Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
Grace
“H ave you talked to Conway at all?” Gemma asks as she hands me an ice-cold glass of sweet tea before taking a seat beside me on the porch swing Everett put together for her recently.
“Oh, pray tell, my traitorous sister, did he recruit you to ask me that?” I tease, before taking a sip. “I’m still mad at you, by the way.”
My sister laughs, bringing her legs up underneath her. “Oh, stop it. You are not mad at me.”
Glowering at her while biting back the smile trying to escape, I hum. “Jury’s still out on that one.”
“And to answer your question. No, he didn’t recruit me to ask you that, you weirdo. I’m the one who wants to know.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Not aside from talking about tonight.”
A pang hits me right in the chest as my throat tightens. It’s been a little over a week since Conway and Davis replaced the pipe at the bakery. Eight days, to be exact, and I’m no less overwhelmed by it all than I was when I walked into my office that day and found them there. The heavy wave of emotion that always rushes over me when I think about it is strong enough to knock me off my feet. Thinking about the trouble Conway had to go through to get access to the bakery without me knowing—because he’s absolutely right, I never would’ve asked him—how he and Davis worked on it all night, and how he still—eight freaking days later—hasn’t sent me an invoice, nor has he responded to my messages regarding the cost. Knowing Conway did all of that…for me, and purely out of the goodness of his heart because he cares about me, it’s too much. It makes me feel too much, and it makes it too damn hard to stay away.
“My god, you’re more stubborn than I gave you credit for,” Gemma muses, eyeing me from over the top of her sweet tea before she takes a sip.
Rolling my eyes, I huff out a sigh. “It’s not being stubborn, Gem. It’s being logical and realistic.”
“Personally, those wouldn’t be two adjectives I would use to describe what you’re doing,” she teases. A moment later, her gaze softens as she takes me in, and it’s like she can read my every thought. Like some sort of weird older sister voodoo. “That man is crazy about you, Grace,” she says softly. “There hasn’t been a single day where he hasn’t checked in on how you’re doing to both Georgia and I.”
My heart thumps in my chest as Gemma’s words settle over me. “Has he really?” I ask, already knowing Gemma wouldn’t lie to me about that.
Her smile is warm as she touches a hand to my knee. “Yes, he really has. That man is torn between wanting to respect your wishes and cannon ball his way back into your life.” Gemma pauses for a moment before adding, “My only question is, why are you still hell bent on pushing him away, when you’re clearly miserable doing so? It would be one thing if you genuinely weren’t interested, but that’s obviously not the case.”
Pressure builds behind my eyes, and I avert my gaze out into the yard where the kids are playing catch. “Because Gemma, I won’t ask him to pick between me and his son.”
“But why does there have to be an ultimatum at all?” she pushes. “Have you talked to Cole? Do you even know how he feels about it all?”
“No.” I hate the weight pressing down on my chest when I talk about this. “And it wouldn’t matter even if I did.”
“Of course it would,” Gemma says, the stern tone of her voice causing my head to turn and our gazes to collide. “If you ask me, I think you’re purposely avoiding talking to Cole, because a part of you knows it’s not going to be as big of a deal as you’re making it out to be, and that scares you.”
“That’s ridiculous, Gemma,” I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Why would that scare me?”
“Because then you’d have no other reason to push away the man you love.”
My throat is tight, my tongue thick, as I attempt to swallow, and the roaring of my pulse in my ears is making it hard to hear anything else. Even if I had a solid argument against that, I doubt I’d be able to formulate a single word.
“You’re scared of getting hurt.” Gemma continues. “And while I know exactly why you’re scared and don’t blame you for feeling the way you do, I also don’t think you have anything to worry about as far as Conway is concerned.”
With tears in my eyes, I peer over at my sister, chewing on the inside of my cheek to keep my lip from quivering. I hate this feeling. I hate the overwhelming way it consumes me, even when I do my best to gaslight myself into believing I don’t care as much as I do, or that the distance I’ve demanded doesn’t feel like I’m trapped underwater.
Giving me a sad smile, Gemma holds out her arms. “Damn you, Grace. Get over here.” I don’t think there will ever come a time, no matter how old I get, where having one of my sisters hold me when I’m going through a tough time will not make me feel immensely better. Letting Gemma wrap her arms around me, I rest my head on her shoulder as her hand rubs soothingly along my back. “We can’t cry after we spent all that time getting ready,” she says, making me chuckle. “Trust me when I say I fully understand why you’re pushing him away. I get where the fear is coming from, but the only person hurting you right now, Grace, is you. Don’t let your fear and past trauma push away one of the good ones. You deserve to be happy and to be loved, even when it feels scary.”
We sit in each other’s embrace for a few long moments, and I let myself take in everything she said, knowing she’s right. I’m hurting myself—and maybe even Conway too—in an attempt to save myself from getting hurt. What the hell kind of logic is that?
Sitting back, I wipe the moisture away from my cheeks, making a mental note to touch up my make-up before we leave. “I hate you,” I murmur.
