Page 262 of Tell Me Something True

Despite Tabitha telling Sara VanHoy, the D.A., about her past with Michelle, Sara was still moving ahead with charges against Reed. And since Reed refused to talk to anyone about what really happened that night, including Tabitha and his attorney, Lily Raught, his only hope was going to be Tabitha’s testimony at his trial.

But at least he was keeping his nose clean. Not letting his bitterness push him into acting out like he would have a few years ago. Tommy DiFonzio had fired Reed after he’d been arrested—a dick move considering the kid was innocent until proven guilty—but Patton had given him more hours at the bar and had gotten him a job with a buddy who’d just opened up a garage specializing in vintage motorcycle restorations.

He was going to be okay.

At least Verity was doing better now. One less teen for him to worry about.

Her first semester at OSU had been rough, but now that she had a new roommate and had made a few friends, she wasn’t calling them crying, begging to come home. She’d even agreed to finish the year out there instead of transferring to Pitt like she’d originally wanted.

Best of all, she’d stopped asking about Reed.

Miles added the shrimp to the sauté pan, tossed them with the vegetables and roux, then added the seasonings, and covered the pan. Finished getting dinner ready while Tabitha set the table and got their drinks, singing along to Zach Bryan’s “Smaller Acts” playing over the Bluetooth speaker.

They ate sitting next to each other because he liked being able to touch her—her knee, her arm, her hand. Loved that he could lean over and kiss her, which he did after she took her first bite and moaned about how good it was. Then he kissed her again because she tasted way better than his dinner.

By the time they were done eating, Tabitha was leaning back in her chair with her eyes shut, groaning about how full she was.

“Guess that means you’re not ready for dessert,” he teased as he stood and began gathering their dishes.

She opened one eye. “Well, now, one shouldn’t be hasty. At least, not until one knows what dessert is being offered.”

“Vanilla cheesecake.”

That perked her up enough that she opened both eyes. “From St. Honore’s?” At his nod, she sat up. “With the chocolate cookie crust?”

“Of course.” As if he’d get anything less than her absolute favorite.

“Miles,” she said, and Christ, but he’d never get enough of hearing her say his name in that stunned, breathy tone.

She stood and followed him into the kitchen. Wrapped her arms around him after he set the dirty dishes in the sink, tipping her head up to look at him. “Thank you. For everything. The flowers and dinner and dessert.” She kissed him. “This has been the best Valentine’s Day ever.”

“You’re welcome. But none of those is your actual present.”

“They’re not?”

He shook his head. Kissed her again, then linked his fingers with hers. “Come on.”

He started to lead her into the living room, but she dug in her heels. “I need to grab something first. I’ll meet you in there.”

Sending her a puzzled look, he shrugged. “Okay.”

In the living room, he got her present out from where he’d hidden it in the bottom drawer of his antique bookshelf. Tucked it behind him when she entered the room carrying a large gift, neatly wrapped in shiny red paper, a red and white polka dot bow in the center.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she said, setting the package on his lap.

She stood watching him, her expression both nervous and excited, as he removed the bow then carefully unwrapped the paper. There were two boxes stacked on top of each other.“The top one first,” she said.

Setting the wrapping paper on the floor, he lifted the lid off the top box then moved the tissue paper in it aside. His gaze flew to hers, stunned, his heart in his throat. Dropping his eyes back to the box, he pulled out the sleek black frame. Touched his forefinger to the glass.

It was a photo of his parents standing in Urban’s front yard—their front yard—and… Christ, but they were so young. Maybe early twenties? They had their arms around each other’s waists, his dad’s hand on his mom’s visibly pregnant stomach. But they weren’t looking at the camera.

They were looking at each other, their smiles bright and so full of joy, so full of love it hurt to look at it.

A good hurt, though.

The kind you could only get from grief. From loving someone who was no longer there.

“Willow helped me go through some of your parents’ old photo albums,” Tabitha said when he remained quiet. “You don’t have any pictures of them. At least, not displayed. And I thought maybe, when you’re ready, you could start with this one.”

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