35. Marnie
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Marnie
Ending our evening at the door after those knee-weakening, toe-curling kisses took nearly every drop of my fierce fortitude.
Almost as bad as waiting ALL DAY for our date!
I try distracting myself with work, errands, cats, plants, game-making, anything . But any momentary relief veers sharply into Grady territory, turning me into a lovestruck and utterly useless pile of goo lost in imagined sexcapades. Whew . It’s a wonder I didn’t retract my refusal and put his anytime for any reason promise to the test.
But he’s right—we should savor it. Besides, I spent years with a man who took whatever he could get from me. Last night, once again, proves Grady is refreshingly, adorably different.
Also different… Grady’s kiss. I’ve never been kissed like that—a weird realization because one would think that, by and large, all kisses are created relatively equal. Lips plus touching equal nerve endings properly engaged, and temperatures rising. But his kiss brought on a raging inferno. His delicious intensity, pulsing through him and onto me, created a blazing ecosystem between us. Hot, wet, lush, and sweetly contained, just for me. A greenhouse effect. A Grady effect.
I get hot just thinking about it.
So, it’s no surprise that when he arrives at three o’clock on the dot, I’m out of the door and into his arms before he has a chance to knock. He laughs as he reciprocates, wrapping his big arms around me, lifting me, and easing me inside. He slams the door shut behind us while I ravish him with wild kisses.
“I’ve been dying to see you,” he breathes between my lips.
“Not as much as me,” I giggle, finding my feet again. “I can’t wait to savor Romantic Grady on this date. Where are we going?”
“I forget,” he says, making me laugh. He tugs a bag of cat treats from the inside pocket of his jacket. “In lieu of flowers.”
Giggling, I shake the bag, and the cats twirl between our legs. We fill them up on treats and pets until Grady rises, reaching out to help me up.
“You look amazing,” he says, eyeing my olive green dress—a vintage score with a deep V-neck and cute little buttons down the front. I call it friendly casual.
“So do you,” I say, grabbing my purse and jacket from the kitchen table. His dark gray jeans and black jacket are offset by an olive green t-shirt that almost matches my dress. We are adorably date-ready.
Ten miles into our excursion, Grady’s phone chimes repeatedly.
He removes it from his inner pocket and mumbles a curse. “I have to make a call.”
“Okay.”
During the short conversation, Grady mostly listens. When he hangs up, he drops the phone on the seat between us and runs a hand over his head.
“Dad needs me at the farm. His horse, Buck Rogers, got spooked and rammed against a shovel hanging on the wall. He’s got a gaping wound. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“I’ll drive you home. Can we resume this later?”
“No, take me with you. Maybe I can help.”
“Marina, my job isn’t pleasant,” he says, fisting the steering wheel. “You don’t want to see that.”
“I can handle it. I want to stay with you.”
He looks surprised. “Okay. But I won’t fault you if you stay in the truck.”
At Tripp Family Farm, he bypasses the house for the dirt road leading to the stables. The property is expansive, stretching out on the horizon like an ocean. A nondescript white building serves as the dairy, and the muddy lot is surrounded by outbuildings, tractors, and trucks of every variety. Beyond that is a gorgeous red barn with a peaked roof.
“Wait. I’ll come around for you,” he says after he parks.
He meets me at the passenger side, holding rubber boots. He shifts me in my seat so my legs hang over the side, a rough but sweet move, especially the way his eyes stay locked on mine. With a featherlike touch, he runs his fingers down the back of my bare leg to my shoe, slipping it off. My breath hitches at the warmth spreading across my core. He does the same with the other leg, making me want to close them around him and yank him toward me.
His fingers drift over my feet as he smiles at me. “Don’t want you to get dirty.”
Flushed and bothered in the best way, I grin. “Just have dirty thoughts, huh?”
He chuckles. “That’s a bonus.” He slips me into the rubber boots like I’m Cinderella trying on the glass slipper, and rubber boots have never felt sexier.
In the back of The Beast, he unlocks a metal box containing his bags and supplies. He sheds his jacket and shoes, pulling on overalls and rubber boots.
His dad meets us at the door. “Hey, Marnie. Sorry to interrupt your date.”
“It’s okay, Mack. A vet must what a vet must,” I say, making Grady smirk.
Mack leads us to a wide stall where a ginormous black horse wriggles against his tethers and neighs disconcertingly. Blood stains the hay beneath his left side, where a crescent gash on his rump oozes steadily. I stand with Mack on the other side of the half door while Grady moves into the stall, assessing the wound.
“Yeah, that’s a bad one,” he says. “What spooked him?”
“A squirrel,” Mack laughs, and turns to me. “For large creatures, horses are surprisingly skittish.”
Grady snaps on gloves and gives the horse an injection. He arranges his tools, cleans the wound, and deftly sutures the gash—quick to action, just like that day. The blood stirs unpleasant memories but gratitude, too. We got through it together.
“You okay?” He says, catching my gaze from the other side of Buck Rogers.
“Yeah, good.”
The horse meanders closer to the entry, nosing in our direction.
“Can I pet him?” I ask.
“Of course,” Mack says, rubbing the creature’s long nose.
“I’ve never been around horses.” I gently run my fingers over his velvety nose. “He’s sweet.”
“So, I hear you’ve been changing my brother’s life,” Mack says.
“Turning it upside down is probably more accurate,” I say.
“No, I’ve only heard good things. ‘Bout time he got his act together.”
“Well, it’s hard to imagine his pain, losing his love, especially like that,” I say gently. “Fixing the place up has been his tribute to her. You should come by and see it sometime.”
Mack huffs. “He won’t want to see me.”
“I think he would. He wants to reconcile. He just doesn’t know how. He asks about you and Carmela, you know.”
Mack’s eyes snap to mine. “He does?”
“All the time, when he knows I’ve seen you or if Marigold’s around.”
“Well, wonders never cease,” he breathes.
“Your family is a wonder,” I chuckle. “I love all of you, even the outliers with their rough edges and bad reputations. You’re all teddy bears.”
“We’re a motley bunch, for sure. I’m not sure about teddy bears, though,” Mack laughs.
Grady soon finishes his work, gives his father instructions for Buck Rogers’ care, and then smiles when he says, “I’ll send you the bill—I’m charging double for interrupting my date.”
“In that case, put it on my tab, son. Thanks for taking care of Buck. Y’all have a nice time.”
Our date resumes with little time lost. He refuses to tell me where we’re going, but I’m excited to solve the mystery. In downtown Wilmington, Grady parks on a quaint street of eclectic shops and takes me to the Game Café, a cute and cozy coffee shop with games at every table.
“Oh, my gosh, Grady,” I beam as we scan the options. “This is… so ME!”
“Yep, how about chess?” He motions to an empty table for two by the front window.
My shoulders slump. “You won’t believe this, but that’s the one game I don’t know how to play.”
He’s shocked. “What? You call yourself a keen strategist and don’t know how to play chess?”
I groan. “I could’ve learned, I guess. Wanted to. But it seems like such a beautiful, intimate game. It felt wrong learning it on YouTube.”
“It’s much better learning with a partner.” His hand slips in mine and pulls me to the table. “Play with me, Marina?”
“Oh, Grady, I love it when you talk dirty to me.”
He laughs and blushes—score for Marnie!
We order fancy coffees and chocolate treats, and he teaches me, sweetly and patiently, how to play the game of all games. I get giddy and clap whenever I make a smart move and melt into my chair when I don’t.
I’m an expert by our third round, determined to beat him.
But then he says, “Tell me about The Sound of Music. ”