Chapter 6 #2
Juliet draped an arm around me and carefully leaned down from her loftiness. “I know this is a lot, Pais. But we’re with you. You’re not facing this alone. And after you’ve had a full night’s sleep and a pot of tea, the hordes will descend with well wishes and casseroles.”
I laughed despite the pressure in my head and the stinging in my eyes. “Tell them not to fuss. I’m fine.” Too much fussing made me uncomfortable.
“Mama said if you want anything just to ask.”
“Tiramisu?”
Juliet whipped her phone out of her pocket before the word was fully out of my mouth. “Consider it done.”
A faded sky-blue vintage truck pulled up to the curb, and I almost ignored it until I recognized Greyson in the driver’s seat.
He hopped out and opened the door for us.
Juliet insisted on taking the cramped middle bench seat, so I gingerly slid into the passenger side, my aching head sagging against the headrest.
“Pais?”
My eyes snapped open, and Greyson stood at my door, seat belt in hand. Embarrassment scalded my cheeks, and I awkwardly took it from him. He had pulled the belt out far enough that it didn’t bump my shoulder as it clicked into place. “Thanks,” I murmured before the door closed.
The coolness of the vehicle caressed my sweaty limbs, and the intoxicating smell of leather and sandalwood were making me heady. Or maybe that was just the concussion?
Juliet didn’t usually mess around with small talk, but she went out of her way to create a small stream of chatter against the quiet thrum of the country music station where a guy was singing about a fast car.
We left the bustle of Caldwell—the closest big city and major hospital—behind us and turned south down the highway towards Serenity Springs.
Greyson offered thoughtful and measured replies, but his unease leaked out in the rhythmic tapping of fingers on the steering wheel.
He was a smooth driver, I’d give him that.
And so carefully in control. Easy, attentive driving shouldn’t be so attractive, but he made it sexy.
No, not sexy. Only Jared is. Or was. Or . . . just shut up.
We passed the faded, carved sign, mint green and orange with a sunrise painted on it, that read “Welcome to Serenity Springs.” Greyson veered the truck off the main drag of traffic onto a quiet lane of side streets before stopping in front of a two-story sage-green Victorian-esque cottage with white trim, stonework, and scalloped gable points.
It was the marriage of quaint and charming.
The stuff of fairy tales, secret gardens, and English tea parties.
And I’d never seen it before.
“Do we live here?” I asked skeptically. It was nicer than the trailer park I grew up in and the dorm rooms in Seattle.
Sure, it wasn’t as big as Mama D and Pops Satterfield’s spread, but they had six kids and needed the space.
My heart froze. Kids. I was married—to which man it didn’t matter right now—but did I have kids I’d forgotten about? Did that make me a terrible mother?
“Yeah,” Greyson said, his gaze steady despite my inner turmoil. “This is Old Orchard. It’s the older section of Serenity Springs with character houses from the forties.”
My chapped lips tipped into a half smile. I remembered this part of town. I’d always thought it’d be a peaceful neighbourhood to live in but never imagined I would. “It’s cute. How long have we lived here?”
“About four years. Just after we got married.”
Ah, there was that m-word again. I cleared my throat, but my mind was blank of intelligent replies. I was beginning to wonder what this man had seen in me that made him say, “That girl’s the one.” Because so far, I wasn’t seeing any of my redeeming qualities.
“And it’s just us?” I asked slowly.
Greyson’s gaze faltered, his voice tight. “Yeah. Just us.”
There was a story there, behind those eyes. I could feel it. Stories were in my blood. But now wasn’t the time for uncovering secrets. At least I didn’t have to worry about being my mother, who forgot she had a kid half the time.
The cobbled pathway led to two worn steps and a small porch nook with a porch swing.
We hadn’t even reached the stairs before the yellow front door was thrown open, and a blur of motion erupted from inside.
A golden retriever bounded down the steps, yipping with conversation and wiggling her rear end in delight.
Greyson caught her by the collar before she plowed into me. “Easy there, Rosie.”
“Rosie?” I asked curiously.
He held my gaze for a minute, still stroking the canine, who whined softly. “Rosie Cotton.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “After Sam Gamgee’s wife? I love The Lord of the Rings!” I held my hand out to Rosie for an approving sniff, and she licked me happily with a soft whine before returning to lavish her love on Greyson.
