perfect word when love didn’t feel like enough. I leaned in and kissed his forehead, breathing him in. “Thank you.”
“Repeat the first word once more.”
I stroked the ring, over and over. “Toujours. Sempre. Always.”
He set his mouth against my wrist, placing a long, soft kiss over my pulse, the peaceful look on his face gone. Releasing me, he stood, throwing a dark shadow over my form before he moved to the door, retrieving the gift I had given to him earlier.
Tools were strewn here and there, and he grabbed a hammer and a nail, then hit the nail into the center spot over the fireplace. He hung the frame there, standing back to admire it.
“Brando,” I whispered. He was lost in the gift, his eyes so consumed it almost seemed like he was the lead character in a book of memories, wondering how he made it to this part of the story. “Brando.”
He blinked and then looked down at me. I gave him my hand, but instead of pulling up, I tugged for him to come down. He sat across from me again; I refused to let his hand go.
“Talk to me.” I brought his hand to my heart. “All of this—” I looked to my left, to my right, up and then down “—the house. How did you—”
“The man’s name is Snow. Emory Snow. He’s the owner of the house. His family has been in the area for some time. That’s why the street is named after his people. One day after work I drove past and he happened to be out front. I stopped and we talked. Nice man. This house belonged to him and his wife. Then his daughter. His wife died and his daughter moved. I offered to do all of the work for him.”
“For what in return?”
He searched my eyes. Satisfied with whatever he found, he spoke. “So I could have a hand in rebuilding something that you love.”
Intuition told me he was not telling me the entire truth, but I allowed the truth to hide. I didn’t want to start something and put a damper on our time together. One day the truth would surface, but until then, I felt content to let it go.
Silence turned into tension. I didn’t know how to break it, so when he said, “Your family lives in Natchitoches when they can live anywhere in the world,” it took me by surprise.
I found his attention on the diamond around my neck, the reflection of the round bauble like a star in each of his dark eyes.
“What’s wrong with here, Brando?”
“Nothing—which translates to everything.”
“But only for some people.” I narrowed my eyes at him, reading between the lines.
He didn’t respond, so I carried on.
“You seem to forget that I have roots here. Evelyn Rose Ross was born and raised here. My grandfather fell in love with its charms. It has a small-town feel. Even before they met he would come here to find peace. That’s why he had bought the land with the cabins. After they were married, he would travel to Houston or wherever else in the world he was needed, with her right beside him. But after the chaos, this is where they returned.”
“She gave him roots before they left.”
“Ah.” The truth of that simple statement left me at a loss for words. I hadn’t thought about what she had done in those terms until Brando pointed it out. “I suppose she did. They always came back. Home.”
I sat up taller, about to remove the heels from my feet. Brando stopped me, removing them himself. He set them to the side, so gentle for a man of his size. I had noticed that about him more than once. For as braw as he was, he moved with such ease, altogether comfortable in his skin.
“Pnina isn’t as settled here,” he said.
“Yes and no. She doesn’t show it, she doesn’t show much, but she loves it here. All of my life we traversed the world. For a woman like Pnina, who had the means to live in a small town but travel whenever and wherever she wanted, that was everything. She had everything. The excitement of a high-profile career. It has taken her places most people dream of going. After all of that, she finds her own peace here. And as you are well aware, Elliott was wild. It was better for him to be someplace contained. Safer. Or so my parents thought.”