He sighed and sank into the minutes they had left. “We need a vacation.”
Mia snuggled into him, made a sound of agreement.
“And we need to get married.”
She made another sound of agreement and smiled against his chest. “Yeah. Like either of us has time for a vacation or a wedding.”
“We could elope.”
“Mmm. Tempting. My parents would kill me after they killed you. And Hannah would cry over not getting all dolled up.”
“True.” Threading his fingers through her hair, he tilted her face to his. Lightly touched a finger to her beautiful, smiling lips. “But as soon as we get a break, we’ll do both.”
“Yes. But… things are good now, right?”
His hand cruised over and under the curve of her bottom, and he pulled her thigh higher over his, bringing her flush against him. “If they got any better, I might not survive.” He wanted her again already. It was like this with them. Their hearts always beating to the same wild rhythm.
Four days later, when he finally got off work early enough to catch his breath, Nick walked into Gary Mason’s Jewelers. He and Mia’s conversation in bed had been turning over in his mind. He wanted everything to be perfect and knew she did too. The perfect time, the perfect start to their married life. Perfect was overrated, and he was done thinking it to death.
No more calendar comparisons, no more excuses. He loved her. He wanted to marry her. Yeah, they were already spending their life together, living in sin, but he wanted more. He wanted his ring on her finger. That part, at least, didn’t have to wait.
He had at least an hour, more if he needed it, since Mia was picking up Hannah today. He moved decisively down the glass case with an exact picture in his mind of the ring. He just had to find it. And he did. The delicate white-gold band was perfect for Mia’s slim fingers. The two-carat, square-cut diamond was set low so it wouldn’t get in her way at work. Clear, sparkling, and even more beautiful for its simplicity. Just like Mia.
Nick walked out of the jewelry store elated. They’d take this step now, and the rest of it wouldn’t wait much longer. She was off graveyard rotation this Thursday, and he was between big cases for the moment, so it would have to be then. His pulse skittered and danced thinking of how he would ask her. At dinner? Maybe in bed? Because after she said yes, her clothes wouldn’t stay on long. He fingered the small velvet-lined box in his pocket, very nearly whistling a tune.
He rarely got excited, was often accused of being too reserved to the point of needing his pulse checked, but it was going to be damn hard to wait until Thursday.
His cell buzzed in his other pocket, and he clicked the button to answer, noting it was almost four thirty. Mia would have picked up Hannah from UVA by now. Jesus, his sister was smart. Fourteen and taking two college classes, and kicking ass at them.
He smiled again, knowing the two of them would be singing at the top of their lungs to some chick song on the radio. Probably calling to ask what he wanted them to pick up for dinner.
“Hey, babe.”
“Nick.”
There was a strangled tone to her voice he’d never heard before, enough to bring him to a dead halt in the middle of the sidewalk. “Mia?”
“Hannah’s missing.”
Hannah’s missing. The two words that would shape and scrape and chip away at the rest of all their lives. Those same two words from years ago at the football game, only he knew in his gut that this time it was much worse.
* * *
Present day…
A FEW DAYS AFTER seeing Mia in her office, Nick stood in line behind his partner Mike at the sandwich counter. Serving deli sandwiches, salads, coffees, Norfolk’s Yoyo’s Cafe was a popular spot near his office and well worth the wait. He’d even tried their take-home casseroles a few times. Closest thing to a home-cooked meal, and just being one person, they lasted him a few days.
“So you won’t believe what my wife says to me yesterday,” Mike said. “She says, ‘Why’d you marry me if you hate my sister?’ I said, ‘I don’t hate your sister.’ I’m thinking to myself she can be annoying, maybe she stays too long when she comes, but I don’t say that, do I?”
“Of course not.”
Five ten, with dark hair and a soft face, Mike Stanislavsky was straight-up Jersey. A damn good agent and tougher than he looked. Except when it came to his wife, Teresa.
Mike turned to order his sandwich, and Nick ran his gaze over the nearby tables. The Cobb salad looked good. So did the Rueben. He was just about to check out the menu written on a giant black chalkboard behind the counter when he caught sight of Mia. She sat alone, facing the wall at a small table back in the corner, but he knew it was her. His heart thumped.