, somehow, she’d find the answers. When Kyle got home tonight, she planned to ask him—again—to help. She only hoped this time, he wouldn’t turn her down.
JM Stewart writes sweet and heartwarming contemporary romances with a touch of passion. She’s a wife, a mother, a spiritualist, and a lover of puppies who is addicted to chocolate and coffee. She lives in the Great Rainy Northwest with her husband of sixteen years and their two sons. She’s a hopeless romantic who believes everybody should have their happily-ever-after, and has been devouring romance novels for as long as she can remember. Writing them has become her passion.
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