Page 23 of The Lost Husband

I pull away just enough to study his face, the expression under candlelight, the shadows of heaviness beneath his eyes—an unspoken fear he thinks he can hide from me forever. “I’m sure they do, and I’m sure they’re safe. And they know I’ll always take care of you.”

He releases his hands from me and steps to the side to tug the curtain away from the window for a quick peek. He sighs and releases the drape.

“Are the Nazis out there right now?”

“A couple of them are entertaining each other in front of our building. Must be long lost friends the way they’re laughing.” Noah sighs with more exhaustion than I’ve heard from him in a while.

“When this is over… I want to toss those hideous curtains away and never block out the sunlight again.”

“I’ll give you the sun if I can,” he says.

“A son, or the sun?” I tease, but I’m curious too.

He pulls me back. “Both.” The word whispers against my ear, sending a chill down my spine. “A son, and a daughter—one who is as beautiful as you.”

“What do you think we’ll name them?” I ask quietly.

“I’m willing to bet you have the answer to your own question, don’t you?” He chuckles.

A smile presses into my cheeks. “Perhaps.”

“I even bet there is deep meaning behind them,” he adds, coyly.

“You know me so well, don’t you?”

“Well, come on with it. What are the names of our future children?”

My cheeks grow warm and I pinch my bottom lip between my teeth. “Eve, and?—”

“Should I guess at the boy’s name?” Noah tickles my side.

“No, it’s not Adam.” I say it before he does. “Actually, I only have a girl’s name.”

“Mother’s intuition?”

“Doubtful. We might need to come up with a boy’s name unless you like the name, Ark?”

“You promised,” he says with laughter.

I gently tap my finger against his nose. “No, I promised I would never call the arch of freckles on your nose Noah’s ark again,” I counter.

“So, instead you’ll name our firstborn son Ark?”

Noah slides his hands up my neck and onto my cheeks, closing the space between us. His lips move against mine as his stubble gently scratches my cheek.

A crash of broken glass echoes between buildings outside and a slew of German shouts follow.

Noah’s lips still on mine, our shared breath captured deep within.

Then the door to our building thrashes open, slamming into a wall. Two pairs of boots thud against the stairwell, and the old wood of the railing rattles against the wall.

One flight of stairs.

Noah spins us around, leaving me in the corner of our living room as he heads for the front door…but stops before turning the corner, balls his hands into fists and lunges for the door, securing the second deadbolt he installed a month ago.

My throat tightens. I can’t call out to him or ask him what he thinks. I take hesitant steps in his direction, not wanting to be this far from him.

Two flights of stairs.