Page 35 of A Touch of Sapphire

“Yeah. But like I said, I did cheat on him, if you want to be technical. My first time was actually the night of my engagement party…” I cringe, and Anton snaps his eyes to meet mine.

“Really?!”

“Yeah.” I bite my lip. “By some miracle, no one found out. Until they read my journal. I never said the name of the guy…but they assumed it was you because of the way I spoke about you. That and how often we used to talk. The sketch was of the guy… I’d taken his picture, but I knew I had to delete it. So I drew it, so I wouldn’t forget… I know. So lame.”

“He looked like me?” Anton frowns.

“No.” I shake my head. “His hand was covering his face in the image, so that's how I drew him.” I leave out the part that the man I’m talking about is Isaiah. I clear my throat and go on. “So yeah. They assumed it was you because you never showed up at the party that night. I tried to tell them it wasn’t you, but when I refused to tell them who it actually was, they lost their shit.”

“And they threatened you?”

“Yep. Said if I didn’t tell you not to talk to me ever again, they’d–” I pause. “They’d cut you off, disown you, and make sure you lost everything,” I admit, swallowing hard, before sipping the beer to keep the emotions down.

“They couldn’t cut me off. I get nothing from them. I never have. The day I left, I refused everything they tried to offer me. I knew if I accepted any of it, they’d just hold it against me.” Anton turns so he’s facing me fully. “I’m sorry they did that to you. They won’t ever get near you again. I promise.”

I nod, not sure what to say. I scoot further away from him when I realize I’m pressed against him too tightly. As I do, he stops my retreat with a palm on my thigh.

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” he asks, but I shake my head, frowning.

“No, not at all. I just assumed you’d want your space. You’re one of the few people I always feel comfortable around.” To prove my point, I lean my head against his shoulder.

I don’t even notice I drift off until Anton is laying me in my bed, but by then I’m too far gone to protest.

CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT

It’s been forty-eight hours. We lost power early in the morning yesterday, and as I sit here now, nibbling on my dinner, I’m starting to get more nervous.

It’s the middle of the night, and I’m reading by the fire when Anton jumps off the couch, rushing to the window.

“What?” I ask. The headlights shining through the window answer for me, though. “Someone’s here?”

“It’s Isaiah.” Anton frowns but starts moving sandbags out of the way of the door.

“How?” I ask, but I get no answer. Anton is moving quickly, but I just stand there. I don’t want to get in his way, but I feel awkward. There’s a hook over the fireplace for pots, so I fill a small one with water and hook it over the fire. The least I can do is make them some tea.

When the snowman that is Isaiah barrels through the front door, looking like a yeti, I chuckle. He gasps, dropping three duffel bags, and yanks his hood off and ski mask down.

Anton moves him further into the room and toward the fire before piling the sandbags back up. I grab towels to mop up the snow that is rapidly melting. I watch as Isaiah strips out of several layers of clothes until he’s in nothing but long johns.

I wrinkle my nose because they remind me of the ones my stepfather always wore when we went skiing.

Isaiah must see the grossed-out look because he props his hands on his hips and glares.

“Really, I risk my life to bring you two supplies, and you look at me like a swamp monster?”

“Sorry, I don’t like thermals.” I wave at his clothes, and he rolls his eyes dramatically. In two blinks, he’s got his shirt and pants off and stands there in nothing but boxers. Well, then. “Better?” He smirks, then laughs when Anton chucks a sock at his friend.

“Really?” Anton grumbles, shaking his head.

“She likes it,” Isaiah says with a wink, and my eyes go wide as saucers. Anton pauses, but Isaiah is already on the move, grabbing the duffel bags and tugging them open. “I brought clothes for you, water, and some other shit. We can’t jump your truck until tomorrow, maybe Wednesday, but this will get you through till then.”

“You’re leaving?” I ask, and Isaiah shakes his head.

“No, I’ll be staying until the storm breaks.”

“How’d you even make it up here?”

“Snow tires and the plow. And the trees,” Isaiah says with a shrug, like that’s supposed to explain anything. I’m too tired to keep asking, though, so I just go about my business, making this tea.

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