Intertwine Read Free Page B

shifted in the seat next to her, leaning in slightly. “Can I tell you how much I love your eyes? I’ve never seen a color quite like them.” He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it even more, as if deliberately taunting her.
    “Most people just call them hazel.”
    “I guess, but I love how they’re almost gold in the middle and then green around the outside. They’re lovely.” His gaze indicated that her eyes weren’t the only thing he found lovely.
    “Thank you,” was all she managed in response. He really did seem nice, but she knew she would let him walk away, like she always did.
    He tried a different tack. “Your locket is beautiful, by the way. It looks old. A family heirloom?” He gestured to where the oval locket rested on its long chain.
    “Not exactly.” Unconsciously, she grasped the locket in her hand, the filigreed metal cool to her touch. “It’s just a vintage piece I picked up at an estate sale. I consider it my good luck charm when traveling.” Emme gave him her most convincing you-seem-nice-but-this-isn’t-going-to-happen smile.
    Her cell phone rang, startling them both.
    “Hey, you made it. Though of course, I knew you would.” Jasmine’s voice sounded chipper. Jasmine was always chipper.
    “Yeah, just landed. No incidents, thank goodness. Finn worked his magic.”
    “Of course he did. Love his positive energy.”
    Emme gave her a moment to remember.
    “Finn, did you say? He’s Finn today? So are you off to Marfield yet?”
    “As soon as I get my rental car. I’m excited to see Spunto’s other paintings.”
    Over the past several years, Emme’s extensive research had determined the miniature portrait in the locket to be the work of Giovanni Spunto, an itinerant painter working near the town of Marfield in Herefordshire between 1811 and 1813.
    “Explain to me again why you think this Viscount Linwood is F?” Jasmine asked. “This Linwood guy feels important to me, but I’m not sure he’s your F.”
    How many times had Jasmine said this?
    “Not helping,” Emme sighed. “Support, Jaz. I need support right now. Don’t undermine this. I’ve told you, Spunto painted a similar miniature portrait of Linwood’s sister, Marianne, in the summer of 1812, remember?”
    “Oh, that’s right, and Linwood has an F in his name.”
    “Had, Jaz, he had an F in his name.” When would Jasmine stop referring to dead people as if they were still living? Emme shook her head. “Timothy Frederick Charles Linwood. He could have gone by his second name. It’s not outside the realm of possibility, and he would have been the right age in 1812, about 30. I can’t wait to see the paintings of the viscount, as well as Spunto’s portrait of Marianne. I’m hoping that will solve the mystery of who our F was.”
    “Well, as I’ve said, I do feel that Linwood is significant but I’m still not sure he’s your destiny. With Finn, your circles are linked.”
    “Jaz, I love you, but again, this trip is all about purging Finn. Purging. As in, gutting him from my life and moving on.”
    “Yes, yes, you keep saying that. But just because you want something to be a certain way, doesn’t mean the universe will agree with you. How many ways do I have to say it? Your life is intertwined with his. Remember, your soul is eternal, stretching in both directions. Past and future. Have you learned nothing from me?”
    There really was no good answer to that. Time to change the topic. “How is Cat’n Kirk? Still loving his new scratching post?”
    Emme allowed Jasmine to rattle on as the plane stopped at the gate. She made non-committal gestures and waved goodbye as Mr. Yummy Hair collected his luggage and deplaned.
    Promising to call Jasmine when she reached the cottage she had rented for the summer, Emme made her way to immigration. The interview passed smoothly with only one question about her dual citizenship (American and British) and a few follow-ups about her intentions in the U.K. (six-month