Page 107 of The Locksmith's Promise

We moved through the house like two ghosts, shedding outer layers, dropping wallets and purses and keys as we slipped into my bedroom.

With every deep breath, I fought off yesterday.

In.

Out.

Filling my lungs with calm, expelling the pain.

A controlled release.

Slipping past each other to use the bathroom.

Brushing teeth.

The mundane, the ordinary, the extraordinary I only ever imagined in my wildest dreams.

Undressing without a word.

Stripping down as today slipped into yesterday.

In.

Out.

I turned off the bathroom light and padded across the floor in my bare feet, Baxter’s old sweatshirt brushing the tops of my thighs.

I rubbed the hem, threadbare after all these years, between my fingers.

The bedside lamp cast a warm glow but left me cold.

Baxter lay back on his side of the bed, one arm folded behind his head, the other hand resting on his flat stomach.

Watching me.

My name scrolled across his ribs beneath his promise.

I swallowed harshly, a wave of dizziness rocking me at the thought of just how very quickly it could all disappear.

In.

Out.

Slipping between the sheets, my body shook.

“Maggie,” he growled.

In.

I broke.

Rolling toward him, I pressed my face into his naked chest and keened.

“Aw, fuck.” His hand cradled the back of my head as he curled his long body around me.

I clung to him, my fingers crawling around his back to hold him closer as deep, guttural sobs rocked me.

“Baby, baby, baby,” he crooned, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.

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