Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
I lifted the shirt to my nose and inhaled. It was faint, but I could smell something familiar—a scent that wrapped around my heart and made my eyes sting. I inhaled again. It smelled like home.
It didn’t smell like Bradley. His cologne was strong and musky. I never told him, but at times, it made my nose tingle and I had to repress a sneeze or two when he was too close.
I frowned, feeling a strong headache coming on.
Maybe Bradley had changed cologne. I was missing months of my memory. Perhaps at some point he had changed the brand he wore.
I pulled out another worn shirt, one I recognized as my favorite shirt to sleep in. It had been my dad’s, and I’d kept it all these years. I lifted it up, startled when a small box fell out of the rolled material.
I picked up the wooden box, turning it over in my hands. It well-made, and as I rotated it, I heard small thumps as the contents moved inside. Reaching behind me, I turned on another light and studied the box. A beautiful bird was carved on the lid, sitting on the branch of a tree, the image familiar. My heart started pounding as I realized it was the same image as Adam wore on his chest. The one he said was for me. I looked down at the box again, my hands shaking as I stared. The wood gleamed in the light, the hinges glinting on the back. I lifted the lid and pulled out a necklace. On the end of a set of heavy silver links hung another bird, its wings spread out, a small jewel embedded on its breast. My hand shook as I held it up to the light, the feeling it evoked in me overwhelming. A sapphire glittered in the light—vibrant blue—and again, I heard the ghost of a whisper.
“Your eyes fascinate me, Ally. So blue and deep. I love how they look at me.”
I looked inside the box, seeing another smaller case was tucked in the corner, the dull gold and lacquer gleaming. I ran my finger over the painting on the lid. It was the same bird as the larger wooden box. Opening the lid, I found another necklace. This one was a flat disk, the bird motif etched out of the silver. I laid the necklaces out on the floor. They were beautiful and unique and, like the boxes, the craftsmanship undeniable.
Why did I have them rolled up in my dad’s old T-shirt?
There was one last item in the box, and I lifted it out, opening the small velvet pouch and spilling it into my palm—another necklace, this time gold. A small bird set in a tree branch, tiny gemstones surrounding it. It glinted and shone in the light, the artistry exquisite.
The bird was a common theme on all the pieces. A nightingale.
I stroked over the gold, wondering when I had collected all these pieces. They looked foreign. They were exotic, as if they had come from somewhere other than Canada. I had never been off this continent.
I looked at the pieces again. My gaze drifted to the small painted tile I kept on my bedside table. It had been tossed into one of my boxes and the frame was damaged, but I still loved it. I had no idea where it came from either, but I looked at it every day, even bringing it with me, and I would trace the small frame and look at the pretty image of the bird, wondering why it meant so much to me.
Never thinking of the type of bird it was—or why I had it.
Until now.
Nightingale.
An old-fashioned term often used for a nurse. And Adam had said he called me that as well as Ally.
I gasped out loud, the necklace slipping from my fingers as the earth stopped spinning on its axis.
Time stopped.
Images came, hard and fast.
A patient with warm, golden-brown eyes. Eyes that saw me.
A tender, melodic voice that wrapped around a new name…a name given only to me.
His Nightingale. His Ally.
Packages arriving from faraway places.
Sweet words of love on small notes.
Wait for me, my Nightingale.
Wear this and think of me, Ally. I think of you every day.
Days of laughter, nights of passion, filled my head. Memories of his laugh, his smile, his love, ran through my mind, playing over and again, once more becoming real and solid.
The feel of his mouth against mine as we kissed—gentle and loving, hard and demanding. His warm touch and strong arms that protected and soothed, loved, and caressed. His whispered promises echoed, drenching my parched soul with the truth behind the sweet words.
“You’re mine, Nightingale. Nothing will ever change that fact. We belong together.”
I shut my eyes as a sob burst out of my chest and the missing months of my life returned. One incredible and affecting image at a time.