29.Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Bonnie

“Freya, I need you to listen to me very carefully. What I’m about to tell you is not to leave this room.”

Freya snorts, looking around her. “Which room? Mine or yours? Where are you, anyway?”

I glance down the hall, though this house is so tiny that I would have noticed if Hank had left the bedroom. He was still asleep when I crept out here to video call Freya, and I hope he stays that way as long as possible. He’s pretty worked up over the impending conversation with the Denver detective who’s coming sometime this morning.

I’ve cloistered myself in the kitchen, which is really just a countertop and sink. It’s adorable but suffocating. I don’t know how Hank spent four years in this space .

“I’m…” I need to talk loud enough that she’ll hear me, but I’m worried that Hank will hear me talking to her and come out instead of getting badly needed rest. I wish I had headphones, but I didn’t exactly come prepared. I’m currently wearing Hank’s pajamas, which are excessively comfortable but far too big on me. “I’m in Hank’s house.”

Freya squeals, forcing me to turn down the volume as she starts saying something in Candoran, which I absolutely cannot understand. It has a lot of English influence, but it’s the Scandinavian roots that are lost on me. Still, I’m glad I have someone to talk to, even if I’m confused by her current circumstances. She’s in her bedroom, which is unusual for this time of day. It’s in the afternoon for her, and I’m lucky she answered in the first place. Usually she’s in council meetings.

“Bonnie,” she says, moving her phone closer to her face. “I know you have said that your relationship is real, but I did not realize you would be—”

“I’m in love with him, Freya.”

That shuts her right up. It shuts me up too because those words are terrifying. But it’s the truth.

After another double-check that Hank’s bedroom door is closed, I keep talking. “It hurts when I’m not with him. Is that normal?”

She shrugs. “I have not experienced romantic love, as you know, but I…” She stops, her eyes fixing on something over her phone, and then she lets out a very un-princesslike curse. “Oh, he has found me.” She scrambles off her bed, and the image blurs until everything goes dark.

I furrow my eyebrows, waiting for an explanation. I don’t get one. “Um. Freya? Is everything okay?

She whispers her reply. “I am convinced my current buffoon of a bodyguard is aware that I intend to dismiss him, and he has therefore decided he must be at my side at all times to prove his competence.”

“Are you hiding in your closet? ”

“Yes, well, it is not like your closet, which can barely hold a ball gown let alone a—”

“I think you have things backwards, Peach. He should be the reason you don’t have to hide from anyone.”

She lets out a heavy sigh. “I know this, vennen min . Unfortunately, Anders does not.”

I snicker. “You’ll find the right fit eventually.”

She mutters something that sounds like a prayer. “I certainly hope you are right. Now, if we can get back to your Hank. Cole tells me he is very attentive. I love this for you.”

Sighing, I sit on the edge of the counter and rest my back against Hank’s lone cabinet. “He’s the best man I’ve ever known.”

“And you are scared because…?”

“I never said I was scared.”

I wish I could see more than just a dim outline of Freya, but I’m pretty sure she rolls her eyes. “You did not have to. I know you, Bonnie. And I can see that you are wanting to give this a try, which is so good. I have wanted nothing but happiness for you, and it warms my heart to see you letting yourself feel. You have not told him?”

I shake my head. “How is someone supposed to tell another person something like that?”

“It is only three words.”

“But those three words are huge. Besides, he just found out that his wife’s killer was found after four years. This isn’t exactly a great time to tell him that I’m in love with him.”

“You love me?” a deep voice replies.

I squeak in alarm and fumble with my phone, my thumb accidentally hitting the power button and ending the call. “Hank!”

He’s standing at the edge of the hallway leading to the bedrooms, bleary-eyed and tousle-haired in plaid pajamas to match mine. But there’s a look of hope in his eyes that sets a fire in my belly.

I nod. “I do.”

He exhales, swallows, and then he crosses the room in four quick strides, gathering me up in a hug that surpasses all other hugs. I don’t know how he always manages to convey so much in such a simple hold, but I never want him to let go. Since I’m still on the counter, I wrap my legs around him to keep him close and dig my fingers into his hair.

