Page 90 of Wanted You More

He’ll never know how much that hurts to hear. Because why would Noah ever buy me something like a ring? He wouldn’t. I know that. Wolfe knows that.

Bailey certainly does.

“I wonder why he didn’t come,” I say, looking to my brother. “Did Dad invite them?”

Wolfe shakes his head. “Not that I know of. I think they just wanted to make sure we got our gifts and had family time together. They probably have their own plans.”

That’s what I’m worried about.

A lot of couples have big plans on Christmas Day. I heard jewelry stores have the largest influx of sales this time of year, especially ring shops. It was Christmas Eve when Dad proposed to Mom. Aunt Mae’s late husband proposed to her on Christmas morning. He’d put the ring box in her stocking.

Noah isn’t very romantic, but I bet he’d do something like that. If he loved somebody enough, I’m sure he’d do anything. That’s how he was raised.

Finally gathering the courage, I lift the top of the box and look at what’s resting inside.

I blow out a breath.

It’s another charm.

This one is a first aid kit with a red cross on it—like the one that was on my bag the night of Halloween.

I swallow.

It’s his way of saying he hasn’t forgotten.

Wolfe stares at it. “Is that for your bracelet?”

Quietly, I murmur, “Yeah.”

“Want help putting it on?”

Absentmindedly, I pass him the box and hold out my wrist. He takes his time putting the charm into place along with the others that Noah picked out. I can’t help but stare solely at the newest addition and wonder what it means.

Why doesn’t he want me to forget?

More importantly, why can’t I?

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Professor Kamala dyesher hair blond to hide the silver peeking through her roots. I thought she was a little young to need to do something like that, but then I found out she’s been teaching college English for thirty years, and before that, she taught at two different high schools for over six years.

That makes her older than my dad.

I wonder if she knows I’m staring as she drones on about the history of Charlotte, Emily, and Anne Brontë. After spending a significant amount of time on the syllabus, I expected her to do what every professor does and let us leave. Apparently, shereallyloves teaching about these famous literary sisters. She started giving a condensed introduction of how their beginnings shaped them—inspired them to write their stories that immortalized them in history.

She’d looked in my direction when she said that, like she knew far more than she should.

Then again, I’ve tried doing my research on her too. I know she’s fifty-eight, a Sagittarius, and religious if the cross necklace she wears means anything. And if her wardrobe is any indication, her favorite color is purple, which looks great against her light skin tone. I’m observant when I want to be, and the woman standing at the front of the room is my current obsession.

Considering I’d given Dad my word that I’d be on my best behavior in her class, the fifty minutes we get together three days a week will give me intel to piece together more about her.

Like what she and my father did on the date they went on New Year’s Eve. I stayed home with Wolfe when Dad told us he was going out for the night. He’d been hesitant to say with who, but eventually confessed it was the very same woman who would soon be grading my assignments.

Supposedly, other coworkers were there too, but I don’t know for how long.

When class is finally over, I’m not surprised to hear my name being called. “Can you stay behind for a second?” she says, a professional smile on her face that I can’t get a read on.

My finger goes to the new charm on my bracelet, brushing it softly as I nod and grab my bag from the floor.

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