Page 77 of Talk Wicked to Me

“It’s the same?” Her throat thickened, and she crouched and touched one of the rocks, remembering that fun afternoon and the day they’d gone back near the end of their trip. “Did you find painted rocks with messages written on them?”

“Yeah,” he said with wonder. “They’re in the houses in that fort. I thought the girls put those there, and they had my mom or someone write on them.” He reached into one of the houses and withdrew a rock, smiling as he read what was written on it. “Capture every moment.”

Tears welled in her eyes as he handed it to her. She ran her thumb over the faded paint and ink. “My mom painted this one. She was always taking pictures of us, saying, capture every moment. Every year when we went on vacation, she made us take these cheesy family photos wearing matching clothes. The boxes in my bedroom probably have those pictures and hundreds more in them.” She swiped at her tears and then she held the rock over her heart with both hands, lifting her gaze to Baz as he reached for her. “I’m okay. Just happy.”

He wrapped her in his arms. “I know. I need the hug, too. It’s not every day you realize the universe really did bring you together.”

That drew more tears, and she tilted her face up, searching his eyes. “You think so?”

“I know so. All day I was thinking about places I want to take you and Brennan and things I want to share with you. I want to show you all the things you missed out on after losing your parents, when you needed the safety of a smaller world. And I want to show Brennan all the cool places I loved as a kid. He’ll grow up being buddies with Leo and Marybelle, and I want to be there when they raise havoc at all my old haunts.”

“Baz…?” she said shakily. “You’re talking like we’re a forever thing, and we only just started.”

“It’s called hope, darlin’. It feeds our souls.”

More tears spilled from her eyes. He’d said he was going to help her fall in love with the area, but he hadn’t warned her that he was going to make her fall for him, too.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“EVERY TIME WE came to visit, this bleeding heart was traipsing into the woods with a hatchet, a hammer, and a pocket full of nails.” His grandfather shook his head. With wispy gray hair, weathered skin, thin lips, a square jaw, and blue-gray eyes, Mike Wicked looked his age, and a lot like Clint Eastwood had in his eighties.

“You say that like his softheartedness is a bad thing.” Emerson looked affectionately at Baz. “I happen to be very fond of that side of him.”

They were just about done with dinner, and his wise-ass grandfather was in prime form, trying to rattle the tree. But he wasn’t going to get a rise out of Baz. Nothing could bother him after the day he’d had with Emerson and Brennan. And it just kept getting better. Baz had spent countless hours at this very table, surrounded by a cacophony of noisy conversations, lively banter, and ridiculous arguments. This was where serious late-night discussions with his parents and siblings took place. Where they were praised and scolded. He hadn’t imagined bringing a woman to his childhood home since college. But sharing the sacred space with Emerson, while Brennan napped in the bassinet beside them, felt right, and he wanted more of it. He wanted to share holiday dinners, birthdays, and everything in between, good and bad.

“Don’t let the old man fool you into thinking he’s got a heart of stone, darlin’,” Baz said. “Every week there was a fresh pile of sticks, old pieces of wood, and a new box of nails waiting for me in the woods. I know my father didn’t put them there, because I checked his boots for dirt every night for a week.”

“I offered to help,” his father said. “But you were too stubborn to accept it.”

Emerson feigned wide-eyed shock. “Baz, stubborn? That’s hard to imagine.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, making them all laugh.

“You can’t fault me for wanting to do it on my own.” Baz put his arm around the back of her chair, eyeing his grandfather. “But I think we all know those supplies didn’t come from the woodland fairies.”

His grandfather scoffed and waved his hand dismissively. “Your sister and her partner in crime were always out there. It was probably them.”

“Probably,” Baz said, letting his grandfather have his curmudgeonly fun. But he knew the truth. He’d taken Zeke into the woods with him one afternoon to see the forts. Zeke had been a nature enthusiast practically since he was born, and he was always studying up on something. At eight, that something was wilderness tracking. He’d devoured every book he could find on the subject. It didn’t take him long to find their grandfather’s footprints. He was the only man who knew about the forts who didn’t wear leather boots at the time. But just in case, they’d measured the footprints and matched the size and the design on the sole to their grandfather’s sneakers.

“Remember how sneaky Ash and Mads thought they were with all that paint, Ging?” his father asked. “They were pure giggles, dragging that old red wagon into the woods when Baz wasn’t home. They wouldn’t let me help them, either. They wanted to do it by themselves.”

“You let them go into the woods alone?” Emerson asked. “They must’ve been really little.”

His father shook his head. “They were, and I did not let them go alone.”

“I still can’t believe you let them defile my project,” Baz said. “Aren’t parents supposed to protect their kids?”

His grandfather laughed. “Nice try from the guy who put stickers all over Tank’s bicycle seat and glued cards to the spokes.”

“Yeah, because they made it much cooler,” Baz said.

“Tank didn’t think so,” his father said.

“It’s a rite of passage for younger siblings to do things like that,” his mother said. “Ash just wanted to surprise you by making the cat condos prettier. You two were so close, I didn’t think you’d mind. But I am surprised Tank didn’t spill the beans.”

“Tank knew?” Baz asked.

His mother arched a brow. “Who do you think your father sent to watch over them?”

Baz was floored. “That bastard told me he knew nothing about it.”