Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

A nna had no idea where Grant came from.

One minute she was ordering Janelle to stop squealing like a four-year-old every time Bryce the photographer fired the paintball gun.

The next thing she knew, Bryce was flat on his back with Grant’s massive forearm across his windpipe.

Anna gulped and splashed out of the water, her bare feet slipping on the soggy red earth.

“Grant!” she yelled, before it occurred to her she should probably be yelling Bryce’s name. He was the one flailing with Grant’s knee to his groin.

Grant looked up just as Anna reached his side. Janelle was three steps behind, panting for breath.

“Stop, Grant!” Anna gasped. “What are you doing?”

“Urg,” said Bryce.

Grant released the pressure on Bryce’s throat, but kept him pinned to the ground. He turned and stared at Anna’s chest. “You’re bleeding.”

Alarmed, she looked down at herself. With a flutter of relief, she swiped a hand over her breastbone and held it out for him to see. “It’s paint. Red paint, I swear. Nontoxic, water-based paint so it doesn’t hurt the fish.”

Grant blinked, but didn’t move. “But you screamed. And the gun?—”

“A paintball gun,” Janelle said, toeing it with her bare foot. It had come to rest about three feet out of Bryce’s reach, which Anna thought was probably a good thing.

“It was Janelle screaming,” Anna said. “She doesn’t like guns, even paintball guns.”

Janelle folded her arms over her chest. “Not when they’re aimed at my sister.”

“It’s practice for a wedding,” Anna said. “A paintball wedding later this week. Bryce is the photographer, and he wanted to make sure?—”

“A paintball wedding,” Grant repeated.

“Yes,” Anna said. She watched him process the information and couldn’t help noticing his eyes again. The hue was like no eye color she’d seen before. The gray was warm, almost taupe, which sounded ridiculous when she thought of it that way, but it looked great on him.

Grant looked down at Bryce, who still hadn’t spoken. “And you’re the photographer?”

The man tried to draw himself up into a sitting position, which was impossible with Grant’s elbow wedged into his chest. Grant shifted his weight, making it easier for Bryce to breathe, but not much else.

“I’m not the photographer anymore!” Bryce huffed. “They flew me out here to photograph all these ridiculous weddings, and it’s been one atrocity after another. First the bride and groom want me to shoot from the water where there are sharks ?—”

“It’s a river,” Anna pointed out. “There are no sharks.”

“—And then another pair of lunatics expects me to go traipsing through the jungle with poisonous snakes?—”

“It’s Hawaii,” Anna said. “There are no snakes.”

“—And now I’ve been assaulted ,” Bryce spat, glaring up at Grant. “I’ve had it with this place. I’m catching the first flight back to the mainland. You can find another damn photographer.”

He squirmed and struggled and flailed until Grant pressed a palm to his chest and held him still. Grant looked up at Anna. “You want me to let him go?”

Anna shrugged. “I can’t exactly hold him hostage and force him to take pictures.”

Grant looked back at him. “I could probably arrange for the hostage thing.”

She shook her head, though she didn’t doubt he was capable of it. “It’s fine, let him go.”

“You’re free, Bryce,” Grant said, releasing the indignant photographer from his grip. Grant stood and offered a hand up. “I’m very sorry about the misunderstanding.”

Bryce stared at the proffered hand like Grant had just blown his nose in it. He sputtered with disgust and struggled to his feet without assistance. Anna reached out and began dusting red dirt off his sleeves, but Bryce slapped her hand away.

She winced and drew back. Grant took a step toward Bryce, his eyes glittering with fury. Anna put her hand on Grant’s arm and shook her head. “It’s okay.”

“It is not okay,” Bryce snapped. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer about this.”

He turned and stomped away.

They all watched him go, politely restraining their laughter when Bryce tripped on a vine and shrieked, “Snake!” before kicking it into the grass.

For a brief moment, Anna considered going after him. Three of her four wedding couples had requested Bryce out of all the photographers Anna worked with. She’d paid to fly him out here, and the couples had paid hefty deposits.

Before Anna could take a step forward, Bryce turned, flipped them off, and flung open the door to his rental car.

Anna sighed. “Have a safe trip,” she called.

“Bite me!” Bryce yelled and revved the engine.

