Page 35 of The Locksmith's Promise

I closed my eyes briefly. “It’s good to be back.”

And it was true.

Drawing back, I looked for Baxter the way I always had.

Harsh lines of longing had settled onto his handsome face.

And imprinted on my fractured heart.

He’d always gotten the short end of the stick.

And, God help me, I gave up on him too soon. In the end, I was no different from everybody else.

Shaken, I missed most of the conversation with John, not coming back around until we slid into the booth Baxter chose for us.

And just as we settled, Sergent Elliott walked in.

Closely cropped hair, now steel grey, his handlebar moustache as imposing as ever, he stopped just inside the restaurant and scanned the interior much like I had. Catching sight of Baxter, he made a beeline for our table.

I nearly banged my forehead off the table in frustration.

Noting the determined look on Sarge’s face, it took everything in me not to leap to my feet in his defense.

Taking me by surprise, Baxter stood and extended his hand with a warm smile. “Sergeant.”

“Baxter.”

The sergeant pulled him in by his hand and slapped him on the back, his grey eyes softening. “It’s good to have you back, son.”

Baxter laughed softly. “You sure about that?”

He nodded and cleared his throat before jerking his chin at Corwin. “Who’s this big guy?”

Baxter’s chest expanded, pride setting his dark eyes aflame. “This is my son, Corwin.”

Sergeant Elliott nodded and gruffly acknowledged, “He looks like the both of you. It’s good to have you home, Corwin.”

“Thank you, Sergeant.” Corwin gazed up at him, eyes wide.

His eyes continued to follow him as he walked away. “That…” Speechless, he waved his hand over his mouth.

Baxter laughed. “Yeah, buddy. It was pretty fu- freaking impressive when I was a kid, too.”

Corwin laughed again at Baxter’s near miss, and the rest of the evening went smoothly.

Despite the missing years, their conversation flowed with little effort. They built dreams and discussed plans. A daytrip into the city to purchase a guitar loomed large in their near future.

And as much as I wanted all of it, as much as I’d hoped and planned and dreamed of it, the walls closed in.

I couldn’t escape the curious looks, though everyone in town had to know our story.

At least, they knew most of it and could probably guess the rest.

Corwin, blessedly oblivious, bounded off to tell his grandparents about the guitar.

“It’ll pass, Mags,” Baxter murmured.

My gaze shot to meet his. “What?”

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