Never Let You Go(7)

“Dinner smells good.” I could tell he was trying to ease the sting of his rebuff, but I still felt bad. I should’ve asked. I was just so used to helping around at my parents’ house. Nothing had been off-limits since Mom was diagnosed with MS. I even did their banking.

“I’m making Yorkshire pudding.”

“Hmm. Perfect,” he said against my neck.

“Your nose is cold!”

“I was shoveling the driveway.” My dad and Chris had gone home hours ago and we’d been unpacking ever since. “Looks like it’s going to snow again tonight.”

“I hope they clear the roads. Josh asked me to come into work tomorrow.”

He lifted his head. “I thought you were taking the day off so you could finish up here.”

I sighed. “Someone called in sick again.” It seemed this time of year someone was always calling in sick after too much Christmas cheer.

“I was going to talk to you about this over dinner, but I’m going to offer your dad the foreman job. It will mean he has to travel a fair bit.”

“Oh, that won’t work with my mom.” I felt disappointed for my dad. They could really use the money and I knew he was excited about some of the projects they were bidding on.

“If you quit the hardware store and work with me, you’ll be around to help her. I need someone to stage the houses and the display suites, picking out fixtures, things like that.”

“I don’t know.… Josh was saying they might promote me to work in the office.” I didn’t want people thinking I was a spoiled rich housewife who had everything because of her husband. When Andrew’s mom died, he inherited the trust from his grandfather’s stock market fortune, but he only got small payments—he wasn’t wealthy like my friends seemed to think. Besides, I liked working at the hardware store, seeing my regular customers, helping people find things.

“Honey, Josh is talking out his ass. He’s never going to promote you.”

“I’ve been working there for years.” I’d started when I was still in high school and went full-time last year after I graduated. I’d thought about going to college or taking some classes, but I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. I admired how focused Andrew was at only twenty-seven.

“Yeah, you’re the cute girl who works behind the counter. I knew about you before I even stepped foot in there. I’m sorry, Lindsey, but I heard they were going to promote Mike.”

“Josh sounded really sincere.” I felt hot and angry, but mostly hurt.

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I’m just saying how other people look at you. They only see a pretty blonde.” He tugged on the end of my ponytail. “They don’t appreciate you the way I do, they don’t see how intelligent you are, how creative.”

Maybe he was right. Maybe the hardware store was a dead end, but how many hours a day could I spend choosing paint colors? “Maybe I could help with the bookkeeping?”

“It’s probably better if I take care of the finances. But you have a great eye. I love what you’ve done with this house already.”

“I haven’t done much.” He’d picked out all the colors, said they had to be neutral earth tones so the house would be easier to sell in a year, but I tried to add some personality with our bedding and curtains and plants. We hung our wedding portrait over the fireplace.

“You’ve made this feel like a home. You know how much that means to me.” His hands were sliding under my shirt, up my shoulder blades, and to the nape of my neck as he gently pushed me against the desk. In one quick motion, he lifted me up, sat me down on the top of the desk, and nudged my knees apart. I almost lost my balance, but he held me steady with his large hands on my hips and gave me a mischievous look. “Think about it, okay?”

Then he was pulling me closer and spreading hot kisses from my collarbone to my mouth, and I was grabbing at his shoulders and I wasn’t thinking about anything.



The idea for the perfect Christmas gift came to me the night we moved in. We were relaxing on the couch when I realized we had lots of photos of my family on the mantel, and only one of his mother. He didn’t have any pictures of his father because he lost a box of photos when he moved years ago, but I knew how I might find some. His father had been in the Navy. Surely there was an association for former members. I just needed to do a little research.

Andrew never talked about his family much and I’d never pressed, but his face shifted if he mentioned his mother. Sometimes his expression was sad, other times his lips would lift in a fond smile as he shared a happy memory. She died when he was twenty, and then he was on his own—his father had already been gone for years. He’d left on a Navy trip when Andrew was twelve and never came back. “He couldn’t adjust to family life after being out at sea for months,” Andrew said. “It was too much for him.” He didn’t sound sad or angry, just matter-of-fact. And when his dad died a few years ago, Andrew paid for the funeral.

I went online and found a list of ships that were in operation on the West Coast during the years Andrew’s father served in the Navy. Then it was a matter of searching through the archives for names and photos of crew members. Within two days I found a photo of Edward Nash, standing on the bow of a ship with some other men. I blew up the grainy black-and-white photo on my computer screen and studied Edward. He looked stiff in his uniform, and very young, but his features were so familiar it was startling. I wondered if they shared more than their looks. It was too bad they never had a chance to reconnect. I would’ve liked to meet him. I leaned closer, imagined telling him about Andrew.