shirt they’d bought at a concert together and put it on. It was soft as butter and smelled like Zev.
“I guess you got rid of yours?” There was an arc of disappointment in his voice.
“No freaking way.”
“Ah, see, Carls?” he said as he gathered her in his arms. “The T-shirts, the tattoos. They’re signs that we were always supposed to find each other again. We’re finally exactly where we’re supposed to be.”
He touched his lips to hers, and it felt so good, she put her arms around him, going up on her toes for more. He wanted more—she had felt it in his touch—and he was telling her now. It was so easy to be in the moment with him, she felt herself free falling into them.
She pushed away gently, though she remained in his arms, and said, “Zevy, you can’t do this.”
“What’s that?” He rubbed his nose along her cheek and pressed a kiss there.
“Make me want more than the six days we have. It’s not fair.”
He met her gaze, confusion written in his wrinkled brow. “Why not? I want more, and it feels like you do, too.”
His optimism was like a drug, and she desperately wanted to overdose on it, but she knew where that could lead, so she said, “Because your life is out in the wild, and mine is here.”
“So what? Life isn’t black-and-white, babe. There’s a world of ways we can make this work.” He kissed her softly. “You’re fooling yourself if you think this is all there is between us, but we don’t have to go there yet. I don’t want your cautious mind dragging you away from me out of fear.”
“I’m not going to pull away, but I can’t afford to be hurt again.”
He took her hand, leading her out of the suite and into the hall. “Then don’t shut me out when this week is over. We both like to travel. I’ll come see you, you’ll come see me.”
She sighed. “You still make everything seem easy and possible.”
“Because it is if we want it to be. We have already lost too many years, and that’s on me. I was messed up, but I’ve learned and grown. I won’t hurt you again, Carls.” He squinted at something on the floor at the top of the stairs and peered over the railing, uttering a curse.
“What’s wrong?” She looked over the railing and saw postcards littering the staircase and the floor below.
“Bandit is at it again. He stole my postcards. Damn it. How does Beau put up with this?”
They picked up postcards on their way downstairs, and they found dozens more scattered farther from the stairs. There must have been a hundred or more postcards dating back to two years after Zev had left home, all addressed to him in care of post offices around the world, and they were all from Graham. Some of the messages were short, like, Thinking of you and Send me the last-time-we pic, while others gave brief updates on the goings-on of their family members. A few were cutting, like, That was a dick move, missing Mom’s birthday. Good thing we love you. Come back soon. and Answer Jilly’s calls. She’s worried about you.
“What’s a last-time-we picture?” Carly asked as she picked up another postcard.
Zev’s expression turned thoughtful. “After Tory died, I stopped saying goodbye. It felt too final. And after you and I broke up, I stopped taking remember-when pictures, because those were ours. Now I take last-time-we pictures before I leave my family…in case it’s the last time we see each other.”
That was such a big-hearted Zev thing to do, tears dampened her eyes. He had always loved his family so much, it was one of the reasons she’d thought he might come back to Pleasant Hill. But now she knew he’d thought he was too angry, too jaded, and might ruin anyone he loved.
She regained control of her emotions as they picked up the last of the postcards.
“These are all from Graham. He’s been writing to you all this time?” she asked, following him into the enormous farmhouse-style kitchen with Bandit on their heels.
They put the postcards on the table, and Bandit went to lie down beneath it.
“Yeah,” Zev said. “I keep up with everyone else by phone, but Graham has this thing about mail.”
“I love that he wrote to you. I can’t tell you the last time I got a letter or a postcard in the mail. Why does he have a thing about mail?”