“I love you too,” he says. “I wanted to tell you last night, but…”

He did tell me. Maybe not in words, but he kept his arms around me all night, holding me close as we lay together in the darkness. We did nothing but listen to each other breathe until we fell asleep, but every second I spend with this man is a second where I feel more loved than I’ve ever felt in my life.

“I love you, Bonnie,” he whispers again, and they’re the best words I’ve ever heard.

We spend the next hour making breakfast together—well, Hank makes breakfast because I’ve lost my cooking skills over the last several years—and doing everything we can to talk about anything that isn’t Shelby or Hot Scoop or the fact that I should be on set right now but am here with him while Eli pretends I’m sick in my trailer. We speculate about Cole, who refused to talk about Sage while we were in LA and spent a long time gazing out the window at the ocean as if trying to figure out what he’s supposed to do next. We talk about Freya and her bodyguard predicament, and Hank jokes that the next one will be an attractive man with perfect teeth and a flirty personality because that’s what happens in all the princess books he claims he doesn’t read.

It all feels nice. Comfortable. While this house is still far too small, it is quickly starting to feel like home, and I don’t know what to do about that. The only thing I do know is I love Hank and desperately want to be wherever he is.

The knock on the door comes right as we’re drying the last of the dishes, and the tension seeps right back into Hank’s shoulders. He seems too afraid to go open the door, but I don’t think I can do this for him. If it were me, I would want closure, but I also have no idea how it feels to lose someone the way Hank did. I can only hope I’m of some use to him.

After a deep breath, he steps to the door and pulls it open. “Chad.”

“Hank. This is Detective Perez.”

Hank steps aside to let the two men into the house, looking pale. But the detective seems like a nice man, and hopefully he’ll deliver the news kindly. Hank clears his throat, looking around the space. “I don’t have any chairs except these,” he mutters, gesturing to his desk chair, which doubles as a dining chair, and an armchair that tried to swallow me and my omelet. Apparently the chair was Shelby’s, and she loved its lumpiness, though I have no idea how.

Chad smiles grimly, meeting my eyes for a second. “It’s okay,” he tells Hank. “The two of you can sit. We’ll stand.”

“This shouldn’t take long,” Detective Perez agrees.

I wait until Hank looks at me, and then I move to his side and take his hand. He settles in the armchair and pulls me with him so I’m on his lap and his arms are tucked around me. If this is where he wants me, this is where I’ll stay.

“You found the person who…?” He can’t even finish the question because his voice breaks.

Perez nods. “As I’m sure you’re aware, there has been a lot of talk about your wife’s case the last couple of days, and we had a sudden influx of calls from people who thought they had pertinent information. Most of it was nonsense and hearsay, but then I got a call from Briggs.”

Chad steps forward. He looks a lot like Houston, but there’s a hardness about him that always made me curious about where it came from. Houston told me he was a private investigator, which explains why he’s here. It probably also explains his tough exterior. “One of my old clients called me up Monday night,” he says. “She bought a painting from the Denver Fine Art Collective not long after Shelby’s death, and when the Hot Scoop article dropped, she got…” He looks at Perez and scratches his chin, a question in his eyes.

Perez chuckles. “Paranoid?”

“That’s probably the best way to put it. Apparently she’s a fan of yours, and she called in an art expert to verify her acquisition. He determined it was a forgery.”

“Shelby’s gallery sold her a fake?” I ask in surprise.

Hank’s arms tighten around me. “And we’re sure this ‘expert’ is really an expert?” he asks.

Chad and Perez share a glance. “I don’t think you can get better than the King of Art,” Chad says with a shrug. “Adam Munroe is one of the top dealers in the country, and I’ve used him a few times to help with cases.”

“He’s known for catching forgeries,” Perez adds. “Especially over the last few years. In fact, the Art Collective flew him in from San Francisco yesterday morning, and he found six other fakes in their collection.”

