Chapter 10
GRIFFIN
I’m standing in the kitchen making coffee the next morning when my phone buzzes with a text that makes my stomach drop. The supplier doesn’t sugarcoat it.
Flooring delayed. Won’t arrive until after the New Year. Sorry for the inconvenience.
Sorry for the inconvenience? I stare at the screen, re-reading the words like they might magically change.
The wide-plank composite flooring Monika fell in love with—the one that reminded her of the driftwood her grandmother collected—was supposed to arrive early next week.
It’s supposed to be the final element we install before the furniture she ordered is delivered on Christmas Eve.
“Morning.” Her voice is sleep-rough as she walks into the kitchen wearing one of my flannel shirts that hits her mid-thigh. Her hair’s a mess, and there’s a smudge of dried mascara under one eye. She’s never looked more beautiful.
Last night plays through my mind with her beneath me, above me, whispering my name. The way she snuggled against me as she slept like she was meant to be there.
“Hey.” I turn away to pour her coffee while I figure out how to tell her about the delay that’s going to knock her dream off schedule. “Sleep okay?”
“Better than okay.” As she accepts the mug, her fingers brush mine, and the simple touch sends heat through me. “Though someone kept me up pretty late.”
That teasing tone and her sweet smile make me want to set down both our mugs and carry her back to bed.
Instead, I lean against the counter and force myself to deliver the news that feels like a pointed reminder this happy bubble we’re in was never meant to last. “The flooring won’t be here on time.”
Her delicate brows draw together as if she doesn’t understand what I’m saying. “What does that mean?”
“I got a text from the supplier. It’s delayed until after the New Year.
” Coffee sloshes over the rim when I set my mug down harder than I mean to.
“We won’t be able to have the house ready by Christmas.
I’m sorry. I should have had a backup plan.
This is par for the course around the holidays, and I knew how important—”
“Griffin.” She sets her coffee beside mine and moves closer, but I step back. “It’s not—”
“Don’t make excuses for me.” I shake my head. “ I promised the house would be ready for Christmas, and I’m failing you just like…” I swallow back the words, scrub a hand over my clenched jaw.
“Like what?” Her bright green eyes search mine. “This isn’t your fault.”
“It’s my project.” I grab a dish towel and clean up the spilled coffee like I have a personal vendetta against it. “I should have put contingencies in place for—”
“Stop.” She catches my wrist and plucks the towel out of my hand. “This isn’t about the flooring, Griffin. What’s really going on?”
It’s hard to think straight when she’s touching me. When she’s so close I can see the flecks of gold in her eyes, I lose track of all the reasons I need to keep some distance between us, especially after last night.
I take a step back and force a smile. “How do you feel about spending Christmas here with me?”
Something flickers across her face that I can’t read.
She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“I’d love that, of course. It’s just...” She wraps her arms around herself like she wishes she were wearing something besides my flannel.
“You know I wanted to honor my grandmother’s memory by celebrating Christmas in that house.
To prove that people like us can have beautiful things. ”
And there’s the disappointment she’s trying to hide. I tell myself not to take it personally. She hired me to do a job, and I’m failing at it. One night together doesn’t change our deal. Neither does the fact that I’m falling for her.
“I’ll figure it out.” I turn back to the coffee maker because I need something to do with my hands that isn’t reaching for her. “I’ll make some calls and—”
“Tell me what’s going on.” She places a hand on my arm, her touch burning through my Henley. “I know why this deadline means so much to me. What about you? Is it the money? I’ll still pay you—”
“At this point, I’d do it for free.” I keep my back to her and consider making something up about professional pride or reminding both of us of the hit my reputation took when I had to put things on hold.
But when I turn and see her looking at me with those eyes that see too much, I can’t do it. “You deserve to have your dream—your grandmother’s dream. But, yeah, there’s something else.”
She nods, but doesn’t rush me, which I appreciate more than I can say her. I take a deep breath, then force myself to speak.
“I had a buddy in the service. Joey Jones. We met in basic training then deployed together. He was...” I pause and clear my throat. “He was my brother in every way that mattered. We both struggled when we got out. But Joey had a wife, Susanna, and two little kids. He had so much to live for.”
Monika moves closer, and this time I don’t pull away.
“Things were worse than I realized. He started drinking and gambling. Blew through their savings trying to numb whatever was eating him alive. I tried to help, but I was dealing with my own shit, you know? So I made excuses for why I couldn’t do more.
” My hands clench into fists. “Three years ago, he put a gun in his mouth.”
“Griffin.” Her cool fingers wrap around my clenched fist until it relaxes.
“I’d been saving money to buy Susanna and the kids a house.
It took a lot to convince her to let me help, but they needed something stable after everything went to hell.
” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Then everything really went to hell. Daniel stopped paying, and I drained my savings trying to keep my crew afloat. Trying to save face and my stupid pride instead of admitting I was getting screwed over.”
Understanding dawns in her eyes. “So the money I’m paying you—”
“Goes to Susanna’s house fund. Every penny.” I meet her gaze, needing her to understand. “This job is my chance to finally keep the promise I made to Joey the day of his funeral. I get that you have something to prove. But I also need to prove I’m not a complete failure as a friend.”
The silence stretches between us, weighted with the truth I just laid bare. Then Monika wraps her arms around me, holding me tight like she has the ability to keep all my broken pieces from falling apart. The truth is, she just might.
“You’re not a failure,” she whispers against my chest. “You’re the best man I know.”
I bury my face in her hair and breathe her in, letting myself believe her words, even if it’s only for this moment. “I wanted to get this right for both of us.”
“You have.” She pulls back enough to look up at me. “The house is so close, and you’ve helped me remember who I am underneath all the Hollywood crap. You’ve gotten a lot of things right.” Her cheeks turn rosy. “Last night, in particular.”
I drop a kiss on the top of her head. “But the flooring—”
“Is just flooring.” She cups my face in her hands. “My grandmother would have loved that this project is helping another family have their dream home. That means more than any wide plank composite could.”
The knot in my chest loosens slightly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She goes up on tiptoe to press her mouth to mine. “We’ll figure out a solution together.”
Together, like we’re a team. Like this is more than just a business arrangement that happens to include mind-blowing sex.
“I’ll make some calls. We might not find exactly what you wanted, but—”
“It’ll be perfect,” she interrupts.
I study her face, searching for a sign that she’s simply trying to make me feel better. But what reflects back to me is dangerously close to the feeling that’s been growing in my chest since the night she showed up at that house. I’m not ready to name it, even though my heart is totally sure.
“Not as perfect as you,” I say.
She kisses me again. “Thank you for telling me about Joey. About all of it.”
I nod, not trusting my voice. How do I tell her that somewhere between raccoon wrangling and wreath-making—and even though she squeezes the toothpaste from the center of the tube—she’s become the most important person in my world?
I didn’t expect to fall for her, but I’m tumbling head over heels, and I don’t even care about how much the landing’s going to hurt.
When she leaves in a week, she’s going to take a piece of me with her that I’m never getting back. But I don’t say anything. Instead, I pick up my phone and start making calls. If I can’t give her forever, I can at least give her a perfect Christmas.