Page 26 of Cold Mercy

It's true, she can.

After paying for the dresses, Elizabeth leaves hers behind for tailoring while I take mine with me. The stupid matching insert for Thomas’s suit gets tossed onto my back seat like it personally offended me.

“Want to come in for coffee?” Elizabeth asks as we drive up to the house.

“I’m tired, maybe next time,” I say.

She studies my face for a second and squeezes my hand.

“Thank you for today. Really. It means a lot.”

She gets out, closing the door gently. I watch her walk up the steps, glowing in that way people glow when they’re deeply in love.

I’m glad she has that, and I know Noah would’ve been glad too, seeing her and James so happy like this. I should visit him soon and tell him everything, because apparently, we have a lot to catch up on. I’ll probably skip the part about giving our Porsche to James, who drives like there's no tomorrow… Yep, definitely skipping that.

My thoughts circle back to Elizabeth’s stupid little game.

Maybe I can just give Thomas the insert at the wedding? What does it matter? The wedding’s months away. She didn’t specify when I’m supposed to hand it over.

My conscience has recently been more favorable to others than to me, so fine. I won’t make it a big thing. I’ll meet him, apologize for… everything, give him the stupid piece of fabric, and we’ll go our separate ways. See you at the wedding, colleague. End of story. I pull out my phone before I even drive off.

‘Can you meet in 1.5 hours? Just for a moment.’

He replies within a minute.

‘Sure, where?’

‘At my place.’ I reply.

I drop the phone, exhale, and head toward Cold Spring. An hour and a half later, I pull up to the gate. He’s already there, leaning against his car like he’s not at all concerned about being early. When my headlights sweep over him, he straightens.

I step out of the car, surprised to find him not annoyed or cold, but walking toward me with an open posture, his hands slipping briefly into the back pockets of his jeans. He doesn't have the ‘you ignored me’ attitude I was bracing for at all.

“Good to see you,” he says. It sounds genuine enough to disarm me for half a second.

“If you know the code so well, why are you still standing outside the gate?” I ask sharply.

He lets out a short, embarrassed huff.

“I was instructed to pretend I guessed it.”

A laugh actually escapes me as I look him straight in the eyes.

“Only James would give instructions like that, and only you would believe them.”

I tap the keypad.

“We’re not talking at the gate,” I tell him.

We drive up the path and park near the front steps.

Mrs. Gonzalez comes out of the house, startled and delighted all at once.

“Ay, Dios mío, señora Sophia! Y… ¡el señor Thomas!”

I barely have time to react before Thomas answers smoothly, in perfect Spanish.

“Buenas noches, señora. Qué gusto verla otra vez.”