The second his car was out of sight, Grant shook his head. He turned to Anna, looking like a dog that just chewed up the newspaper. “I’m really very sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to ruin anyone’s wedding.”

“You didn’t ruin any weddings,” Anna assured him, though that remained to be seen. Now what was she going to do? But Grant looked guilty, so she added, “I can see why you might have assumed we needed help.”

“Though we’re unaccustomed to defining help as a chokehold,” Janelle added.

“I shouldn’t have been so rough,” Grant insisted.

“There’s a time and a place for roughness,” Anna assured him, flushing when she realized how that sounded. Grant looked like the sort of guy who knew all about a time and a place for roughness. “Your instincts were good, even if the situation didn’t call for that.”

Janelle grinned and gave Grant a nudge with her elbow. “So, tough guy—know any photographers we could get on short notice?”

Grant scratched his chin, considering. “Well, there’s Pete Nicholson over on the north shore but he usually books up months in advance. Probably the same with Katie Kurtail from Dream Images, or?—”

“She’s talking about you,” Anna interrupted. “That was Janelle’s idea of a subtle hint.”

“Me?”

“I told her about the engagement photos you took for Mac and Kelli.”

Janelle nodded, eyeing Grant up and down, and Anna resisted the urge to yank her sister’s ponytail. “She said you’ve got a great eye.”

“He does have great eyes.” Anna coughed. “I mean a great eye. For photography. But I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“Why not?” Janelle asked.

“Well, for starters, he’s not a wedding photographer.”

“But you said yourself he took the best engagement photos you’ve ever seen. Weren’t they even on a beach?”

“Yes, but besides that, we don’t even know he’s available or what his fees are like.”

Janelle rolled her eyes. “We could ask him instead of standing here talking about him like he doesn’t speak English.”

Grant shook his head. “Your sister’s right,” he told Janelle. “I’m not really a wedding photographer. That was just a one-time thing.”

“One-time things can sometimes turn into more,” Janelle argued.

“It was a photo shoot, Janelle, not a one-night stand in a romantic comedy,” Anna said. “Wedding photography is a very specialized art. We don’t even know if Grant has the skill do it.”

She didn’t mean for it to sound like a challenge, but the flash in Grant’s eyes told her he’d taken it as one. He folded his arms over his chest and leveled his gaze at her.

“I said I wasn’t a wedding photographer, not that I couldn’t do it,” he said. “I minored in photography in college, and I’ve kept my skills sharp shooting for friends and freelance gigs over the years. I’ve had several special assignments from the Department of Defense to photograph combat zones for military public affairs. I’m not exactly a photographic novice here.”

“With all due respect,” Anna said, “shooting pictures of hand grenades is a little different from shooting pictures of brides.”

One edge of his mouth quirked. “Both sound volatile, deadly, and likely to explode at a moment’s notice.”

“I can’t argue with that.” Anna bit her lip, considering her options. Finding a photographer on short notice on a small island would be next to impossible. She could try to talk Bryce into coming back, but she knew from experience that wasn’t likely. Besides being temperamental and moody, he was stubborn as hell. She sighed and considered the hulking Marine in front of her.

“Would you even want the assignment? You’d be paid, of course, but still.”

“I don’t need the money.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “What would you do it for then?”

“Because I’m a nice guy.” He almost sounded glum about that.

“Do you have a portfolio?” she asked. “Something I could look at, maybe show to all the other couples so they can decide if they want to use you?”

“Nothing formal, but I could walk you through a few of the photo collections on my computer. How about tonight at my place?”

Anna felt her mouth go dry and she licked her lips. “Your place?”

“Sure. I’ll even make dinner. Come over early, maybe five?”

“I—well, I?—”

“She’d love to,” Janelle said, giving Anna a small shove. “Here, write your address down on this.”

Before Anna could protest, her sister was handing him a small notepad and pen. Anna just stood there like an idiot, trying to think of something to say that didn’t involve blurting out a desire to see him shirtless again. Grant took the notebook and flipped to a blank page. His writing was neat and clear, each number in perfect form even though the page didn’t have lines.

“Here you go,” he said, handing her the notepad. “See you at five.”

“Five it is.” Anna reached out to shake his hand, expecting a dry, professional grasp in return.

