And inside that are some lock picking tools.
“Goldilocks,” I murmur. “You clever girl.”
“I should probably tell you I let myself into your house the day before you arrived,” she says, her eyes twinkling.
“You don’t say.”
“Next time, I’ll be more careful about where I lie down.”
“There won’t be a next time.”
“Buzzkill.”
“Troublemaker.”
“Do you want me to open the trunk or not?”
“I do, I do. I primarily want you as my wife for your lock picking skills, in fact.”
She snorts, then gets to work. It doesn’t take long for the latch to pop, and then with a satisfied “Ah ha”, she steps back.
“That was slick.”
“My dad taught me.”
My eyebrows raise. “I mean, I guessed, but it’s not something they actually teach us.”
She smiles warmly. “It was just a hobby. He wasn’t the warmest of dads, not one to go to the park, but he was happy to have me climb up on a stool next to his workbench in the garage. Some of my fondest memories are of him showing me how locks work, and then how to pick them.”
“And you carry tools with you all the time?”
“Uh…” She screws up her face. “Yeah, pretty much. I spent a lot of the last seven years sneaking around the corporate offices. There are even parts of my own penthouse that are locked by the trustees.”
“That’s seriously fucked up. Pardon my French.”
“Yeah, well…” She shrugs. “I mean, I know that. Hence my little escape artist act.”
“Have you thought any more about contacting someone and telling them you need a longer break?”
She nods. “Is your offer to talk to your brother still…”
“Always. We can go to see him tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.” She repeats the word like it’s dangerous.
One more day here, and then it’s back to the real world for Goldilocks. But this time, I’ll be right by her side.
CHAPTER19
ABIGAIL
We spend the next twenty-four hours making love—making a baby, I hope—and then we carefully stow the outside furniture back inside, and lock up the house and the shed.
After a few days of glorious weather, it starts to rain as we hit the road. He needs to be back on base on Monday morning, and he doesn’t want to do a straight shot drive. We’re going to make it a road trip.
A pre-wedding honeymoon, of a sort. Because once we get married, shit is going to hit the fan.
Justin flicks on the windshield wipers and starts to laugh.