awe. He had never appeared more beautiful than right now. “I’m falling in love with you, Adam,” I admitted, my voice soft.

My words were simple and honest. I was no longer asking for anything in return. But Adam still delivered. He flattened my palm against the light stubble on his cheek and simply said, “You may be falling, but I already fell. I love you, Madeleine Fitch.”

My own eyes filled with tears upon hearing those words from his mouth. I felt foolish for ever having questioned his intentions toward me. “I’m sorry,” I said softly, a single tear trailing down my cheek.

Kissing the stray tear away, Adam said, “I haven’t made this easy, I know. I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

“It’s just been, I don’t know, confusing,” I admitted.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I really am.”

Adam pulled me to him, his lips finding mine. He kissed me, sweetly and tenderly, until I felt him smiling against my mouth. “What?” I asked, pulling back slightly and smiling too.

Adam chuckled. “I was just thinking, since I’m new to this relationship thing, I’m probably going to fuck up…a lot.”

“New to this relationship thing?” I echoed, confused. “But you were with Chelsea for a long time.”

Adam shook his head. “That was a lifetime ago. And, sure, I thought I loved her at one time, but it was never like this.”

My heart soared, making me giddy with joy. “Well”–I nodded to my mud-splattered T-shirt on the floor, the dirty sweats sticking to my legs, both reminders of the meltdown that had led me to his house—“you can’t do much worse than I’ve already done.”

Adam laughed, brushing my hair back behind my shoulders. “Speaking of which, you probably should get cleaned up, and you have to be starving.” He hesitated, and then gestured in the direction of the kitchen. “I can make something while you shower. Sound good?”

“Sounds great,” I responded as Adam helped me to my feet.

Fifteen minutes later, after a hot shower, I padded back down the stairs, clothed in a fresh pair of gray sweats, a white long-sleeved tee, and a black hoodie. A pair of thick, wooly socks completed my comfortable outfit. The one thing I’d decided while in the shower was to ask Adam about the blonde mystery woman. We’d been so honest with one another that I was certain if he knew anything he’d tell me.

“Smells good,” I said, entering the kitchen just as Adam was ladling steaming tomato soup into bowls he’d set out on the table, next to where he’d already plated grilled cheese sandwiches.

“Your gourmet experience awaits, milady,” he teased, gesturing dramatically to the table.

Laughing, I sat down. I took a bite of the sandwich, a sip of the soup. “Delicious,” I gushed as Adam sat down across from me. “But I expect nothing less.”

My tone was light, but Adam must have sensed there was something more on my mind because he said, “What’s up, Maddy?”

I set my spoon down. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Anything.”

Tensing, I cautioned, “It’s about the case.”

Adam sighed deeply but said quietly, “I’ll answer whatever question you have. If I can, that is.”

This wasn’t an easy question to ask, but I forged ahead. “Um, did you ever hear anything about Chelsea possibly, uh, messing around with a woman? A blonde?”

Far from the reaction I expected, he laughed out loud, clearly finding my question amusing. “A woman?” he said, disbelief in his tone. “Chelsea may have been promiscuous, but she was definitely not into women, Maddy.”

Adam sounded so sure. Was it due to a male ego that couldn’t comprehend such a thing? Or had Chelsea kept that particular indiscretion well hidden? The one drunken incident at Billy’s supposedly captured on film the only lapse.

But there was also another possibility, one I had to consider. Jimmy could be jerking me around. Especially since there had been cash involved when he came up with his tale. Making that possibility more likely, I had yet to come across one scrap of evidence corroborating his claim that Chelsea had been messing around with some blonde female.

I was about to drop it completely when Adam took a sip of soup and then casually asked, “What did you uncover that made you think something like that?”

I almost lied. Almost. But things were different now. It was like we had turned a corner in our relationship, and I didn’t want to be the one to set it back. So I was truthful. “I heard a rumor about a picture.”

“A picture? Of what exactly?” Adam had been eating up to this point, but now he set his spoon down next to his bowl of soup.

“A picture of Chelsea supposedly kissing some blonde girl.”

Adam eyed me intently, interest piqued. “Have you seen this picture?”

“No,” I said. “I told you it’s just a rumor. It probably doesn’t even exist.”

He held my gaze. I knew Adam was contemplating something, probably how much deeper to dig. Sure enough, he asked, “And just where did you hear about this alleged photograph, Madeleine?”

Well, now what? I didn’t want to start weaving another web of lies, so I admitted, “The bartender at Billy’s told me about the picture. He said Chelsea was there one night with this blonde friend of hers and agreed to make out with said friend so the bartender—a different one at that time—could take pictures.”

Adam rolled his eyes and picked up his sandwich, though he didn’t take a bite. “Did this bartender offer Chelsea something? Like make a bet with her?”

“Sort of. Jimmy said that the bartender told Chelsea he’d let her bar tab slide for the rest of that week if she’d do it.”

“Well, that’s why she did it then,” Adam said, biting into his sandwich nonchalantly.

I had given up on my own meal. Pushing the plate aside, I said, “But it’s not like she was on a budget or something. She certainly didn’t need the money.”

Adam swallowed and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “It was never about money with

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