Beaufort, South Carolina
December 12
Outside, the storm battered the casement windows and shook the green shutters. Charlotte Devlin—Twitch to everyone who knew her—propped herself up on her elbows, her mass of red hair a snarl, her feet caught in the tangled sheets. Next to her, only the indentation of his big body and the scent of sandalwood lingered. Fitting. That was all that really remained of the Finn she once knew.
Twitch breathed in, then out, staring at the hairline crack that ran along the bedroom ceiling. Maybe she should thank him. He had shown her in no uncertain terms what they so briefly had, was gone. Their last night together had elicited so much resentment toward Finn and so much shame toward herself maybe she could finally slam the door on the possibility of Finn McIntyre. Because as much as her head had told her to throw the deadbolt, her heart couldn’t help but leave the door ajar.
Bang. Click. Her heart boot-kicked the door, and she watched with her mind’s eye as she flipped each metaphorical lock, slid the safety chain, and twisted the little button in the center of the knob. A new dawn was on the horizon, and while the weather did not mirror the sentiment, Twitch could feel the resolve flow through her.
She stripped the bed with more force than necessary, putting the sheets directly into the washer to purge the smell of sex and sweat and sandalwood. Then she went to her dresser and opened the small cloisonne box that held her most cherished things: a letter from her father, the earrings her mom had given her for graduation, a seashell she had found walking the beach with her best friend, Emily Bishop. She poked the items aside and fished out the locket.
It wasn’t expensive; seven years ago, he had bought it on the sidewalk from a vendor. The spot for the tiny photo was empty. At the time, they had promised to add their picture when he came back to her—foolish vows of childish infatuation. She set her thumb in the tarnished void. Before an ounce of sentimentality could leach its way into her heart, she plodded down to her kitchen, dropped the necklace into the disposal, and flipped the switch. The racket was unnerving, and Twitch was sure she had done irreparable damage to the appliance. Good. She didn’t care if she had to replace the whole damn sink. She needed closure, and if it wouldn’t come on its own, she was going to force it into existence.
Refocusing, Twitch dropped a pod into the Keurig. Bishop Security was heading to Spain to help their teammate, Cam Canto, with a situation that was becoming increasingly sticky. Cam was a former CIA officer who apparently had some lingering enemies from his undercover work. As concerned as she was for her colleague and friend, Twitch was grateful for the distraction to pull her mind from thoughts of Finn.
Their story was over. It was time to move on. She had lived the fairytale, and her handsome prince had turned into the big bad wolf. He had shown her in stark reality that what they had was gone. So, as she padded barefoot back upstairs and across the bedroom toward the shower, she gave Finn McIntyre a very soft, unspoken goodbye.