I feel something shift in Hank, though he doesn’t move. I can almost hear his mind working behind me. “What does this have to do with my wife?” But his question almost isn’t a question.

Chad must see something in his eyes because he smiles. “You’re smart,” he says with a shrug. “I think you’ve already figured it out.”

“My wife is a huge fan of your books, by the way,” Perez throws in, though I’m not sure now is the right time. “She thinks you’re brilliant.”

Twisting in my seat so I can see Hank’s face, I’m shocked to find him almost scowling. “What am I missing?” I ask.

Hank shifts me off his lap so he can stand and start pacing. “They talked to her,” he says to the floor. “They talked to all of them, and no one…”

Chad folds his arms. “No one knew any of the pieces were switched out. The owner said everything was accounted for, and in a gallery that size, there was no reason to look closely at any of the artwork when nothing was missing. So it was never a point of interest.”

Hank stops. There’s a fire in his eyes now, like a long-dead ember has been reawakened. “Kelli authenticated the fake painting before the sale, didn’t she?”

Chad and Perez both nod.

“So there could be any number of forgeries out there because she’s their top expert and confirms everything that comes through the door.”

Another nod.

Hank growls as something else clicks into place, though I still have no idea what’s going on or who they’re talking about. “Shelby’s death was an accident, wasn’t it?”

Though Chad nods, Perez clears his throat. “Well,” the detective says, glancing between the two men. “It’s not easy to accidentally stab someone, especially after tying them up and dragging them several blocks away.”

“ But she wasn’t supposed to die ,” Hank replies, and his anger makes way for a heart wrenching cry. “If she had showed up twenty minutes later…”

Chad grimaces. “She probably would still be alive,” he says softly.

“Wait!” I jump to my feet as I finally catch up, though I’ll never admit I started mentally running through the plot of Hank’s book because everything was starting to sound familiar. The murdered curator, the forgeries made by her coworker, the real paintings being switched out for the fakes… “Hank, are you telling me you actually solved Shelby’s murder without realizing it?”

Hank runs a hand through his hair, his eyes on Chad and the detective. “It was Kelli?” he asks weakly, talking about the other curator at Shelby’s gallery. “Truly?”

Perez confirms it with a nod. “We brought her in yesterday afternoon, and she confessed to the forgeries. ”

“She enlisted an ex-boyfriend to help swap the fakes for the real deal,” Chad says, “and Kelli said Shelby arrived for her shift early and saw something she wasn’t supposed to see. The boyfriend panicked and grabbed her. Kelli moved Shelby’s car across town to shift suspicion.”

“She wanted us to tell you that she never wanted Shelby to get hurt,” Perez says with a shrug. “She’s still an accessory to murder, but take that as you will.”

Hank returns to the chair, sinking back into it with an exhausted sigh. Hanging his head like he is, he looks almost as broken as the chair he’s in, and I don’t know how to help him. So I turn to Chad.

“Did you read Hank’s first book?”

He nods, his eyes still on Hank. “You had it all figured out, Hank. You just didn’t know it.”

Perez shifts his weight, like he’s suddenly uncomfortable. “Maybe we should have paid closer attention to your version of it all, Mr. McAllister.”

Hank looks up and nearly smiles. “I don’t think the desperate imagination of a grieving man counts as evidence, Detective.”

“Kelli told us how to find Mike Johnson, her ex. He was brought in less than an hour later, and he confessed to his part in the whole thing.”

Chad lowers his voice as he adds to the detective’s statement. “They’re both going to be locked up for a long time, Hank. Shelby will finally get justice.”

Hank lets out his breath, and for a moment he looks completely lost. Like he doesn’t know what to do now that it’s over. But then he looks up, tears shining in his eyes. “Thank you,” he says to Detective Perez. He struggles out of the chair as he turns his gaze to Chad. “Both of you.” Unlike the detective, who gets a brief handshake, Chad gets a hug.

