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He places his hands on top of my shoulders, bringing his head down to meet my eyes. Nothing but seriousness radiates back at me. “You’d better be absolutely sure before you say anything. You could open a can of worms that you don’t want anything to do with.”

I place my hands on his. “I know, but if it was Mom, wouldn’t you want someone to stand up for her, bring her potential killers to justice? Tanner’s mom deserves that. I know it just by the way she raised the man I love.”

“Well”—he nods, keeping his eyes pinned to mine—“how are you going to tell him your theory then?”

24

TANNER

“You look older,” Paul says with a pout on his face.

“Is that a bad thing?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Don’t rush it, kid. Soon enough, you’ll have lines like this and a ball sack that drags on the floor.”

Thank God there’s no one in the bar at this hour.

Paul is filling up the cooler. “It takes me twenty minutes to take a piss, and my chest looks like I can play connect the dots. Just make sure you keep your hair. That’s my only saving grace. Blessed with a thick mane. Those bald bastards look ten years older.”

“You’re sick, old man.”

He gives an accusatory point. “Just because you’re married and you got a fancy haircut doesn’t mean you won’t soon be a sick old man, too. You’ll just have a prettier wife and some change in your pocket.”

With a raised glass, I cheers him. “To my pretty wife.”

He waves me off. “Just don’t fuck it up.”

That’s the plan. Harper hasn’t been home all day, so I brought my sketchpad to The Den to get out of the house. The bar is open, but it’s still early for his usual crowd.

When Harper texts me that she’s on her way, I pack up and head home to start dinner.

I put on the sauce I know she loves and start a pot of water for the pasta. When we look for a new apartment, we’re gonna have to look for a place with a bigger kitchen and a real bedroom. I can’t have my wife sleeping in a room filled with art supplies. She needs a walk-in closet and an office to grade papers. If there’s a window with a view, I’ll get her a wingback chair, so she can have her own reading nook.

We haven’t spoken about whether we’ll stay in New York or San Francisco. Her job is here, and she loves her students. I’m sure she could work anywhere, but our life is in New York. Her dad gave me his permission to take her away, but I don’t know if that would make Harper happy. And her happiness is worth all the shares in Sexton Media. I’d give them up in a second.

She has to finish out the school year, so that gives us time to make the hard decisions. Once I tell my brothers I’m married, they’re gonna give me grief. First, for marrying a woman so soon. Second, for doing it without them. I have my reasons though.

My thoughts are interrupted by the front door opening. I walk over to my wife and kiss her hello. She looks happy to see me, but her smile wavers.

“Did you get everything you needed?” I pull her hand toward the kitchen island where I have a folder from the travel agent. Inside are pamphlets and brochures for everything we’ll be doing on our Caribbean honeymoon. “We have an overwater bungalow that has its own pool, living room, bar, outdoor seating, and butler. The resort has pools, entertainment, and restaurants, but we never have to leave the room if you don’t want. I rented a boat and an off-road vehicle because there are volcanoes I want to see. What’s the matter? You don’t like volcanoes?”

Her brows are furrowed, and her lips pout as she looks down at the floor and huffs. “I love volcanoes. I love everything about the honeymoon you’ve planned. I can’t wait to go.” The words coming out of her mouth contradict the look on her face.

“You have a funny way of showing it. What’s going on?”

She looks over my shoulder and at the pots that are steaming behind me. “You made dinner?”

I laugh. “Yes. A husband cooks for his wife.”

“Everything’s perfect.” She sighs.

I know my girl. I know she overthinks everything. She bites the inside of her cheek when she’s worried. She sighs when she’s melancholy, and she has a hard time looking me in the eye when she’s worried about upsetting me. She is currently looking at my chest.

I take her hands and pull her over to the island where I have her take a seat. I take her coat off and drape it over the next chair where I take a seat.

“Look at me.”

My eyes keep a steady gaze on hers until she finally meets mine. When they connect, her icy blues relax as her shoulders fall. She briefly closes her eyes, as if resetting her emotions.