Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(100)

Not to mention Dash still hadn’t warmed to the idea of Genevieve. He still didn’t trust her motives completely. Even though he believed she was innocent and hadn’t played a part in my kidnapping, I think the picture of her holding a gun to my head was permanently burned into his brain.

“Can you watch from here?” I asked. “I won’t be far.”

“I’m coming.” He moved to stand, but I put my hands on his shoulders, forcing him down.

“She came here to see her mother’s grave, Dash. You of all people should be able to understand losing a mother. Let me go with her. Let me help her do this. Please?”

He blew out a deep breath. “Fine.”

“Thanks.” I leaned in and kissed his cheek.

Behind him, Draven had parked and turned off his motorcycle. I could feel his anticipation from feet away. He wanted to meet his daughter, but I shook my head.

He’d have to wait.

Leaving them on their bikes, I walked over to the sedan. As I got closer, the door opened and Genevieve stepped out.

“Hey. It’s good to see you.” Warm and dressed, not in the forest where I saw her in my nightmares.

“Thanks for coming.”

We hugged hard, like friends who’d known each other for decades, not days. The hug of two people who’d survived the unthinkable together.

When we released each other, she shot a glance at Dash and Draven.

“I have an escort. Sorry. Dash is a little overprotective at the moment.”

Her face, if surprised or irritated, gave nothing away. She leveled them with a cool, apprehensive look, like she was bracing herself to be hurt.

I wished I could promise her that Draven wouldn’t hurt her. But I wouldn’t.

“Ignore them.” I took her hand in mine. “This is about you.”

Genevieve nodded and we walked onto the grass, dodging tombstones until we came to a granite slab situated under a towering cottonwood tree. A vase of yellow roses had been placed by the tombstone.

“This is a pretty spot,” I said.

Genevieve simply nodded, wiping at her eyes before the tears could fall. “She shouldn’t be here. She should be smiling with a friend, laughing at a movie or talking to me on the phone. She should be in her kitchen, making Chrissy’s cookies.”

“Chrissy’s cookies?” As in Chrissy Slater?

“Yeah.” She wiped another tear away. “Those chocolate chip cookies I made the day you came to Denver. That’s what Mom always called them. Chrissy’s cookies. I guess she got the recipe from a friend named Chrissy once. I didn’t know the friend but the cookies are good. Doesn’t matter now.”

So Amina had used Chrissy’s cookie recipe. Maybe someday, those cookies would be something Dash and Genevieve could bond over, something to bridge the gap. Or would it drive them apart? For now, I’d keep the origins of that recipe to myself.

I squeezed her hand. “They are good cookies. The best. And I bet once we publish the recipe with your mom’s memorial, the whole town will love them too.”

“I hope so,” she whispered.

We stood there, staring at the tombstone and Amina’s name written in the white-and-gray-swirled rock, until a flash of movement caught my eye. Draven was hovering about twenty feet away. When he met my gaze, he held up a hand.

The movement got Genevieve’s attention too and her frame tightened. The grip on my hand turned punishing.

I leaned in close. “You have to meet him eventually.”

“Do I?”

“Do you believe what I told you? That he didn’t kill your mother? That he’s your father?”

“Honestly?” She thought about it for a long moment. “Yes. But I wish I didn’t.”

“I’ll leave you two alone.” Stepping away, I retreated toward Dash waiting on his bike. Draven stepped up to Genevieve, giving her an awkward wave before tucking his hand in a pocket.

“I almost feel bad for him,” Dash said when I reached his side.

“Will you ever forgive him?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe Nick was right. He’s off his pedestal now. Might give me a chance to see him as he is.”

“He’s trying to right his wrongs,” I said, watching as Draven and Genevieve stood apart. They faced one another but she had her arms crossed over her chest, clearly indicating he was close enough. “Let’s leave them be.”

Dash nodded, driving us back to the garage after a quick detour at McDonald’s to pick up some burgers and fries for the crew. We crossed the parking lot, each carrying paper bags dotted with grease.

“I almost asked Presley if she’d let me borrow her car so I could sneak away to meet Genevieve,” I confessed. “But I thought you might have an aneurism.”

He chuckled. “I would have. Do me a favor? Don’t give me a heart attack before I get a chance to meet my kid.”

I smiled. “I’ll try.”

“Fuck, but you make me crazy.” He stopped walking and pulled me into his arms. “If anything happened to you, I—”

“It won’t.” I leaned back and cupped his cheek with my free hand. “I’ll be careful. Promise.”

Dash dropped a kiss on my lips, his touch firm but gentle.

My stomach growled, forcing us apart. We were almost at the office, more than ready to eat, when a familiar gray sedan pulled in behind us.