With that, the two men head out into the appropriately drizzly morning and leave me alone with Hank once more .

I’m still dumbfounded that Hank’s fictional book ended up following so closely to the truth. It’s going to take some time to process that. “Hank, you solved Shelby’s murder. That’s incredible!”

He shakes his head. “That was coincidence.”

“Honestly, at this point I’m not sure I believe in coincidence.”

He meets my eyes, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows as he silently questions my meaning.

I gesture between us. “This? There’s no way this just happened . Call me crazy, but I feel like you and I were meant to meet, Hank McAllister.”

The little smile that curls up the corners of his lips is the first sign of happiness that I’ve seen since Chad called yesterday, and relief shoots through me. “You think this was fate?” he asks.

I shrug. “Stranger things have happened.”

“You mean like Kasey showing up on Liam’s doorstep?”

Snickering, I nod and start making my way to him. “Exactly. If they can find each other through a food delivery app, is it so crazy to think fate had a hand in bringing me to you? Think about it.” I grab his hand just in case he might start arguing before I really get going. “You wrote a book that just happened to be a bestseller.”

He wrinkles his nose. “I like to think talent had something to do with that.”

“Someone just happened to like it enough to turn it into a screenplay.”

“A calculated business move,” he argues, his smile growing.

“Beckett just happened to be chosen to direct it, and he picked, well, not me, but—”

“I intend to make sure Beckett knows he’s an idiot for not choosing you first, by the way,” Hank growls.

I’m liking this new growly side of him, and I pull him closer with a grin. “His first choice just happened to get pregnant and retire to focus on her family. And the studio just happened to choose your hometown for the filming. ”

Hank groans. “And you just happened to be a fan of mine and came looking for me right as I was running away?”

“Exactly!” I’m smiling so wide now that it almost hurts. “If I had been thirty seconds later, we would have missed each other.”

I expect him to smile, but he frowns instead, his eyes jumping to the coat rack in the corner. There’s a familiar umbrella sitting there, bright red with white polka dots. It’s just like the one Gabrielle has in the books. “The day that we met,” he says slowly, “I was going to leave the meeting with Beckett ten minutes earlier than I did.”

I feel like I should hold my breath. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because something in me said I needed to stay a little longer. Almost like a voice in my head telling me to wait a few more minutes.”

I gasp, my heart picking up speed. “Why did you listen?”

He sighs. “It felt like Shelby, and I was desperate to hold on to that feeling. That’s really why I was running from Beckett’s tent. When the feeling went away, it felt like I was losing her again. So I ran.” His teary eyes trace my face as he finally smiles again. “I ran into you.”

As I wrap myself in Hank’s hold, I think about my own life and what led me here. I think about my parents doing their best but inadvertently making me feel like I had no worth. No reason to be given love. I think about Derek being the first person to really see how desperate I was to be known and valued and the chance he gave me. The family he gave me. I wouldn’t trade my friends for the world, but what if things had been different?

“There is so much I would have missed out on,” I say out loud, even though Hank hasn’t been a part of my thoughts and probably has no idea what I’m talking about. “Maybe I was meant to be born to working parents who didn’t have the capacity to love me the way I wanted them to. I might never have found you otherwise.”

Hank’s arms pull tighter around me. “Bonnie, everyone deserves to feel loved. Especially you. ”

“That’s the thing. I do feel loved. And even if I didn’t, I…” I take a long, deep breath as a feeling of peace settles over me. “I never loved myself. That should have been a good place to start. It took me a while, but I’ve finally figured that part out. No matter who else may or may not love me, I love me.”

“That’s a big thing, Bonnie. And for the record…” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “I love you too. I always will.”

I grab his collar and tug his mouth down to mine, letting all the emotions of the morning melt away as we kiss. I have a few weeks left of filming, but after that I won’t have an excuse to stay in Laketown. I have no idea what our future is going to look like, but I know one thing with everything in me:

I am absolutely in love with this man, and I don’t intend to ever let him go. Especially not today. Today is for us and us alone.