Damon came down the hallway, his footsteps heavy on the floorboards, and stopped by the bedroom door frame. He adjusted his shirt collar, his eyes moving from my face down to my hands.
“Are we wearing the family heirlooms now?” he asked.
“I was just looking at them,” I said, my voice trailing off as I went to put them back in the box.
“Good,” he said, turning back toward the stairs. “We wouldn’t want you looking like you’re trying too hard at your age.”
“They were my mother’s,” I said.
“I know whose they were,” he said, his voice carrying back from the stairwell. “I’m just saying, let’s keep things simple.”
He laughed, the quick, dry sound he always made when he was teasing, but I kept my hand on the velvet lid until I heard him reach the kitchen. I decided right then that I would leave them in the drawer.
