“My mom’s jewelry box?” I ask Roman, looking up at him.

“I don’t know, Sugar.”

“I don’t know of any other jewelry box, and my dad made it for my mom.”

“Then it’s probably the one.”

“Yeah,” I say quietly, looking down at the single piece of paper. Roman takes his phone out of his pocket, turning on the flashlight and crouching down to look inside.

There’s nothing else in there; it’s just empty. How long has this been in here? Uncle Santiago died a few weeks before my twenty-first birthday, so it’s been here for at least seven years.

I flip the page over, looking for any information other than the few words written on the front. What am I supposed to look for in the jewelry box? I’ve opened it weekly for the past ten years. I wear my mom’s jewelry often. I haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary.

“Maybe something is engraved on one of the pieces,” I suggest quietly.

“Maybe,” he murmurs just as softly, taking the piece of paper from my hand and looking at it. Roman holds it up to the light, but it’s still just a single sheet of computer paper with a few words scrawled in the middle.

“What do we do now?” I ask. “Does this even have anything to do with Rafael?”

“I don’t know.” Roman shrugs before pulling me into a hug. “Are you doing okay?”

“I’m not really sure. I feel underwhelmed. I don’t know what I was think could be in here, but I didn’t think it would be one single sheet of paper.”

“Me neither.”

I squeeze his middle, hugging him tighter, breathing in his spicy scent. His heartbeat against my ear calms me down.

“Ready?” he asks.

“On to the next piece of the puzzle,” I say.

He doesn’t let go of me yet, just continues to hold me. “When we get into the car, we leave this bullshit here. We’re back on our date, okay?”

I smile into his chest. “Sounds perfect.”

We walk hand-in-hand to the van. I turn my face toward the sun, soaking it up, and leave every emotion I felt in that vault behind. Roman opens the door for me, making sure I’m settled before he jogs around to the other side of the van. When he gets in the car, I lean over the console, brushing my finger along his arm. “So, is this the third date or a continuation of the second date?”

“Isn’t the third date the one where the guy gets lucky?”

“Yes,” I say, smiling flirtatiously.

“Definitely the third date,” he says, flashing me a grin and a wink.

I pat my stomach, laughing. “Although I think you already got lucky.”

Roman grabs my hand, bringing it to his lap and looking at me before pulling out of the parking lot. “You have no idea. I’m already so damn lucky.”

“Why Tennessee?”

“Nashville is a big market for security. There’s a lot of celebrities and it’s a major city, so investigation work is never in short supply. I didn’t want to be in New York, Chicago, or LA. In my mind that left Texas or Nashville.”

“If you chose Texas, we could have had this reunion a lot sooner.”

“I knew that would happen if I chose Texas. I had nothing when I discharged from the army except an inheritance I didn’t understand but also didn’t deny.”

“So that left Nashville.”

“Yep,” Roman said.

“Do you like it there?”

“It’s a neat city, but it’s not home.”

“Where do you consider home?” I ask. Even when we were young he didn’t feel like his trailer park was a home.

“Wherever you are,” Roman answers. “The place doesn’t matter, you’re what anchors me.”

Swoon.

“I love when you melt,” Roman says in a husky voice. The pure hunger in his eyes makes my breath catch.

“Not so fast, this date just started. You’re not guaranteed to get lucky.”

“I’m not too worried about it.” Roman winks, sending my heart fluttering. He’s the sexiest man without even trying. He makes driving a minivan look sexy. His toned, tan arm is stretched in front of him, holding the top of the wheel. I shiver thinking about him above me. His cocky smile tells me he doesn’t miss my reaction to him.

“Have you ever thought about opening a bakery?” Roman asks, taking me by surprise.

“No, not really. I mostly consider baking to just be a hobby for myself. I love making things for my friends. I thought about having a little dessert area in the boutique. I thought it would be fun to go shopping with girlfriends and being able to have a coffee and dessert after buying some clothes.”

“Why didn’t you do it?”

I shrug. “The space I was in really wasn’t big enough for that type of thing. And I don’t know if eating a slice of cake is helpful when you’re trying on a pair of skinny jeans.”

“Let’s look for a space big enough to have something like that. I think it’s a great idea.”

“Thanks,” I say, blushing from his praise. “Are you going to expand your company, or what are you going to do?”

“Not sure yet, Sugar. Kiernan could run the Tennessee office and I’ll work on opening the Texas branch.”

“I’m going to miss Kiernan when he goes back to Tennessee.”

“I won’t,” Roman says, smiling. I know it’s not true. Kiernan is the closest thing to a brother Roman has. “If Kiernan doesn’t want to run it, I may shut it down and start fresh in Texas.”

