Chapter 41. Grayson
Grayson
Eloise comes downstairs with a satisfied grin. If I wasn’t already a little in awe of her, I am now.
She walks over to the shoes she picked out, a little bounce in her step and runs her hand over them. “Goodbye, beautiful shoes. It’s been fun.”
Which is when my resolve breaks and I say something I shouldn’t. “No need to say goodbye.” Because the thought of her leaving without them is criminal.
She turns. “You are not buying me these shoes,” she says like I just proposed.
I shrug, trying to play it off. “I said I would when we walked in here.”
“As a con, Grayson, because you’re—” She makes a frustrated noise in the back of her throat and grabs me by the wrist, dragging me out of the shop. And I kind of enjoy her dragging me, which is exactly the problem.
Eloise pulls me across Main Street, which is currently bustling with weekend shoppers, and into a park I used to play in as a kid, only stopping when we’re alone under a tree.
Then she pushes me with both hands. “What the hell, Grayson?”
“You know, I’ve never been accosted for offering to buy someone shoes before,” I say.
She pokes me in the chest. “You do not get to do this. You do not get to have it both ways.”
I exhale. “I’m not—”
“Save it,” she says.
And she’s right. I’m crossing a line, one that I set and can’t seem to follow. “Okay, then why don’t you tell me about the cobbler,” I reply, trying to move into safer territory.
“I don’t think I will,” she says.
“How are we supposed to figure this out if you don’t tell me what he said?” I ask.
“How am I supposed to trust you if you keep lying to me?” she replies.
“You have no idea what my truth looks like,” I say.
“Then explain it to me.”
I laugh without humor. “You’ve never met my mother, but you’ve met my uncle and you know what he instructed me to do,” I say, and she flinches. “Lying is necessary in my family. It’s necessary in my life. Period.”
“But it’s not necessary with me,” she insists.
I rub the back of my neck. “There’s a lot about my life you don’t know,” I say. “There are things that I’m not going to tell you.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not asking for every detail.”
“Things you would hate me for.”
“I doubt that,” she says, and her confidence stings. Because I can’t live up to it.
When I don’t reply she says, “Try it,” like a challenge.
“What do you mean try it?” I ask cautiously.
“Tell me something, Grayson. Anything. But it has to be about you and it has to be true. It has to matter,” she says.
“And if I do this, you’ll tell me what the cobbler said?”
The scent of her hopefulness wafts toward me and I’m snared by it. I’m used to people being hopeful because they want things from me, but never because they want things for me, or for me to be better.
“I’ll consider it,” she says, and even though she’s being noncommittal, it’s hard to deny her.
“Something I’ve never told anyone?” I clarify.
“Yeah, something exactly like that.”
I open my mouth and close it again, unsure.
She huffs. “Fine, you know what? If you’re scared, I’ll go first.”
“I’m not—”
“Our kiss? That was my first,” she says bluntly, and I nearly trip standing still.
“Hang on, what?” I say, my mind going blank.
“Not ever, ever,” she continues. “I’ve kissed people in childhood games. And once at the Academy. But I wasn’t really into it. What I mean is, it was the first time I’ve been kissed by someone I’m attracted to.”
Damn. Why did she have to say that? Because now all I want to do is kiss her again.
In pure self-defense, I tell her something I never thought I would, the secret I’ve guarded since the moment I realized it as a preteen. “I can scent emotions.”
Her eyes widen. “What did you just say?”
“I usually ignore it, since most scents are dull. But yours I can scent perfectly. From across an entire dining hall apparently,” I continue.
“What kind of emotions?” she asks nervously.
“Everything,” I reply. “Fear, anger, frustration, but also happiness, excitement, and … attraction.”
The blush on her face migrates to her nose.
“Wishing you never asked the question?” I say.
She shakes her head. “No. I’m not going to make you feel bad for telling me who you really are. I asked. And I can handle the answer, especially because it’s true.”
I stare at her for a long moment, not sure how to respond. There’s something about the way she just accepts it that has me off-kilter.
I try to steady my pulse, but the damn thing isn’t listening. “I think you should tell me about the cobbler now,” I say, needing to change the subject.
Actually, what I need is a cold shower.
“Okay, listen, because I’m only saying this once,” she says, pointing at me. “If I take a leap of faith and trust you here, it’s the last time, do you understand? You do not break my trust again. Agree to that or I’m not saying another word and compromising that nice old man.”
“I can agree not to lie to you directly,” I concede, not recognizing myself. “But I might lie by omission.”
She stares at me. “I have no idea what to say to that.”
“You and me both,” I reply.
But she does tell me. Every detail. Only when she gets to the bit about Brachan’s lover named Moore I stand very still, so still that I stop breathing and I hope like hell she doesn’t notice. Because I know that last name. It’s Sage’s.