Page 70 of Wrapped with a Beau

Another sniffle. “If it makes you feel any better, it wasn’t because of the chill.”

“No?” She lays her head on his arm, lets her fingers dance up and down his forearm. He’s a little resistant at first, like he isn’t sure what she’s doing or how to respond, but when she keeps doing it, he relaxes into her touch.

“It’s all the dust,” he says. His arm wraps around her, lightly at first, and then, when she burrows closer, he squeezes her to his side.

She laughs. “What dust? We’ve cleaned this place spotless.”

It’s true, all the junk is gone. The small-town gossip grapevine worked for good: some of the aged décor has gone to thrift shops or friends, thanks to Marcy spreading the word that Ves wanted to make sure that all of Maeve’s friends had a little sentimental something to remember her by.

Most of the movie paraphernalia that was still in the house will grace the theater museum, enough for another couple of exhibits, much to the Preservation Society’s delight. The paperwork has all been organized or shredded, as needed. The well-loved romance novels have been donated to the Piney Peaks Friends of the Public Library book sale, and the three rare books are in the window of the local used bookshop, the proceeds given to the church’s soup kitchen. There’s nothing left to do except wait for the film crew and valuation experts. Her heart pinches, but it’s not like she didn’t know this would happen.

He shakes his head. “Not dust from here. I was at one of the antique shops on Main Street before meeting you last night. Damn, I would have preferred to not be a congested mess when I gave this to you,” Ves says ruefully. “But take a look at the jewelry box.”

“What?” Elisha follows the direction of his gaze. The box is placed on the nearest end table, the wood gleaming under the light of the lamp. On top of it is a brass key, such a tiny, nondescript thing that at first she mistakes it for being part of the lid. Her eyes light up. “Oh my gosh! Where did you find it?” She scrambles to reach it, bringing both back with her. “Wait, this...” Her brow furrows. “This isn’t how I remember it. I know it’s been forever, but I’m pretty sure it was silver.”

But it fits in the lock nonetheless.

Elisha runs her fingers gently over the treasures inside. “I remember Maeve wearing all of these,” she says. She pries the top layer off, almost dropping it in shock when she sees what’s below. “Oh my god, Ves! Did you—” She catches the soft look on his face. “Did you know this necklace was there? How did you find the key?” Bewildered, she waits for answers.

“I’m as surprised as you. I tried every single key the antique shop had. When one actually worked and revealed the pearl necklace at the bottom...” He trails off. “Didn’t Maeve tell you it was the Sleighbells necklace and that she left it to you?”

She blinks. “The real necklace?”

“In her will, she said she left the jewelry box and all its contents to the one person she knew would appreciate them: you. I didn’t want to say anything until we could get it open without destruction,” he admits. “I thought you wouldn’t want to smash the box.”

Her eyes grow misty. “You thought right. Thank you, Ves.” She takes a moment to collect herself, taking a ragged inhale as her fingers reverently run over the smooth, glossy pearls. “Maeve never said a word.” She holds the necklace in trembling fingers, vision blurry with tears. “Everyone just assumed Heather Frederick had kept it, but she never wore it in public again and she was always so cagey about things she took from the set.”

Holding a part of her favorite movie—of her town’s history—in her hands is amazing enough, but what means more to her is the effort Ves went to for this to even be possible.

Carefully, she replaces the necklace and lifts her eyes to his. “You did all this for me?”

He nods. “And as far as the key being different, you’re right. Look at the grooves and notches. There, do you see? It’s a generic shape. I bet a lot of accessories would open with this kind of key. Probably how Maeve jimmied it to add the Post-it.”

Elisha’s mouth drops. “You mean there’s a chance I could have just used one of my old diary keys all this time and it would have worked?”

His lips tic upward. “You kept a diary?”

“Uhhhhh,” she hedges. “It was a way to track movies I watched.”

“And that needed a lock?” He grins. “Exactly what kind of X-rated movies were you watching, Elisha?”

Hearing the way his voice goes deep and teasing, every cognizant thought in her brain turns to static. She imagines the warm press of his body, the way her back will arch off the mattress, how her snowman nails will rake his back. He must catch some micro expression of lust on her face, because he leans in.

She mirrors his move, breath hitching.

“I’m sick,” he reminds her. Still in that same goddamn sexy register.

“I know.” Reluctantly, she pulls back and gives him a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” His voice is rough. “I’ll be better tomorrow and then I’ll want that kiss.”

She grins at his confidence. “How about I give you something else that won’t involve our mouths meeting?”

His eyebrows raise.

“Not like that. I meant I’ll tell you a secret.” Somehow, he manages to look both disappointed and intrigued, and she can’t help but laugh. “You wanted to know why I don’t bundle up like a marshmallow, right?” At his eager nod, she continues, “The answer is going to be so anticlimactic, but here it goes.”

He links their hands, drags their joined fingers to his lap. “I don’t care. I want to know everything about you, Elisha.”

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