Page 193 of Possession

If memory serves, I think Micah’s exact words were, “If you fuck this up and make me look bad, I’ll quit claiming you as my illegitimate son. Work hard, and don’t be an asshole.”

Words to live by.

And to think Micah gave me shit about beingpoetic.

Things are finally settling down.

I start at the Miami Division next week, and Landyn starts cosmetology school the same day. She thought about going back to college for about five minutes before telling me she always thought about standing behind the chair. I told her to do anything she wants, as long as she comes home to me at the end of every day. The program takes about a year. She said she didn’t want to wait any longer to start something she loves.

We rolled into town last night, and Landyn has made two million lists of to-dos. The first being a trip to the grocery store.

I’m elbows to the cart, trudging behind her. This is one part of “normal” I didn’t miss when I was undercover. There’s little in life I hate more than grocery shopping. Personally, I’d rather be shopping for a TV, but here I am.

She’s standing in front of me wearing a tank, short-shorts, and plastic flip flops. I love that she wears this when she has enough clothes to fill a dozen closets. She stops to read her list before looking back at the shelves to search a wall of sauces.

I stand up straight and take her in. This reminds me of another moment that feels like it happened a lifetime ago.

I push the cart to the side and say, “Hey.”

She doesn’t look at me and frowns at a collection of salsas. “Hmm?”

“What’s your name?”

She throws her frown at me for a quick second before picking up a jar from the shelf. “What are you talking about?”

I walk closer and look down at her bare left hand. “You’re not wearing a wedding ring. I hope that means you’re single.”

Her frown deepens. “We haven’t been here even twenty-four hours. Has the heat made you delirious already? You know why I’m not wearing a ring.”

She’s right. After the Coast Guard picked us up that day, we were nearly to shore when I slid the same gawdy-ass ring off her finger that I put on it when I married her under the name Boz Torres. I never took my eyes off hers when I chucked it into the Pacific Ocean and told her the next time I put a ring on her finger, it’ll be mine and not a dead man’s.

I knew she loved that when she surged to her toes to kiss me in front of the entire team from the Coast Guard.

“You should give me your phone number.”

She adds the jar to the cart with the rest of the shit and puts her hands on her hips. “I think you’ve lost your mind.”

“I’ll beg if I have to.”

“Brax—” she starts and sucks in a small breath. She blinks once before a small smile touches her full lips.

I rest an elbow next to the green chilis, lean closer, and lower my voice. “I can’t let you leave here without knowing if I’ll get to see you again.”

She tips her head back just enough to look up at me. “Is that so?”

I nod. “I never believed in love at first sight, but after seeing you shop for peppers, I’ll die if I don’t get to stare into your blue eyes for the rest of my life.”

She bites back a smile. “You like peppers?”

I lean in closer—so close my lips almost brush the skin of her ear. “I like them spicy. I see we have that in common.”

She splays her hand over my heart and pushes me back just enough to look into my eyes. “I love spicy. But I’m afraid I can’t give you my number on that alone. We need to have more in common than chilis.”

I glance at the cart. “I see you like … sausage. I have some epic sausage. I feel like we belong together.”

She can’t bite back her smile any longer. “How do I know if you’re telling the truth? Men lie about their sausage all the time. I mean, there’s sausage and then there’s”—she glances around before lowering her voice to match mine—“sausage.”

“Mine is the latter. Give me your number, and I’ll prove it to you.”

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