“Yeah, to look for you.” I stop zipping up my jacket and place my hands on her cheeks, which are ice cold. “God, you’re freezing. How long were you out there?”

She looks over at the clock on the microwave. “A couple of hours.”

“Jesus, Ella.” I take the sketchbook and set it aside on the counter. Then I tug off her gloves, gather her hands in mine, and breathe on them while I try to rub warmth back into her.

She smiles up at me. “How was your day tux shopping?”

“As good as any other day shopping. Although we didn’t get tuxes.”

“Good,” she says. “I’ve never been a fan of them. You’ll look much better in your jeans and a button-down shirt.”

“As long as you think so then I’m okay with it,” I tell her, then pause, choosing my next words carefully as my fingers wrap around her wrist. “When I came home I read some more of your mother’s journal.”

“Oh yeah?” She pretends to be only slightly interested but I feel her pulse accelerate in her wrist. “Find anything good?”

“I did. Do you want to read it?”

Her throat bobs up and down as she swallows hard, and then she looks at the sketchbook on the counter. “Can I wait just a little bit longer? I’m in good mood and I want to stay in one.”

“But what I found is good,” I promise her. “Trust me.”

“I know, but it’ll still be hard to read, whether it’s good or bad. It still has to do with her and she’s gone and it always makes me sad.”

How can I argue with that? “If that’s what you want, but I promise it’s not bad and I really think you need to read it before we get married.” I massage her right hand and she winces. “Does your hand hurt?”

She nods, wincing again. “It’s the one I punched Mikey in the face with. My knuckles collided with his jaw.”

Thinking about Mikey hitting her still gets under my skin, but I force myself to shove it aside because I promised her I wouldn’t do anything about it and I refuse to break my promises to her no matter what. “How many times have I told you to hit here?” I free her hand and pound my fist flat against my palm. “Don’t use your knuckles.”

“I know, but I was drunk and he’s a scary guy. I got a little nervous and screwed up the punch,” she says and the anger inside me flickers. I was never one for fighting. Sure, I’ve gotten into a couple of fights but the only major one was with Grantford Davis, who deserved to get his ass kicked.