“I don’t want you to do that for me.”

Roman glances at me. “It’s nothing, babe. I have tons of connections in the security business. I get could all my guys jobs. The rest is just a change of location.”

We lapse into silence, staring at the road in front of us. Roman is being honest and forthcoming about everything, telling me things I didn’t even know to ask for. It’s time I do the same—there’s something he doesn’t know that I did for him while he was serving our country.

“You know, I was there the day they buried your mom.”

Roman’s eyes whip to mine then back to the road. His jaw clenches. His mother and childhood are subjects he hates; he avoids them at all costs. I’ve only gleaned what little I know of his childhood from small snippets he shared. He never wanted to taint our time together with the ugliness of his past.

He doesn’t ask why or how I knew, but I answer him, anyway. “I knew you were overseas. Andrea from high school, she was one of the nurses who worked on your mom, trying to bring her back, called me after. She assumed we were still together, so she told me everything. Saint Matthews always buried those who couldn’t afford a plot, so I knew it would be there. I called and spoke with the pastor, asking for information.”

“There wasn’t a service or anything. I couldn’t come home. No one else would have shown up. I paid for the burial.”

“I know. The pastor told me. He stood with me as they lowered her casket into the ground. I knew you probably hadn’t seen her since you left and that a goodbye would be hard for you. I also know you love her, even though she was awful, because that’s who you are. So, I said goodbye for you. She wasn’t alone, Roman.”

Roman scrubs a hand over his face when he looks at me, and his eyes are slightly glassy. “It’s haunted me for years thinking she went into the ground with no one around. I know she did it to herself, made her life what it was, but she was still my mom.”

“I know,” I whisper. “I had flowers sent to her grave for a year. It’s all I could afford, but they were her favorite color, no matter the season.”

“Pink,” he whispers.

“Yeah,” I say. “Remember I was wearing pink when I met her? She told me how much she loved the color.”

He shakes his head. “She just loved the girl in it. After she met you, she begged me that night to be stronger than her, to not follow in her footsteps. That’s one of my best memories of her. I remember telling her how important it was to me for you to meet her and how important you are to me. She tried her best that day. I know she wasn’t normal, but she actually tried.”

“I know, baby.” I squeeze his hand, sending all the love I can through our connection.

* * *

A few hours later, we pull into the driveway of the lake house, getting out in silence and heading straight for the bedroom. The jewelry box has been sitting on top of the dresser since the day we arrived at Savannah and Liam’s place.

“I’ve opened this box hundreds, if not thousands, of times,” I say to Roman. “It feels different now. I’m expecting it look different when I open it.”

“I know. I’m expecting it to be like a jack-in-the-box, something springing out at us as soon as we open it.”

“Thanks for putting that thought in my head,” I say, lightly slapping his chest.

“It’s not a horror movie, Harp.”

“Feels like it,” I mutter.

“Want me to open it?” Roman asks.

“No, I’ll do it.” I reach forward, holding my breath as I open the lid. My teeth are biting into my bottom lip and my eyes are squinting as I prepare for something to jump out like Roman said.

Of course, nothing happens. It’s the same as it always was. Roman and I each pick up an item, running it through our fingers, looking for an engraving or clue. When the box is empty, Roman picks it up, feeling along the interior with a frown on his face.

“Nothing?” I ask.

“Not that I can see or feel.” He flips the box over, staring at the bottom. “There’s a couple screws here. I can take it apart.”

“Will you be able to put it back together?” I ask worriedly. “I don’t want to lose it. It’s one of the only things I have left.”

“Of course, Sugar. I’ll be extra careful. Be right back.”

I stand there staring at the box, begging it to give me some answers. But Roman is right. This isn’t a horror movie. It doesn’t rattle around the top of the dresser or open with a light shining out of it—sucking me into another dimension.

Roman comes in carrying a screwdriver. He turns over the box, carefully taking out each screw and setting them on the dresser. The bottom piece slides out from the rest of the frame. Roman looks at me then back down at the jewelry box, pulling out a flash drive and several envelopes. Each one is labeled with a different name. Sadie. Marissa. Harper. Roman. Roman’s letter is written in a different handwriting than the other three. His is from Santiago, and the rest are from my dad.

I pick up the letter for me, my sister, and my mom. Roman’s holding his, staring at it with a scowl. “Ready?” I ask.

He nods, ripping open his envelope. I do the same with mine. Roman watches me pull out folded paper. He hasn’t made a move to pull his from the envelope. “Aren’t you going to look at yours?”

“After you. Just in case,” he says, planting a kiss on my forehead. I sit on the edge of the bed, looking down at the letter in my dad’s handwriting.