Page 10 of The Locksmith's Promise

Nobody had to know but me.

Pausing at the foot of the path to his house, the wind’s gentle fingers in my hair, I gave myself a firm scolding. There was no reason to be nervous.

Maxine was probably a perfectly lovely woman, Miller had been my friend since before I lost my first tooth, his son and mine had become best buddies over the summer, and he had made it clear he knew Corwin was Baxter’s.

And I had an entire box of creamy, buttery, sugary addiction to grease my way.

I sucked in a deep breath and made my way up to his front door.

Marigolds lined both sides of the path, flowed like a river of fire under the living room window, and nestled in pots perched on the steps leading up to the front porch. Bright orange and yellow, they contrasted beautifully with the blue shaker siding and white trim.

I grinned. Who would have thought Miller would live in such a dollhouse?

I rang the doorbell and waited somewhat impatiently. Now that I’d made the decision, any delay only fed my nerves.

I followed up with a brisk knock.

When Miller’s wife flung it open, her entire face brightened. “Hey! You’re Cor’s mom! Come on in!”

I couldn’t help but smile back. She was the petite pixie to Miller’s burly lumberjack. I handed her the box of treats. “I brought goodies.”

Miller’s home was light and airy, boasting exposed oak beams and thick, oak trim that extended a warm and welcome invitation to come inside and stay a while.

Lifting the lid, she breathed deep. “God, I love sugar,” she stated, her voice deepening.

She held up the box. “Look, babe! A girl after my own heart!” I followed her line of vision as she spun around to speak to a slack-jawed Miller and came face-to-face with an equally astonished Baxter.

“Bax,” I gasped as my stomach dropped to my feet.

I absorbed all of him in one glance. His mess of dirty blond hair was darker than I remembered, the clipped beard framing his beautiful lips was new, but those dark eyes I saw in my dreams were exactly the same.

They moved over my face ravenously before traveling down to my feet and back up again.

I darted a glance at the back door, on the other side of which Miller’s boys played with my son.

Our son.

Miller scrubbed a rough hand over his face before meeting my accusing stare.

He offered me a crooked smile. “I did say I would help you.”

Maxine moved toward her husband. “Help her with what?”

Nodding toward Baxter, he answered, “Getting her in touch with Bax.”

My eyebrows crashed together as I wrapped my arms around my torso, my thumb finding that bittersweet memory and stroking it through my sweater.

“A bit of warning would have been nice,” I replied icily.

Seemingly regaining his equilibrium, Baxter hitched his hands on his waist and aimed a sweetly disarming smile my way, the same smile that endeared him to Miller’s mom and every other woman with half an ounce of maternal instinct. “Why do you need a warning, Mags?”

Jenny and Miller were right. He was different.

Calmer.

My greedy eyes traveled over every centimeter of his face, mapping the lines and contours I knew as well as my own, and the ones my fingers had yet to trace.

They tingled even now with yearning.

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