Code Name: Grace (Jameson Force Security 6.5)

“Maybe because you were still hung up on someone?” she teases.

“Maybe,” I tease back. “What about you?”

“Same.” A slight shrug of her shoulder. “I mean… I wanted to have a serious relationship. I want to be a mom and have children. But it just never happened. Some long relationships, but it was never the right person.”

Now I’m the one teasing her. “Because I’m the right person.”

“Maybe…” She laughs before leaning in and pressing her lips to mine. We just keep them there, lightly touching, and my eyes close so I can memorize this moment.

When she pulls back, I ask something I’ve always wanted to know. Something I’ve wondered about for years. “Do you go back to Atlanta?”

It was where she was born and raised. It was a city she loved before her parents’ murders. While she chose to do her education out of state, I sort of expected her to return there to practice psychiatry.

Her eyes turn a bit somber, but I don’t regret asking the question. I’ve decided to take Corinne at face value and truly believe she has found her measure of peace.

“I go at Thanksgiving,” she murmurs, and my heart pitches a little. It was the holiday they were murdered on. “I check into a hotel and eat room service—but not something traditional to Thanksgiving. Instead, I have a burger or something. Then, I spend Thanksgiving at their gravesites. I bring a blanket out there, and I talk to them. Tell them how my life is going and confess any troubles I might have. And then I fly out the next day.”

“Has the holiday been completely ruined for you?” I ask. It was never all that big of a deal for me. After my parents died, my uncle and I would do like a turkey breast and a few sides, but it wasn’t a big family affair. I happen to know it was for Corinne and her parents. They’d have aunts, uncles, and cousins over with tons of food, love, and laughter.

“I don’t know,” she responds. “I know that all I can think about on that day is how they died. While I’ve gotten good at refusing to replay the details, it’s been hard to push away the melancholy.”

“Maybe you need to start a new Thanksgiving tradition,” I suggest. “Make it about family again.”

“Family?” she asks a little breathlessly. She can obviously see where I’m going with this.

“With me.” Our eyes lock, and I can see her considering my words. I don’t want her to get scared, so I add, “I’m not saying we have to run off and elope this weekend, but, Corinne… I’ve loved you for a long time, and you’ve loved me as well. We’ve lost so much time, and I want to have all the things we should have had.”

“I want that, too,” she whispers.

“Then imagine it,” I murmur, pulling her in close and wrapping my arms around her. “Thanksgiving… you and me up at dawn to put the turkey in the oven. You’ll make the stuffing, and I’ll peel potatoes. I like pumpkin pie by the way, but I also like pecan, so we need both. We’ll make and eat way too much food, take a nap, make love when we wake up, then eat more food.”

“You forgot football,” she says with a laugh.

“And football. We’ll watch football. And we’ll visit your parents’ graves anytime you want, but not on Thanksgiving. Let’s you and I start a new tradition instead. One day, it will be our kids sitting at the table with us, and, God willing, their kids after that.”

Corinne gives me a hard squeeze, pressing her cheek against my chest. “I think that’s one of the best ideas I’ve heard in a long time.”

“And Christmas… I’m cutting down the tree,” I say sternly. “That’s the man’s job.”

“Of course,” she agrees sweetly, but then jolts up. Pulling back, she says, “Speaking of Christmas…”

Before I can grab hold of her, she’s rolling away from me and off the bed. For a moment, I think about chastising her and calling her back, but then I get distracted by her perfect naked body as she crosses over to the large closet. It’s massive with built-in shelves and drawers. Corinne bends over, and I can’t help but be affected by her perfect ass, which is now on full display.

I have to blink and pretend not to be staring so hard when she quickly pops up and pivots to face me, a black box in her hand. Looking extremely pleased with herself, she comes running back to the bed, jumping on it like a little girl. Completely comfortable in her own skin, she doesn’t crawl back under the covers with me. Instead, she sits cross-legged, facing me. I find it a bit harder to concentrate, but I suppose I’ll get used to her sexiness at some point.