Page 52 of His Greatest Treasure

With a wineglass restingover the knees she has tucked into her chest, Avery watches the show with intense focus beside me. She’s the type of show watcher who doesn’t like to speak outside of commercial breaks. Focused on the current competition happening onscreen, she hasn’t looked away in minutes.

I have the opposite problem.

Every two minutes, I’m sneaking looks at her, enthralled by her love of the show. I’ve never been able to get into reality TV like this or any at all, really, but if it means time with her . . . I’ll have to start liking them.

We’re on episode four now, but it doesn’t feel like we’ve been sitting on the couch for three hours. Dinner is cleaned up and put away, and the bottle of wine is nearly empty on the coffee table. It’s comfortable. I’m relaxed, my muscles loose and pulse steady.

Avery looks beyond beautiful right now. Happy and calm, her emotions open and loud. Maybe that’s why I can’t seem to look away. It’s been years since I’ve gotten the chance to see her this way, and I’m downright feasting on it.

Her hair was dripping wet when I arrived at her house, but it’s dried completely now, the long length of it curled at the bottomand frizzy at the top. Still dressed in those nearly see-through silk pajamas, her long legs are exposed, thigh muscles taut when she tucks one closer into her chest and rests her chin atop it.

I stare and stare, knowing I need to look away but not able to bring myself to do just that. Every flutter of her light brown lashes brings my focus to the pale blue colouring of the thin skin beneath her eyes. I get the overwhelming urge to tell her to sleep so the skin returns to its normal colour.

“Do you want more wine?” she asks with a turn of her head in my direction.

I look at the TV, finding an advertisement for deodorant playing. “No. I’m good, thanks. You can finish it.”

“Trying to get me drunk?”

“If it would help you get some sleep tonight, then sure.”

She stares at me for a minute, no doubt trying to make sense of my comment. “I sleep fine.”

“Alright.”

“Do I not look like I sleep fine? Should I be offended?”

“Would it be such a bad thing if I just cared about your well-being?”

“Maybe. Depending on why you suddenly give a shit.”

She turns back to the TV, leaving the wine bottle where it is. I lean my head against the back of the couch and sigh. My inability to not piss her off at every turn has made me question whether or not I’ve been single for so long is because I can’t word my sentences for shit.

“I’ve always given a shit, Avery. I just . . .”

I place my glass beside the bottle on the table and run a hand over my head before sitting back. Shifting my body toward hers, I risk it and cup her shin. The skin is so soft and smooth I almost choke on nothing.

She speaks before I do, her eyes dropping to focus on where I touch her. I wait for her to shove my hand away, but she doesn’t. Instead, she covers my fingers with hers and leaves them there, not squeezing, justholding.

“You have a hard time showing it?” She finishes my statement for me.

“Yeah.”

“Me too. The only person I know how to show affection or care toward are my parents and Nova. Maybe I’m too guarded, or I’ve just been hurt too many times,” she admits, frowning.

“Nova’s dad the one who hurt you?”

Her laugh is nothing more than an angry huff. “Probably. Or I was already damaged goods long before he showed up.”

“Don’t call yourself damaged goods. You’re not damaged,” I grit out, my fingers flexing over her leg, drifting to brush her calf. “There’s nothing wrong with not keeping your heart on your sleeve.”

She shrugs a shoulder. “I want to put all the blame on him, but I also teach Nova about personal accountability. It would be hypocritical to not take some of the blame for how I am now. Back when I was a kid, it didn’t matter who you were, I would have showered you in hugs and attention.”

“Then take accountability for some of it, but don’t let him off the hook. Don’t dismiss the way he hurt you because you want to be a good mom. You’re already one of those. And people are allowed to change. Don’t punish yourself for that.”

“Is that an order, Lieutenant?” she asks softly, almost teasingly.

“Yeah, it’s an order,” I confirm.

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