Page 88 of Quiet Beautiful Things

Blake: Why in the hell did you have a gun pointed and ready to fire?

“Who was at the door?” I ask.

Blake: Nobody. Food delivery. She had the wrong apartment. Answer the question, El. Why did you look so fucking scared just now?

I don’t answer. Mostly because I can’t. Not without letting him in on my secret.

Blake: Is there an ex-boyfriend or ex-husband you’re not telling me about?

I shake my head.

He paces the floor at the end of the bed, staring over at the gun. His mouth is moving, but I get the idea he’s talking to himself, not me. It gives me time to come up with a plausible excuse.

“What’s going on, Ellie?” he signs. “You almost shot me. I deserve to know.”

I nod, calm enough now that I’ve been able to conjure up a believable lie.

Me: Everyone who knows me knows I can’t hear a knock on the door. It couldn’t have been anyone but an intruder. Especially at this hour.

Blake: Intruders don’t knock.

All I can do is shrug.

He stops pacing and sits next to me. Resting a hand on my knee, he blows out a long, drawn-out breath. “Do me a favor. The next time you get scared, call 911.”

“Sorry,” I sign.

Blake: Promise me, El.

I nod even though it’s another lie.

“Shit,” he says. “I promised Allie I’d be back by eleven. I’m late.”

“You should go,” I sign.

“I think I should stay,” he signs.

“I’m fine.”

He looks over at the gun.

I put a hand on his jaw and direct him to look back at me. “I’m fine,” I sign again, hoping he believes it this time.

He nods, albeit reluctantly. “Put that thing away.”

“Okay.”

Once fully dressed, he leans down and kisses me. When he pulls back, he signs, “Show me perfect again,” fingerspelling the word perfect. Then he says, “After all, the only time I ever get to use the word is when I’m with you.”

How this man continues to wedge himself further inside my heart is something I’ve yet to be able to explain.

I show him the sign.

“Perfect night,” he signs. Then he shrugs and says, “Until you almost killed me.” He crosses the room, turning back to wave goodbye.

I wait a minute to give him time to get out the front door, then I hop up and immediately lock it. Back in my room, I secure the gun away, hoping I never have another reason to get it out. Then I head to the kitchen for a midnight snack.

On the counter sits two halves of an opened fortune cookie, a slip of paper between them.

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