There wasn’t anything unprofessional in the way Grant took her hand, but something in his touch sent a jolt of electricity buzzing through Anna’s fingertips and all the way up her arm. His palm was huge and warm, and the strength in his fingers prompted several parts of her body to stand up and request site visits.

Part of her wanted to draw her hand back.

Most of her wanted to grab his other hand and put it on her butt.

Anna met his eyes and saw his expression was warm, but serious. His fingers gripped hers with a fierceness that surprised her.

“Just so you know,” he said, “I don’t generally condone violence.”

“Aren’t you a Marine?”

“I specialize in counterintelligence and human intelligence.”

“What does that mean?”

“I catch spies, or I get other people to catch spies. I don’t kill them. Much.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Anyway, I really am sorry about Bryce.”

Anna nodded and bit the inside of her lip. “Thank you. I’m not sure I’m that sorry.”

“Me neither. I was being polite.”

“We try not to make that a habit around here,” Janelle said.

Grant smiled and drew Anna’s hand to his lips. She shivered as he planted a chaste kiss across her knuckles.

“See you tonight, Anna.”

She watched him go, her heart lodged thickly in her throat. Her hand was still tingling long after he walked out of sight.

“So let me get this straight,” Mac said as he handed Grant a bottle of wine. “You’re making dinner for a woman you don’t know to land a photography job you don’t want for a paycheck you refuse to accept.”

Grant set the wine on the counter and got to work hunting for the meat mallet, ignoring his brother’s look of dismay. “I didn’t say I didn’t want the job. Just that wedding photography isn’t really my thing.”

“And neither is wine. You want a corkscrew for that, not a hammer.”

“What would I do without you, big brother?” Grant began unwrapping the butcher paper from two steaks he’d grabbed earlier at the grocery store. He laid them on the cutting board, arranging them carefully with their edges touching. He sprinkled each one with a healthy dusting of salt and pepper, doing his best to ignore Mac’s gaze following his every move. He wiped his hands on a paper towel, then picked up the mallet. “The photo shoot sounds interesting, and the girls need help,” he said. “I’m doing it as a favor.”

He could feel his brother studying him, but he refused to make eye contact. Instead, he focused on pounding the holy hell out of the steak. Mac was silent, watching. Grant drew his arm back and smacked the meat harder, the one-pound mallet solid in his hand.

“Are you tenderizing that meat or punishing it?”

Grant gave it one more whack and set the mallet down. He moved to the sink to wash his hands. “Don’t you ever feel like doing something for a stranger just to be nice?”

“No.”

“Well I do.”

“Clearly. I imagine it doesn’t hurt that Anna is quite attractive.”

Grant gave a grunt of acknowledgment, but refused to offer more. Instead, he yanked a knife out of the block and grabbed one of the russet potatoes he’d washed earlier. He pulled out a clean cutting board and set the potatoes in the middle. Drawing the knife back, he eyed his target. He stabbed a small, clean hole right in the center of the first potato. He studied it, then drew the knife back again. Only a hole or two was really necessary to keep it from exploding when he baked it, but a few more wouldn’t hurt.

Grant stabbed the potato a few more times, then reached for the second one.

“For a chronically nice guy, you have serious aggression issues in the kitchen,” Mac said, shaking his head in Grant’s peripheral vision. “So this photo gig—are you doing this to get laid, or because you can’t resist the urge to do favors for people?”

The knife slipped in mid-stab, and Grant nearly took his thumb off. Good thing for quick reflexes. He set the knife down and reached into the drawer beside him for the foil.

“I’m just trying to help out,” he said, maneuvering past his brother. “I’m the one who screwed things up, so I’m trying to make it right.”

“Are we still talking about tackling the wedding photographer?”

Grant felt his gut twist, but he ignored it and grabbed the first potato. “What the hell else would we be talking about?”

Grant didn’t answer, and Mac said nothing else. When he finally stole a look at his brother, Mac was watching him with his usual unreadable expression.

How much does he know?

Grant cleared his throat. “I need to grab the foil out of that cupboard.”

Mac stepped aside, folding his arms over his chest as he leaned against the fridge. “Don’t forget you’re going to need to come up with a best man toast for Sheri’s wedding.”

Grant groaned inwardly. “Yeah, about the best man thing. I’m really not sure I’m best man material.”

Mac gave a snort of disgust. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m sure there’s someone else more qualified?—”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. You’re the best man to be the best man.”

