Everything We Keep

He bailed on football practice.” As soon as the words left me, my stomach pitched. This wasn’t any of Phil’s business. He chuckled. “So, the Golden Boy isn’t so golden after all.” He lifted his arm toward my house. “Walk you home?” “Um . . . OK,” I heard myself agree.

I think your work likes you. You find beauty where others don’t see it. Or rather, they choose to ignore.

It had been a perfect fit, but perfection can be an illusion.

The human spirit is amazingly resilient, and the human body is surprisingly horny.

I’d been rushing to a finish line, and I’d failed to enjoy the run along the way.

Sinking onto the sand, I turned my face into the wind, hoping the breeze would blow away the pain. The pain of rejection, the pain of betrayal, and the pain of everything that had been lost to us.

You might not feel anything for me, but I feel everything for you.

True artists elicit an emotional response through their work. You, Aims, are an artist.” I

I don’t know how.” “You’ll find a way,” she said. “I don’t know what to do.” “You’ll figure something out.” “I’m all alone.” She

I’ll make you a deal. I’ll toast to us becoming great friends if you promise to tell me when you want something more with me.” My eyes rounded, then I tossed back my head, laughing at his deliberate word choice. When, not if. “You’re something else,” I teased. He shook his head. “Nah, just optimistic.” “All right.” I lifted my glass. “You’ve got yourself a deal.

Good thing a look couldn’t scald flesh. I’d have blisters.

I was falling in love with my best friend, and I desperately missed him.

My brows arched upward. “That’s an interesting selection. You’re feisty tonight, aren’t you?” He rolled his shoulders and grinned, slow and sexy. My stomach quickened.

The pallbearers lowered the casket onto a metal stand, then moved to their seats. Thomas, James’s brother, slid into the front pew beside Claire, who was dressed in a black suit with her silver hair coiled as tight and rigid as her posture. Phil, James’s cousin, moved into the pew to stand on her other side. He turned and looked at me, dipping his head in acknowledgment. I swallowed, inching back until my calves pressed into the wood bench. Claire

Everything was in its place except the man who lived there. I

Fall for me, Aimee. I’ll catch you. Let go, baby.

I’ll make you a deal. I’ll toast to us becoming great friends if you promise to tell me when you want something more with me." My eyes rounded, then I tossed back my head, laughing at his deliberate word choice. When, not if. "You're something else," I teased. He shook his head. "Nah, just optimistic." "All right." I lifted my glass. "You've got yourself a deal.

His hands moved over my back, frantic. His lips were everywhere, my jaw, my chin, the length of my neck. His tongue traced my pulse point, making me hyperaware of every inch of skin. It was too much. I tore my mouth away. "Why are you doing this?" I panted. "Why now?" His lips skimmed across my cheek. He nipped my ear. "I couldn't compete with a dead guy. You worshipped him." "So I wouldn't forget him," I cried, desperate. I felt out of control. Ian dug his fingers into my hair and seared his gaze with mine. "He's alive, Aimee. Flesh and blood. That I can compete with.

Fall for me, Aimee. I'll catch you.

background check on Lacy, look into the gallery, maybe find out the name of the artist on the painting

finished circling the room, ending at the desk in back. Books stacked against the wall spanned many genres and years, from Stephen King to Shakespeare, Spanish-titled novels and art instruction

Propped on the wide window ledge was a breathtaking photo of a lavender-orange sky kissing aquamarine waters. The image was magical, simply titled Belize Sunrise.

It had been a perfect fit, but perfection can be an illusion. I stared at my naked finger, the band of pale skin pink and tender.

I shook my head, pressing my tongue to the roof of my mouth to stifle the sob threatening to be heard. I stepped from Thomas’s arms. “I have to go.” “We

I sat beside my parents in the sanctuary filled with friends and relatives. They should have been our wedding guests. Instead, they’d come to pay their respects to a man who’d died too young and too soon. He’d just turned twenty-nine. Now

I’d be twenty-seven and well on my way to becoming the proud, naive owner of a business with no plan, no employees, and no product.

But instead of walking down the aisle toward my best friend, my first and only love, I was at his funeral.

The organ blared as the funeral ceremony commenced. Everyone surged to their feet. I rose slowly, my entire body feeling achy and aged, and gripped the pew in front of me to keep from collapsing back into my seat. All heads turned to the rear of the church, where the pallbearers hoisted James’s casket onto their shoulders. As I watched them process behind the priest, I couldn’t help thinking they carried more than James’s remains, his body too decomposed for an open casket. Our hopes and dreams, the future we had road-mapped, also rode on their shoulders. James’s plan to open an art gallery downtown after he quit the family business. My dream to start my own restaurant when my parents retired from theirs. The little boy I imagined standing between James and me, his small hands linked with ours. Everything