“Take a seat,” she says. “I’ll be right back.”

I oblige, easing myself into an overstuffed green sofa. Then I take some deep breaths. I’m practically jittery with anticipation, like a high schooler being alone with his prom date, recently crowned Prom Queen.

Vanessa returns carrying two tumblers of club soda on the rocks with fresh lime wedges perched on the rims. She hands me a glass, then lifts hers to toast.

“To … Miami,” she declares.

I wrinkle my nose. “Um, okay. It’s a great city and all, but why—”

“It’s where Lucas is. All this week, at least. Checking out locations for a new Cuban-fusion restaurant. I hope it takes him a long time to find one.”

“I’ll be happy as long as he doesn’t come home tonight.”

We chuckle and clink glasses. Then she leans back on the couch. She coils her legs beneath her like a cat and rests a hand on my knee.

“You should know, Caleb, this feels a little strange to me.”

“Something wrong with my knee?”

She playfully slaps it.

“I don’t normally do this kind of thing. And by ‘I don’t normally,’ I mean … ‘I’ve never done anything like this before, ever.’ Not since Lucas and I were married.”

“Then we can take things slowly,” I reply. “Or, stop altogether if you think that’s best.”

She bites her lip, considering. “What do you think?”

I set down my club soda, take both of her hands, and look into her eyes.

“I’ll tell you something I learned after all my years as a cop: You never know what life has in store for you. So when you see something you want … you should go for it.”

She glances away. Then she looks back at me. We lock eyes.

The tension between us is building. I lean toward her slightly. I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. I stroke her soft, rosy cheek with my thumb.

She leans in toward me now. Closer. And at last …

We kiss.

Tentatively at first. But things heat up fast. Our hands begin to wander and explore. Buttons are opened. Zippers are undone.

Suddenly, she stops.

“Wait. Let’s … let’s … ”

I pause, worried I’ve moved too fast. Concerned she’s having second thoughts.

She continues: “Let’s move this into the bedroom.”

Giggling and stealing kisses as we go, we stumble down the hall and into the master bedroom. As I guide her onto the bed, I glance down at her bare torso—and see a jagged L-shaped scar on her right side.

Confirming what Gordon told me earlier is true.

I try to be subtle about it. But I guess she notices me noticing. She covers the scar with her hand, self-conscious.

“Looking at my ugly battle wound?”

“Not at all,” I say.

I lean into her and nuzzle her neck.

“Everything I see is beautiful.”

CHAPTER 47