“I don’t think?—”

“You’re doing it. You’ll be the goddamn best man if I have to tie you up and drag you there myself.”

“That’ll look good in pictures.”

Grant knew it was futile to keep arguing, so he didn’t bother. He finished wrapping up the potatoes and walked outside to shove them in the coals on his grill. He poked them around a little, making sure they were situated just right.

When he came back in, Mac was still leaning against the fridge. “Thank you for grabbing the wine,” Grant said. “I didn’t have the first clue what went with steak. What do I owe you?”

“The promise that you’ll quit being a jackass about the best man gig. And stop maiming perfectly good groceries.”

Mac looked like such a hard-ass standing there with his arms crossed and his dark glasses shielding his eyes from the glare of the kitchen, and Grant started to laugh in spite of himself.

“Fine,” he said. “Now get out. Anna’s going to be here any minute.”

As if on cue, the doorbell chimed. Before Grant could run to answer it, Mac was striding to the front room. He got to the door first, yanking it open while Grant was still three paces behind.

“Anna,” Mac said, waving her inside like a perfect goddamn gentleman while Grant just stood there like an idiot staring at her. She wore a pale blue dress that brought out the subtle blue streak nearly hidden in the bright strands of coppery hair. She tucked a swath of it behind her ear and smiled at him, and Grant felt his heart smack hard against his ribs.

“Hello,” was all he could manage.

“Hi,” she murmured, looking from him to Mac and back again.

“Good to see you again, Anna,” Mac said. “It appears you’ve finally met the nice Patton brother.”

Anna laughed and stepped inside, holding out a bottle of wine that looked a lot different than what Mac had brought. Did white wine go with steak? Grant stepped forward to take the bottle, his hand brushing hers and sending a warm pulse of energy through his hand.

Anna smiled again, then turned back to Mac. “If Grant’s the nice brother, what does that make you?”

“I’ll leave it to my wife to answer that one,” Mac answered, “but I suspect she’d say I’m the scary brother.”

She cocked her head to the side and turned to study Grant, her eyes flashing over him so thoroughly he wondered if she could see right through his clothes. The thought made him a little dizzy, and also made him wonder what she was wearing under that flowery blue sundress. The straps were skinny, so she couldn't be wearing a bra, could she? Her feet were bare, but he could see flip-flops poking out of the top of her purse. The feather tattoo on her ankle looked delicate and lovely, and Grant felt himself sigh inwardly.

“The scary brother, huh?” she said, raising an eyebrow at Mac before meeting Grant’s eyes again. “From what little I know of Grant, I’d say he has plenty of scary of his own. He just hides it better.”

Mac stared at her a few beats, then nodded. “An astute observation.” He turned and looked at Grant. “Now if you’ll excuse me, my wife is expecting me.”

“Give her a kiss for me,” Anna said.

“Preferably one without too much tongue,” Grant added.

Mac nodded to Anna, then Grant, then strode out the door and into the bright sunlight. Grant watched him move toward the drivers’ side door of his black Town Car, his dark hair gleaming in the sun. Grant shook his head, then shut the door and turned back to Anna.

He smiled, feeling a funny flutter in his gut at the prospect of being alone with her. “Welcome,” he said, hefting the wine. “Thank you for bringing this. Can I get you a glass?”

“I prefer to drink straight from the bottle.”

“In that case, I can wrap it up in a paper bag for you to keep things classy.”

She grinned. “I’ll have a glass of wine in a few minutes.” She set her tote bag on the floor and stepped into the middle of the living room, turning in a full circle to take in all angles of the little cottage. He tried to imagine how she saw it, all rustic wood furniture and pale turquoise paint with white trim. He’d worked hard to make it homey, the perfect retreat.

Anna completed her circle and met his eyes again. “Wow, this place is adorable. You own it?”

He nodded. “I had three back-to-back tours in Iraq. Took my combat pay and bought this place a couple years ago when the recession made property a little more affordable in Kauai.”

“Don’t you worry about someone breaking in when you’re overseas?”

“Nah, my brother does private security. He set me up with a system that would stop a Viking invasion.”

The second the words left his mouth, he knew what was coming. He watched her face register surprise and knew the question she’d ask before those gorgeous lips formed the words. “Mac does private security?”

