The Best of Winter Renshaw - An 8 Book Collection - Winter Renshaw Page 0,342

he says.

“Thank you for showing me where you grew up today. I imagine it wasn’t easy for you to go back there.”

He offers a pained smile. “That’s the first time I’ve set foot on my mother’s property in years.”

“I …” my words get caught. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance to explain.”

“Astaire, please. Don’t apologize. What you heard was terribly upsetting. You had every right to take some time to cool off before hearing me out.”

“You told me once that I should believe people when they show me who they are,” I say. “And I’m kicking myself because from the very beginning, you showed me who you really were. Your heart of gold was in the details. In the little things. All along. And I hate that I doubted you for one minute.”

He closes the space between us, his hand lifting to my hip. “It’s natural to second-guess things, especially when they seem too good to be true.”

“It does,” I say. “This thing we have. It’s like a dream sometimes, it’s that good.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

I lift my hand to his cheek, fingertips grazing his sharp jaw, and his mouth lowers onto mine. Warmth blooms through my body, and for the first time in nearly a week, the tight void in my chest is gone.

“I love you so much, Astaire.” He brushes a strand of hair from my face. “You’re it for me. There’s never going to be anyone else.”

“I love you too.” I inhale his familiar scent, dragging it into my lungs and holding it for a moment. My mouth curls at one side and my finger skims his waistband. “You want to come in for a little bit …?”

He claims my lips once more. “For a little bit, then I’m taking you back home with me. Where you belong.”

Fifty-Four

Bennett

* * *

“What’s she doing, Uncle Bennett?” Honor asks from the third row as George reads a paper in the driver’s seat and Astaire makes her way to Trevor’s grave. “What are all those gray things? Why are some of them bigger than the others?”

“She’s visiting a friend,” I say.

“A friend who lives in one of those gray things?”

“The friend lives in Heaven, like your mother. The gray things are …” God, I’m terrible at this. If Astaire were here, she’d know exactly what to say, but she sprang this little excursion on us at the last minute. “The gray things have their names and birthdays on them, and it’s how we remember them.”

“So her friend lives with my mom?” she asks.

I weigh my response. “Yes.”

“Do you think they know each other?”

George tuts under his breath, his eyes smiling in the rearview when he glances up.

“I imagine they do know each other by now.” I glance out the window in time to catch Astaire returning.

She slides in beside me with a teary-eyed smile.

I place my hand on her thigh. “Everything okay?”

Astaire nods. “Today would’ve been his twenty-seventh birthday.”

It’s all she says, and I don’t pry. I know what she had with Trevor was special, but I have to remember it was special in its own way. What she has with me is separate and different and special in its own way.

“Everyone buckled in?” George asks.

I slide my hand into Astaire’s and check the backseat to make sure Honor’s still fastened into her booster.

“Yep, let’s head out,” I say.

We’re spending an afternoon in the city, stopping for a few hours at the aquarium before catching a Disney matinee—two things I never dreamed I’d be doing in this lifetime.

When we’re finished, George is dropping us off for an evening for two with dinner at Sol Bleu and a night at the Peninsula Hotel. He’ll take Honor home, where Eulalia will be waiting.

Astaire isn’t one for over-the-top gestures, but after the week we’ve had, we need this night.

And something tells me it’ll be one for the books …

Fifty-Five

Astaire

* * *

“You’re so good with her,” I whisper from Honor’s doorway Sunday night. She fell asleep on the sofa after her bath, curled up against Bennett with her gray teddy bear tucked beneath one arm.

He clicks off the lamp on her dresser and pulls her door shut without a sound, meeting me in the hallway. “I think we wore her out this weekend.”

I yawn. “Same.”

His fingers trace the small of my back as we head to his room—our room.

Last night, he whisked me off for a surprise date night in the city which consisted of amazing French food, hot sex, more hot sex,