with her utter disregard for order.
Celia had saved Sam a ton of time and aggravation by packing up the room she’d occupied at her dad’s since he was shot. No doubt her stepmother was right—without her help, Sam probably would’ve still been living between the two houses years from now.
Approaching the ramp that led to her front door, she glanced back at her dad’s place, wondering if she should’ve stayed to help Celia in case he worsened during the night.
The front door swung open. “Hey, babe,” Nick said. “You coming in?”
Celia had promised to call if she needed help, so Sam tore her eyes off the house down the street and let her husband usher her into their home, a renovated double-sized townhouse he’d bought so she could be near her dad and work. Of course its Capitol Hill location put him in close proximity to his office too.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, taking her coat and hanging it in the closet when Sam would’ve tossed it over the sofa. Why hang it when she’d need it again in the morning?
“I think my dad is sick. He’s all congested and wheezy sounding, and he has a fever.”
“What did Celia say?”
“She’s on it, but I’m worried about pneumonia.”
“And what’s this?” Nick asked, gesturing to the garbage bag full of wedding cards that sat on the floor next to her.
“More well wishes that went to Dad’s house—at least I hope they’re well wishes.”
Nick kissed her forehead and then her lips. “My poor wife’s first day back to work was far more stressful than it should’ve been, wasn’t it?”
She nodded. “And now this with my dad. Maybe I should go back over there. Just in case.”
“If that’s what you want to do, I’ll go with you. We can sleep over there tonight.”
“Really? You wouldn’t mind?”
“I’d rather have you there where you can be near him than watch you wear out a path in the carpet over here worrying about him.”
Sam hadn’t realized she’d been pacing as they talked. She stopped and looped her fingers together, filled with nervous energy. “Sorry. Anything with him totally freaks me out. We’ve been so lucky to get two pretty good years since the shooting. All that time we’ve known how precarious his health is now. A simple cold is anything but for him.”
Nick came to her and put his arms around her. He unclipped her long hair and combed his fingers through her curls. Breathing in the scent of Nick, the scent of home, Sam closed her eyes and rested her head against his chest. At times like this, she could no longer remember what it had been like to live without him.
“Sometimes I feel guilty because I’m so grateful he survived the shooting even if I hate the way he has to live now,” she said.
“I think he’s come to terms with it. In his own way.”
“Yeah, but it still sucks.” What really sucked was the case remained unsolved more than two years later, despite ongoing effort by Sam and all of Skip’s former colleagues at the Metropolitan Police Department. “I’m beginning to give up on ever solving his case.”
“You will.”
Sam drew back to look up at him. “You sound awfully sure of that.”
“I’m awfully sure of you.” Keeping his eyes firmly on hers, he lowered his head and captured her mouth.
Sam linked her hands around his neck and teased him with her tongue, making him groan.
“This was the longest day,” he said. “I spent most of it missing you and daydreaming about Bora Bora.”
She kept her lips close to his. “Me too.”
His hands found their way to her bottom and squeezed. “How soon until we can go back?”
Sam laughed. “Not soon enough.”
He surprised her when he suddenly lifted her and arranged her legs around his waist. “No reason we can’t relive some of the magic right here at home.”
“Is that so?”
“Mmm-hmm.” His kisses became more urgent as he lowered them to the sofa. “I feel like I’m going through withdrawal or
Celia had saved Sam a ton of time and aggravation by packing up the room she’d occupied at her dad’s since he was shot. No doubt her stepmother was right—without her help, Sam probably would’ve still been living between the two houses years from now.
Approaching the ramp that led to her front door, she glanced back at her dad’s place, wondering if she should’ve stayed to help Celia in case he worsened during the night.
The front door swung open. “Hey, babe,” Nick said. “You coming in?”
Celia had promised to call if she needed help, so Sam tore her eyes off the house down the street and let her husband usher her into their home, a renovated double-sized townhouse he’d bought so she could be near her dad and work. Of course its Capitol Hill location put him in close proximity to his office too.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, taking her coat and hanging it in the closet when Sam would’ve tossed it over the sofa. Why hang it when she’d need it again in the morning?
“I think my dad is sick. He’s all congested and wheezy sounding, and he has a fever.”
“What did Celia say?”
“She’s on it, but I’m worried about pneumonia.”
“And what’s this?” Nick asked, gesturing to the garbage bag full of wedding cards that sat on the floor next to her.
“More well wishes that went to Dad’s house—at least I hope they’re well wishes.”
Nick kissed her forehead and then her lips. “My poor wife’s first day back to work was far more stressful than it should’ve been, wasn’t it?”
She nodded. “And now this with my dad. Maybe I should go back over there. Just in case.”
“If that’s what you want to do, I’ll go with you. We can sleep over there tonight.”
“Really? You wouldn’t mind?”
“I’d rather have you there where you can be near him than watch you wear out a path in the carpet over here worrying about him.”
Sam hadn’t realized she’d been pacing as they talked. She stopped and looped her fingers together, filled with nervous energy. “Sorry. Anything with him totally freaks me out. We’ve been so lucky to get two pretty good years since the shooting. All that time we’ve known how precarious his health is now. A simple cold is anything but for him.”
Nick came to her and put his arms around her. He unclipped her long hair and combed his fingers through her curls. Breathing in the scent of Nick, the scent of home, Sam closed her eyes and rested her head against his chest. At times like this, she could no longer remember what it had been like to live without him.
“Sometimes I feel guilty because I’m so grateful he survived the shooting even if I hate the way he has to live now,” she said.
“I think he’s come to terms with it. In his own way.”
“Yeah, but it still sucks.” What really sucked was the case remained unsolved more than two years later, despite ongoing effort by Sam and all of Skip’s former colleagues at the Metropolitan Police Department. “I’m beginning to give up on ever solving his case.”
“You will.”
Sam drew back to look up at him. “You sound awfully sure of that.”
“I’m awfully sure of you.” Keeping his eyes firmly on hers, he lowered his head and captured her mouth.
Sam linked her hands around his neck and teased him with her tongue, making him groan.
“This was the longest day,” he said. “I spent most of it missing you and daydreaming about Bora Bora.”
She kept her lips close to his. “Me too.”
His hands found their way to her bottom and squeezed. “How soon until we can go back?”
Sam laughed. “Not soon enough.”
He surprised her when he suddenly lifted her and arranged her legs around his waist. “No reason we can’t relive some of the magic right here at home.”
“Is that so?”
“Mmm-hmm.” His kisses became more urgent as he lowered them to the sofa. “I feel like I’m going through withdrawal or
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