“Not Mac. Schwartz. Another brother. He’s…not around very much.”

Her eyes held his a few beats longer than comfortable, and Grant fought not to look away. Instead, he held eye contact and took a step closer, moving deliberately into her personal space. “You live in Portland, right?”

She blinked, then nodded. “That’s right. Moved there from San Francisco for college and never went back. My sister—you met Janelle—she stayed in the city.”

He gave her his best Boy Scout smile and nodded, putting his active listening skills to use. “You like it in Portland?”

“Very much. That’s where I met Mac’s wife, Kelli. We roomed together for a while.”

“But your sister likes it better in San Francisco?”

Anna nodded, not moving back, but clearly affected by his nearness. Was it the normal result of his subtle interrogation tactics, or something more?

“She’s a city girl at heart,” Anna said, her voice a little faint. Grant watched her throat move as she swallowed, and he wondered what it would feel like to plant a trail of kisses from under her chin all the way to her collarbone. “Even Portland’s too small for her.”

“The two of you are close?”

“Very.” She smiled, an expression that lit up her whole face and almost swayed Grant from what he was aiming for, which was to keep her talking so she wouldn’t feel the need to ask him too many questions. She smoothed her hand over the back of his overstuffed easy chair and shrugged. “I’m sure Janelle would tell you I’m a bit smothery and overbearing, but that’s what older siblings are for, right?”

Grant thought about Mac and nodded, but didn’t add anything. He waited for her to fill the silence, to keep talking so he wouldn’t have to.

She shrugged again and kept going, which gave Grant a chance to study the side of her face. She had beautiful cheekbones, and the coppery hue of her hair made her green eyes flash with color.

“Our parents divorced when I was eight and Janelle was six, and I guess that bonded us in a weird way,” she continued, stepping away from him just a little. “I sort of felt responsible for her, you know?”

Grant nodded, holding her gaze with his. “That must have been hard.”

“It is. Was .” She gave a funny little laugh and swallowed hard—a telltale sign the subject made her nervous—and looked down at her hands on the back of the chair. “Jeez, listen to me. I’m almost thirty and I’m prattling on about my parents’ divorce like some sort of heartbroken adolescent. I don’t usually do this.”

He felt a small pang of guilt then, but what the hell else was he supposed to do? He needed to control the situation. He needed to be the one asking questions. If she kept sharing, he didn’t have to. It was as simple as that.

“Would you like to see the rest of the house?” he asked. “It’s pretty small, but I did most of the renovations myself.”

“I’d love to.”

“You sure I can’t get you a glass of wine?”

She seemed to hesitate, then shrugged. “Sure, why not.”

“Red or white?”

“White.”

“Assuming you don’t really want to drink from the bottle, do you want a stemless wineglass or one with a stem?”

“Doesn’t matter. God, you really are the perfect host.”

He shook his head. “Not really. My sister gave me the glasses because she was tired of drinking out of mason jars when she visited. You brought the white; Mac brought the red. All I’m doing is uncorking it.”

“Honest, too. And you cook. What else are you perfect at?”

Her cheeks went pink the instant she spoke the words, and Grant had to stop himself from lunging for her mouth. He should be a gentleman here.

“Stick around and find out.”

Okay, he wasn’t that much of a gentleman. Anna blinked in response, then smiled. “You plan to show me something besides your photos?”

“I’ll show you anything you ask to see.” He cleared his throat and gestured toward the next room. “But first, let’s start with the house.” He set the wine bottle on the counter and pulled out a corkscrew. Yanking the cork out with a firm tug, he grabbed a glass from the rack beside the sink and splashed a little wine into it.

Handing her the glass, he moved past her down the hall. He felt her fall into step behind him, and he continued down the narrow hallway until he reached the center. He turned a bit too abruptly, and she collided with his chest.

“Sorry about that,” he said.

“Not a problem.” She touched her hand to his chest, and he watched in pleasured fascination as she stroked her fingertips over the space between his pecs. He wondered if she could feel how hard his heart was pounding. She dropped her hand and took a step back.

“Sorry, I splashed a little wine on you. Just getting it off.”

“Getting it off. Good.” Grant cleared his throat. “Right here is the office, which doubles as a guest room when I have company. There’s the guest bath, which I added on just after I bought the place. Primary bedroom is down there.” He waved faintly in that direction, not wanting to seem too lecherous or threatening by stalking her through his bedroom just minutes after she’d arrived. She stepped past him, walking into the room by herself. Grant trailed behind, trying not to get too close.

