Page 144 of With A Little Luck
So while I did purchase a variety of comfortable dresses, socks, and lounge clothes, I think I’ll hold off on giving them to her even after they arrive. That way, they’ll be on hand if she needs them, but if not, I can save them for some other occasion.
Which brings me back to what I finally settled on for my first courting gift.
The living room is covered in colored paper, glue sticks, stickers, markers, and a whole heap of other craft supplies.
I bought a photo printer, and it’s doing its thing, printing any of the candid shots I had from different stages of Quincy’s pregnancy. Almost all of them were taken in the restaurant, so hopefully she finds it romantic and not creepy that I took so many pictures of her over the last few months.
Hell, I’m figuring ifTriggcan get away with putting cameras in her house, then she shouldn’t be too upset over a few pictures that were taken in a public place.
That’s my hope, anyway.
Thinking of the psychopath seems to summon him, and he approaches, shoving up his glasses. “What is all of this?”
“A courting gift,” I grumble, grabbing the latest printed picture from the tray. “It’s a photo album—scrapbook thing—of her pregnancy.” I also have two more in a box next to my thigh that are baby books to be completed during the first year of the baby’s life, and one that’s a journal, which has questions for Quincy to answer. It’s meant to be given to your baby once they are an adult. I figured it was a cool connection to the past, and it’s something that will be truly meaningful one day. “Wanna help?”
King lies on the carpet next to my left leg, and he raises his head, resting it on my thigh as he eyes Trigg with suspicion. He no longer growls every time Trigg walks into a room, so I guess that means he’s getting over whatever distrust he had of him.
“Once Ridge is done in his meeting, I’m afraid we have an errand we have to run.” Trigg adjusts his shirt sleeve and appraises the coffee table covered in decorating materials. “I usually try to put myself into a state of almost meditative calmness when I know I’ll be torturing someone, but I suppose this is a good reminder of what he’s being punished for.” He nods like he’s agreeing with himself. “Mindset is everything. I have several pictures of Quincy that I’m fond of. Can I print those?”
Every time I think this shit isn’t as absurd as I’m making it out in my mind, Trigg comes in like a battering ram to prove just how wrong I was.
My mouth opens and closes a few times as he takes a seat across from me on the other side of the coffee table.
What the fuck happens if someone like Trigg goes feral? If he’s this unhinged when he’s lucid, I don’t want to find out what he’s capable of while being disconnected from reality.
“Just connect to the Wi-Fi, and it should pop up as a printer option,” I mutter, patting around for the scissors I must have dropped at some point. Once they’re located, I put them on the coffee table alongside the picture I just printed and dig around for one of the loose album pages before shoving it toward the psychopath. “You can pick a background color or pattern from the stacks there.” I gesture to those. “Then you cut them out to make a border for the picture and paste it all down where you want it. There are calligraphy pens somewhere. You can use those to write out a message or the date, or if your handwriting is as bad as mine, there are stencils somewhere.”
“I have several lovely still photos from the cameras in Quincy’s home that I’m fond of. Those would be a good place to start.” Trigg pulls his phone from his pocket and begins to scroll. “We really need to make a point of taking more pictures together in these last few weeks. I could access her camera roll with little difficulty, but there’s a possibility that she might be alarmed if she saw those pictures in the album without any forewarning.”
“Yeah.” I laugh, shaking my head.
What fucking planet does he live on where that’s even a question?
Then again, Quincy does have a ridiculous soft spot when it comes to him.
Trigg doesn’t say anything else, and King begins to snore with his mouth hanging open as his head lies on my thigh.
I still can’t believe I thought life would be boring when I came home to Burlington. My roommates in Charleston are probably still living it up. Partying every night and sleeping until three in the afternoon before getting up and doing it all over again.
After retiring, I didn’t have much to focus on, so I fell into bad habits. I spent my days feeling sorry for myself and kinda just existing, but I was getting tired of that life before Harrison even called. I almost told him to hire someone else to run the place while he was out.
I grew up around here, and coming back for months on end sounded like fucking torture. Vermont was the most boring place on the planet in my mind.
Ridge and Trigg proved me wrong, or maybe life needed to teach me a lesson. All my dreams now revolve around getting back to a more sedate kind of life—one where we can leave Ridge’s neighborhood without needing an escort of two security teams.
I grab the stack of patterned pages and flip through them to find something to put on the sheet I’m working on.
Trigg clears his throat, and my eyes fly up to meet his.
“You didn’t kill that assailant,” he says, stretching over to grab the picture that just finished printing. “He was still breathing when I took my shots. I thought you might like to know that.”
My mouth goes dry, and my head tilts. I’ve spent a lot of time wondering exactly that.
It’s not like Trigg is omniscient, so I have no idea why the urge washes over me to ask if he would have died anyway. Like, if Trigg didn’t finish him off, would that brick to the temple have done the job?
Everything I know about physics says I probably would have killed him, but it’s a relief to know I didn’t.
“Thank you.” I don’t even know if I’m thanking him for telling me or for taking those shots. No, it’s definitely both. “Seriously, thank you, Trigg.”
