Page 48 of Since the Day We Kissed

“Hold on, boy,” Ethan called out, setting down the cologne and following Hero to the entryway.

Ethan glanced at his phone as he approached the door.

At 6:30?

Curious, he peered through the window. A stocky man in a stained uniform stood on the porch, and behind him, a white van withLocksmithemblazoned on its side was parked in the cracked driveway.

Ethan opened the door, his other hand on Hero’s collar to keep him from rushing out.

“Locksmith service. You called about a safe?” the man asked, gesturing with his toolbox.

“Yeah, that’s right. Come on in,” Ethan said, stepping aside to let the locksmith enter.

“Sorry for the delay. Got caught up with some emergency calls earlier.”

“No problem.” Ethan said. “It was my dad’s. He passed away and I can’t find the key.”

“Alright, lead the way,” the locksmith replied, picking up his toolbox.

Ethan led the locksmith to his dad’s bedroom. As they entered, he pointed to the oak dresser against the far wall. “There it is.”

The locksmith approached, toolbox clinking as he set it on the floor. He ran his hand over the safe’s surface, studying it closely before letting out a low whistle. “This is an older model, all right. Maybe thirty years old? Don’t let that fool you, though. These things were built to last—and to keep people out.”

Great.

Ethan nodded, retreating to give him space. He sat down on the bed and watched as the locksmith pulled out a couple of different tools.

“I’ll start with the drill,” the locksmith explained. “Fair warning—it might scratch up the safe a bit. That okay with you?”

Ethan shrugged. “Go for it. I don’t care about the safe—it’s what’s inside that matters.”

What I hope’s inside.

Ethan held his breath as the sound of the drill on the keyhole reverberated around the room. His foot tapped and his stomach tightened while the locksmith struggled.

Come on, come on. Open already!

The locksmith frowned, setting the drill aside. “Tough one. Didn’t even scratch it. Let’s try something else.”

Ethan watched, nerves fraying like an old rope, as the locksmith delicately maneuvered the tool inside the keyhole. The man’s forehead creased, beads of sweat forming at his temples.

Ethan checked his phone again: 6:45 p.m.

In his mind, he could already hear Kara’s voice. “Running late again, Ethan?” He swallowed hard, his throat dry as sandpaper, racking his brain for an excuse that would sound better than the one he had given earlier.

Please hurry for the love of—

“No luck. Not with any of the tools I got, anyway,” the locksmith said, wiping his brow.

Ethan’s shoulders sagged. “Now what?”

“I’ll need to order some specialized equipment. Could take a couple weeks to arrive, though.”

“Fine, do it. Just as soon as possible, please.”

“You got it. I’ll call you as soon as they’re in,” the locksmith assured him, packing up his tools.

Ethan barely heard him, already rushing him out the door, glancing at his phone: 6:48 p.m.

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