“This headboard is incredible,” she said, moving closer to his bed and bending over with her hands planted on the mattress. Grant stared at her ass and felt himself go dizzy. She was just peering at the woodwork, for chrissakes. It wasn’t an invitation, not even when she turned to look at him over her shoulder. “Where did you find it?”

“I built it,” he said, not sure if the clench in his gut was pride or a fervent desire to lift up her dress and take her from behind. “I do a little woodworking as a hobby.”

“A hobby?” She ran her fingers over the intricate carvings in the wood and shook her head. “A hobby is knitting scarves or playing chess. This is masterful. You really made this? It looks like the bench in the lobby at the National Tropical Botanical Gardens. We were there this morning scouting for another wedding.”

“Yeah, I carved that, too,” he said, and watched her jaw drop. “I donated it last spring. Some charity thing they were doing.”

“Okay, now you’re just ridiculous.” She shook her head and took a sip of wine. “Please tell me you’ve got some sort of hideous fault. A huge goiter or a habit of tripping preschoolers in the mall?”

He laughed and shook his head. “Come on. Let’s get going on dinner.”

He led her back down the hallway, through the kitchen, and out to the patio, where he pulled out an Adirondack chair for her and dusted the seat off with his hand. “Have a seat while I get the meat on the grill. How do you like your steak?”

“Medium rare. Is there something I can do to help?”

“Nope, already under control. I made my mom’s famous coleslaw a couple hours ago, and the potatoes have been in here for a while. More wine?”

“I’m good for now, thanks.”

Grant gave the coals a few fierce stabs with a poker, then set the meat on the grill, fanning the smoke away from his face. “So how did you get to be a wedding planner?”

“I got my degree in business and started out working for a normal wedding planner. Then I realized there was an unfilled need for someone specializing in nontraditional weddings.”

“Nontraditional?”

“Offbeat. Women who want a ceremony where everyone dresses up in steampunk costumes, or guys who’ve always dreamed of a pirate-themed wedding on a ship. I help make their dreams a reality.”

“And what about your dreams?” he asked, shutting the lid of the grill to trap the heat as he turned and looked at her again. “I assume a wedding planner has pretty definite ideas about her own eventual wedding?”

Anna shook her head and took a sip of wine. “Nope.”

“No ideas?”

“No wedding. Not something I want to do.”

“Ever?”

“Never,” she said, nodding a little as she said it, which was an odd gesture. People who nodded while denying something were usually lying, in Grant’s experience. It was a common tell, a body-language slip most people never realized they committed. Grant filed that away in the back of his head as he moved through the kitchen and grabbed a bowl of potato chips. He returned to the lanai and set it in front of her, pleased by the flash of gratitude on her face as she dug her hand into the bowl.

“Here, I grabbed you a glass of ice water, too. It’s hot out here.”

“Thank you,” she said, lifting the glass to take a sip. “Jeez, I feel like I ought to tip you or something.”

“Simple applause will do,” he said, returning to the grill. “So based on your career choice, I assume your aversion to marriage isn’t because you don’t believe in the institution. What’s your story?”

She shrugged and popped a chip into her mouth. “Like I said earlier, my parents divorced when I was young. The months leading up to it were really tough, with Mom and Dad fighting all the time. One night I heard them arguing and I went to the door of their bedroom and put a glass up to the door like I’d seen in a movie. You know, to eavesdrop?”

“Did you hear anything?”

He watched her fighting to keep her expression neutral, but she wasn’t winning the battle. She took a sip of wine and looked out toward the ocean, her eyes distant. He studied her face, aware this was probably a story she didn’t tell much, if ever. He edged closer, brushing the side of her shoulder with his hand.

“My dad said my mom hadn’t been the same since they’d had kids—had me ,” she said. “And Janelle, of course.” She swallowed, though she hadn’t lifted the wineglass to her lips again. “And my mom yelled back that he was the one who’d changed. They started arguing about how their marriage had become nothing but a business arrangement devoted to carpools and bake sales and soccer practice and whose fault it was they never spent time together. I didn’t understand a lot of the conversation, but I got the gist.”