Gemma laughs, which, in turn, makes me laugh too. “Love you too, sis.”
Charley’s cobalt-blue Bronco pulls into Gemma’s driveway a moment later, coming to a stop beside my car. Black hair styled in wild curls and her large, round sunglasses resting on her nose, she waves at us, a smile brightening her face as she climbs out.
“Sorry I’m late!” she says as she jogs up the steps to the porch. “The night person was late again . Where’s Georgia?”
“Georgia’s not coming. She found out about”—I check the time on my phone—“oh, two hours ago that Fletcher will be coming to stay with her next week for the foreseeable future.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Pushing the sunglasses on top of her head, Charley looks between Gemma and I with wide eyes and her mouth agape. “How did that happen? And why? I have so many questions.”
Gemma and I chuckle because we both had the same reaction. Fletcher is our stepbrother whom we rarely see. When our dad married Denise, Fletcher’s mom, he was living with his dad in Charleston, so we only really saw him when he visited during school breaks. In his early twenties, he’s the youngest out of all of us kids, so that has also played a part in none of us ever being close with him, even when he was visiting. There’s also the little fact that he’s a spoiled fucking brat and always has been, which makes being around him dreadful. His dad’s loaded and the word “no” has clearly never been in his vocabulary.
Fletcher is insufferable, but it seems like it’s finally catching up with him.
“From what our dad told Georgia earlier, Fletcher got into some trouble at work, not for the first—or second, or third—time, and his dad’s apparently sick of his shit. Fired him from the company, cut him off completely, and sent him to live with Denise and my dad until he can get his shit together.”
Charley frowns, her eyebrows pinched. “Okay, but how does Georgia come into play in all of this?”
“Well, you know how my dad and Denise just bought that house over on Clearwater?” Charley nods. “They’re gutting the whole thing and essentially rebuilding, so they bought an RV to park on the property and live in while construction’s going on. There’s no room for Fletcher, and since Gemma has a newborn, I don’t have any spare bedrooms, and with Graham about to have his first kid, our dad decided Georgia was the best candidate for the job.”
“And Georg just agreed to it?”
Gemma snorts beside me. “Absolutely not. But our dad decided to play dirty and guilt her into saying yes by reminding her how he helped her get the loan to open the bookstore.”
“Damn.” Charley huffs out a laugh. “Papa Astor stooped real low for that one.”
Chuckling, I check the time on my phone, realizing if we want to leave on time, we need to finish getting ready, like, now. Tonight is the second fundraiser of the year that Conway and I planned. It’s an art show that a studio right on the edge of town is hosting, and the best part is, it’s adults only with a wine bar. “Okay, I gotta touch up my make-up before we go,” I announce, standing up. “Let’s head inside.”
“Good idea,” Charley offers. “I have to do the same and change out of these work clothes.”
A half an hour—honestly, it’s probably more like forty-five minutes—later, the three of us are piling into Graham’s car as he acts as chauffeur for the evening.
Securing my seatbelt, I nudge my brother’s arm with my elbow. “Thanks for driving us tonight.”
He pulls out of the driveway, flicking an unamused gaze my way. “You act like you gave me much of a choice.”
“Hey!” I say in mock offense. “You’re in for a great night with the boys in exchange for being our DD.”
“Babysitting a handful of kids with my soon to be brother-in-law and my ex-brother-in-law. Such a great night,” he teases.
“Trust me, little brother,” Gemma drawls, leaning forward from the backseat to pat Graham’s arm. “When my sweet little niece is born, you’re going to thank us for forcing you to make dad friends.”
Charley snorts in the backseat. “They’re right. Honestly, you should be thanking us. It’s a sweet deal, if you ask me.”
“But nobody asked you,” Graham deadpans, a barely-there smirk curling his lip as he looks at her through the rearview mirror.
Gemma and I chuckle as I turn in my seat and watch Charley flip him off with both hands. Their relationship has always been interesting—and kind of amusing—to me. She’s barely older than me and Graham, and in high school, she dated one of his football buddies, so they spent a lot of time around each other. They also both work at the inn. Sometimes they act like friends, while other times, like right now, they bicker like brother and sister.
Charley has always felt like the third sister I never had.
Graham drops us off in front of the studio with time to spare, and I mentally pat myself on the back about how on top of it I am tonight. A huge part of me wishes things weren’t so awkward with Conway right now, because rubbing it in his face that I’m not late would feel pretty damn good. Although, thinking back to what Gemma said earlier, it’s painfully obvious that things are only awkward between us because I’m making them awkward.
After I reiterate to my brother what time the show is over and how he better not be late, the three of us head inside as butterflies swarm around my belly. Both at the knowledge that I’m about to see Conway for the first time since my office last weekend—we somehow managed to finalize the art show plans via text after much insistence on my part and a lot of griping on his part—and at the event in general. The art show has the potential to raise a hell of a lot of money for the school tonight, maybe even more than the auction raised.
And I’m pretty damn proud of that.