I slide a finger over the first glossy shot and pick them up one by one, examining the images. There's me walking into our large house after a morning run. Another getting out of my car at the grocery store. At the salon getting my hair done. Waitressing at the restaurant during the holiday season when staff were forced to wear ugly green shirts with poinsettias embroidered into them. Mario's mom picked them out. No one ever said no to Mama Fanelli. Does she know who her husband was? Who her son is?
"Why am I in here?" I ask while I collect the pictures with me in them. Has he been following me? How? We met this month and I'm the one who moved to Pelican Bay. How could Ridge have pictures from December? Why would he?
My brain flounders to create an explanation. It's working overtime, but