“Jesus,” Grant said, shaking his head. “You can’t think—” He stopped short, knowing it would be a dick move to try and convince her that her parents hadn’t split up because of her. Who the hell was he to rewrite someone else’s story? He reached out and touched her arm. “I’m sure your parents loved you very much.”

“I don’t doubt that. But I also don’t doubt that my very existence destroyed my parents’ marriage.”

“That doesn’t mean it was your fault.”

She shrugged and took another small sip of wine. “Realizing at age eight that you’re responsible for the breakup of a marriage doesn’t leave you feeling enthusiastic about the institution as a whole.”

“So you just gave up on it?” His hand was still resting on her arm, and he wondered if she even noticed it there.

“No. For a while I still thought about it. Figured maybe a marriage without kids could be an option, or maybe just one where I worked really hard to make sure the romance wasn’t dulled by the tedium of picking up someone else’s socks. I fantasized about the fluffy white dress and the big bouquet of sunflowers and the Damascus steel band with one of those splotchy rustic diamonds on it.”

“Wow. That’s pretty specific.”

She shrugged. “That’s the nature of being a wedding planner. You learn what you love and what you don’t. I suppose I became a wedding planner so I could start foisting all those fantasies on other people’s weddings. Including my sister’s.”

He stood up and turned back to the grill, not wanting to miss a word of her story, but needing to flip the steaks. “Janelle’s married?”

“ Was married. To a guy who turned out to be a raging jerk. But I was too wrapped up in planning her big, fat, ridiculous wedding to notice.”

“When was this?”

“The wedding was three years ago. The divorce is pretty recent. Still a lot of baggage there. The whole thing has really taken a toll on her.”

“You can’t seriously blame yourself for that.”

“Why not? I pushed her into it.”

“You can’t make someone get married.”

Anna shrugged and trailed a finger around the rim of her glass. “I’m pretty persuasive when I want something.”

“I can only imagine.” Grant turned and pulled the foil-wrapped potatoes out of the coals. He checked the steaks, making sure they were cooked to perfection. Satisfied, he returned to the kitchen and grabbed a bowl of baby carrots and some dip he’d bought at the store earlier. He nudged the fridge door shut and walked back to the patio, setting both items in front of Anna. She gave him a grateful smile and reached for a carrot.

“Aren’t you being a little hard on yourself?” He turned and pulled the meat off the grill, sliding it onto a clean plate. “I’m guessing this wasn’t an arranged marriage. Janelle had some responsibility for picking the guy, right?”

Anna shrugged. “It’s a long story, and it looks like dinner’s just about ready. Can we eat out here?”

Grant studied her for a moment, wondering if he should apologize for pressing her. She’d volunteered everything willingly enough, but maybe he’d been too pushy. She didn’t look rattled, and she smiled at him as she stood up and smoothed out the front of her dress. Still, something had shifted between them.

“Sure,” he said. “Eating outside is a great idea. Would you mind dusting off the table with that cloth there? I’ll go grab everything.”

He moved back into the kitchen and gathered silverware, napkins, coleslaw, and everything else he thought they might need. He considered grabbing the big citronella candle in the corner to help keep bugs away, but decided against it. No sense making her think he was trying to get romantic.

When he returned to the balcony, he saw she’d cleared off the table and laid out two bright orange plastic place mats his sister must’ve left behind when she’d visited with the twins. They gave the table a festive look, and he set up the food feeling oddly jovial.

He sat down and began unwrapping his potato, glancing at Anna as she picked up her knife and fork.

“So,” she said, slicing into the meat with a clean, even stroke. “What’s your secret?”

“Well, I usually pan sear the meat first to give it a nice even crust on the outside.”

“Not the steak.” Her eyes fixed on his, unblinking. “What you just did there.”

He cocked his head to the side, studying her with renewed interest. “What did I just do?”

“The conversational equivalent of stripping off my clothes and having me on my back in the first thirty minutes of a date.” She took a bite of steak and chewed, eyes never leaving his. Grant felt his mouth fall open, but no words came out.

Anna finished her bite and kept talking, her voice bright and calm and surprisingly cheerful. “Not that I didn’t enjoy it,” she continued, “and not that I didn’t willingly spread my legs—metaphorically speaking, of course. But level with me here, Grant Patton—what the fuck was that about?”

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