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Because with this message, Hazel had reached out to him for the first time.
He’d texted her back right away, confirming he’d be there, but it didn’t stop him from opening the chat again and again, as if to make sure he hadn’t hallucinated it.
After another night spent in her bed, holding her in his arms after he’d very efficiently pleasured her to sleep, he’d snuck out again in the early morning hours. It became harder and harder to ignore the roaring mating urge inside him, to leave the side of his witch when all he wanted to do was mark every inch of her as his, claim her over and over until she couldn’t deny anymore that she belonged to him. The way he had to keep pretending they shared nothing more than a tenuous connection forged by coincidence and the shared love of Basil, it chafed at him.
He wanted more. He needed all of her.
Now, as he walked into the Murray mansion at the time she’d asked him to come, his stomach was a mess of fluttering things. Hazel waited for him in the foyer, impeccably dressed as always—this time in a combo of jeans and blouse plus cardigan that she effortlessly made to look like haute couture. Her neat braid hung over one shoulder, and there was an intriguing twinkle in her eye.
“Come on,” she said before he’d even reached her. “This way.”
Admiring how her ass moved in those tight jeans of hers, he followed her down one of the hallways into a room he hadn’t really checked out yet. Huge built-in shelves of mahogany took up one entire wall, framing a big TV and filled with neatly ordered boxes of various sizes as well as cassettes and old tapes. Opposite the wall stood a couch with cushions that appeared to be so soft they’d pull you halfway into them like some comfy version of quicksand. A low coffee table sat in front of the couch, and on it lay several boxes similar to the ones on the shelves.
“Here,” Hazel said and handed him one of the boxes with a smile that warmed him from the inside out.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
He lifted the lid and peered inside, then froze. Letting the lid drop to the floor, he reached inside the box and pulled out one of the many photos, this one showing a baby on a blanket, one with a shock of blond hair and brown eyes.
“He was about ten months old in this one,” Hazel said softly.
Heart hammering, he skimmed over the rest of the photos, all of them featuring Basil as a baby. Eyes flicking to the coffee table, he counted the boxes there. Six.
He raised his gaze to meet Hazel’s, too stunned to speak.
She nodded at the unvoiced question in his eyes. “Those are all filled with pictures of him. I organized them earlier. They’re sorted by age, up until he was a young teenager. At that point, he didn’t like me chasing him with a camera anymore.” Her mouth quirked into a sheepish smile, and his heart made a flip.
“Oh, and there’s this here, too.” She went over to the cupboards below the TV and opened the doors, revealing media players of different sizes and ages. “Those cassettes over there”—she pointed at a stack on the coffee table—“are VHS, and they go in this one.” She tapped one of the players. “Most of the earlier videos of the kids were VHS, but there are a few from the later years that are VHS-C, and you’ll need to put them in this adapter before you push them into the VCR.”
She rose to her feet and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “I think I found all of the videos we made. With the photos, I’m sure there are some that I missed, but I can show you those, too, when I find them.”
Dumbfounded, he just stared at her, still holding the box she’d handed him, like an idiot whose brain was on the fritz. ’Cause that was what he was.
“So,” she said, playing with the end of her braid, “you can have your pick of the photos. Whichever ones you like, as many as you want. I still have the negatives, so I can always have them redeveloped. You can just tuck the ones you want to keep into this empty album here—”
“Hazel,” he interrupted her, his voice sounding like he’d scraped gravel.
Her eyes met his.
“You did all this. For me?”
Her lips parted. “Well, I just thought—I figured you probably don’t have any pics of him when he was a kid, and you’d never seen the recordings, and—”
He was on her before she could finish the sentence. Sweeping her close with his free arm wound around her waist, he planted a kiss on her lips that gave voice to the swirling emotions inside him. Sadness for all he’d missed, anger at the years lost, happiness at getting to see at least a slice of his boy’s childhood, and above all, gratitude for the woman who’d made the effort to give him this.
When he broke the kiss, Hazel’s pupils were dilated, and she touched her lips as if chasing the feel of his mouth on hers.
“Thank you,” he murmured and watched with rapt fascination as her cheeks blushed a lovely rose.
“You’re welcome.” She cleared her throat. “If you need any tech assistance, just let me know.”
When she made as if to leave, he grasped her hand, pulled her to a stop. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Um.” She blinked quickly. “I just thought I’d give you some time and privacy to look through all of this.”
He snorted. “Like I need privacy from you.” Tugging on her hand, he said, “Stay. You can’t honestly leave me alone with this mountain of media.”
