Now . . . now he reflected on that discussion his late wife seemed to always raise. “I told her I would never forget to smile and laugh because . . .” Tears filled his throat, and he swallowed around that lump.

He registered the slight groan of the floorboards and the delicate fall of Myrtle’s footsteps as she joined him at the window. “Because?” she gently urged. And he felt her hand as it came to rest upon his shoulder. Felt it with the same awareness he’d somehow always had with this woman, and he took strength and found comfort in it.

“I told her I would never forget to smile and laugh because all the joy I found with her would be enough to carry me through the rest of my lifetime and into the beyond.”

“Oh, Val,” Myrtle whispered, and she leaned into him, laying her cheek against his arm.

Val stared unblinkingly at the frosted window, through the small patch of glass he’d cleared with his palm.

“You are right,” he said quietly, his voice surprisingly steady despite the groundbreaking revelation he’d made in this moment with her. “She would not have.” She’d have been disgusted with the man he’d become. She’d have pitied him and mourned the fact that he’d shut his family and her family from his life.

“It is not too late for you to honor that promise you made to her, Val.”

Thoughts of his late wife slipped forth like a specter floating past for a final time from the place where they’d last dwelled, and he turned to Myrtle.

The air shifted.

Something hovered between them, all around.

He moved his eyes over a face that had come to mean so very much to him, taking in the sight of her, drinking in all of her.

Val lifted a palm and cupped her cheek.

Her thick lashes fluttered as she leaned into his touch.

“Thank you,” he murmured, emotion hoarsening his voice.

“Do not thank me, Val,” Myrtle said, opening her eyes once more. “We are friends.”

Friends.

“Is that what we are?” he murmured, the question one he asked of himself as much as he asked it of her. Val continued to cradle her cheek. “Friends?”

A little frown puckered that place between her eyes. “I . . . thought we were. I mean, we’ve shared so much these past days. Or I have. I—”

Val kissed her.

Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Myrtle had been so very determined to commit the memory of Val’s kisses to her mind, to sear them there for all time.

Because she’d been so very certain that was the last time she’d ever know his kiss.

Or passion in the arms of a man.

Certainly, passion in the arms of a man she loved.

She’d been wrong.

And she was so very glad for it.

Stretching up on her tiptoes, Myrtle leaned into Val, accepting his kiss.