Page 106 of The Last Close Call

She sighed. “Is it still raining?”

“No.”

He slid his arm under her shoulder and rolled her closer.

“I need to go,” she said.

“Why?”

His thumb stroked down her arm and up again, and she wanted to purr like a cat. The way he touched her was so natural, and she felt her muscles loosening, all that tension she’d been carrying seeping away.

“It stopped raining,” she murmured.

“So?”

“So... you have to work.”

He didn’t say anything, and she knew that he did. Rowan inhaled the scent of him—earthy and musky. She nestled closer, and his warm hand settled on her hip.

She turned and glanced at the clock behind her. She sighed again. She scooted closer and closed her eyes, blocking out the clock and the noise and everything else she didn’t want to think about.

“Just one more minute,” she said, and then she was fast asleep.

TWENTY-TWO

Joy eyed her computer on the breakfast table as she walked into the kitchen. She’d checked already. But that was an hour ago.

She sank into the chair. She was becoming obsessed, she knew, but Michael would be home tomorrow, and she’d have to be sneaky about everything again. She tapped the mouse and brought the screen to life, then opened her newly created email account and checked the inbox.

Still nothing.

Scritch-scratch.

She got up and went to the back door, peering warily out at the darkness before undoing the lock. Of course the second Sam stepped outside, Frodo wanted to go, too. She closed the door behind them and flipped the bolt.

Casting a glance at her computer screen, she walked to the refrigerator and freshened her drink. She was almost out of cranberry juice. Not that it really mattered, but she needed to remember to swing by the store and get more before Michael came home. He paid attention to details like how fast she went through the mixers.

Joy returned to the table and sat down again. Drumming her fingernails on the wood, she contemplated her empty inbox. She pulled the legal pad closer and reviewed Rowan’s instructions about surname projects. She’d taken all the steps Rowan had shown her, and in the same exact order. She had visited relevant websites, and answered the questionnaires, and provided her contact information. That was twenty-four hours ago, and Joy hadn’t received a single response. Not one. What was up with that? These genealogy people were supposed to be engaged. Rowan had said so. She’d said even the ones who called themselves “hobbyists” were extremely active with these online groups.

Joy clicked onto one of her bookmarked ancestry sites. The home screen showed a smiling white-haired grandmother and a middle-aged woman who was probably meant to be her daughter gathered around a tablet, talking to long-lost relatives on a video chat.

How very cozy. And quaint. How heartwarming it must be to gather around a device invented by one of the world’s most notoriously shitty fathers and communicate with your newfound family across the pond.

Joy took a gulp of her drink and set the glass down.

The dogs scratched at the door, and she got up to let them in.

“Sammy? Where’s your brother?”

A ping from the table had her whirling around. She hurried back to her chair and clicked out of the website so she could see her inbox.

Re: Hoping to get in touch!

Joy tapped open the email and skimmed it.

Dear Jill,

Already, she could tell he was a generation older.

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