Reckless Night

trust no one!—vied briefly and violently with the other imperative—trust Grace!—and trusting Grace won, as it always did. But it took a second to overcome long-ingrained instincts.
He was certain that Grace was standing there, patiently waiting while he violently and silently fought with himself, a scenario she’d seen dozens of times over.
To anyone who hadn’t lived

paper in brilliant swirls of turquoise and emerald green. A work of art in itself, something his brilliant wife probably shot off casually on some morning in which she had a little spare time.
But the gift, ah. The gift was not something shot off casually. It was the work of many painstaking hours of labor that his wife had put in because . . . she loved him.
It still astonished him.
He looked down at the small squar