“So do I,” he said simply, and it was all he could say before another blur of motion hurtled towards me.
I barely made out Liz’s and Stephanie’s faces before they wrapped me in a group hug.
“Oh, Pais!” Liz cried softly.
Juliet joined the hug huddle, and I heard her sniffle, too.
Stephanie was the only dry-eyed friend, but it lent a steadiness in the midst of the emotional upheaval.
I wasn’t used to Juliet being an emotional basket case, so Stephanie’s calmness anchored something in my chest. I used to think the day Juliet cried was the day the world ended, yet here we were, still standing in the hot summer sun, no apocalypse in sight.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Stephanie whispered, her hazel eyes meeting mine. And though they were dry, I didn’t miss the haunted look.
“Come on inside,” Juliet said, sniffing hard and swiping her cheeks with Grinch-like determination. She was rebuilding her armour and assembling her crocodile-infested moat.
The entryway was narrow, papered with soft blue floral wallpaper and littered with vintage brass photo frames, holding dozens of smiling faces and infinite memories.
The doorway to the left led into an open-concept living room, kitchen, and dining nook.
I breathed deeply, peppermint and vanilla flooding my senses.
In my mind, I’d never seen this place, never been inside.
In reality, Greyson told me I’d lived here for years.
The discord left my skin prickly, but the homeliness felt like . . . home.
A diffuser, the source of the decadent smell, puffed away cheerily on a little side table. Because candles gave me headaches. It was a small fact about myself, but my environment helped it resurface. Maybe being here would help me remember the life I’d forgotten.
Beside the table was the comfiest looking armchair I’d ever seen. Hand me a book and I might never get up.
Juliet ushered me into the chair (and it was every bit as cushy as it appeared), while Liz and Stephanie bustled in the kitchen.
I heard the fridge open and the kettle click on.
Greyson hovered in the doorway, and I got the feeling it was an uncommon experience for him.
His rigid bearing marked him as a take-charge guy.
This wrench must have him all up in his head too.
“I’ll put your things in your room,” Juliet offered once I was settled, but I grabbed her arm.
“I . . . I don’t think . . .” I glanced at Greyson.
We were . . . married, apparently. We shared a bedroom.
Because Juliet told me I really did love the guy, and we weren’t in a marriage of convenience situation.
Of course we shared a bed. But married couples did married things, and I wasn’t ready for that. Not with a near stranger.
Greyson ran a hand through his sandy hair, making it artfully tussled instead of like Albert Einstein. So unfair. If I did that, I’d have a rat’s nest. “Give us a minute, Jules?”
Juliet extracted her sleeve from my vise grip and flashed me a meaningful smile I interpreted to mean “Behave” before ducking down the hall to . . . I didn’t actually know where. Liz and Stephanie followed her a moment later. Traitors.
Greyson stepped closer and crouched down in front of the chair. Not touching me but still close.
I white-knuckled the afghan in my lap, pulse thrumming and sweat trickling down my spine, despite the coolness of the house. If there was a contest for sweating while doing absolutely nothing, I was winning gold, hands down. Just one of my hidden talents.
Rosie padded over, settling her silky head on my lap, and I stroked her fur to keep my hand from shaking. What a sweetie.
“I know this is a lot, Pais.” Greyson’s voice was rough yet soothing.
Man, he could totally narrate an audiobook.
I’d definitely listen. “And I don’t want you feeling more uncomfortable than you already do.
Would sleeping in the guest room help? Or I can put fresh sheets in the master, and I’ll take the guest room? ”
Being careful of the bruise, I rubbed my temple and let my eyes shut for a minute. Questions swirled through my brain, and I might need a thousand and one nights to answer them all. At least I didn’t have to worry about being offed by my husband like the girl in the book.
And we were back to murder. I definitely needed to take a break from the true crime.
“Sleep feels like the least of my problems,” I grumbled at last. “But yeah, I’ll take the guest room.”
Greyson nodded and eased himself up.
“I still have questions,” I called after him.
He slipped his hands into his pockets casually. “Questions are valid, and I know you want answers. I’ll tell you what I can, but it’ll be a lot to take in, and the doctor said not to push it.”
I glared at him. “It’s my life. I have no idea why I’m here and not in Seattle. Why I’m not in school. Why I married you.” The last one came out more bitterly than I intended.
Greyson winced. It was barely noticeable, but I caught it nonetheless.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll get your stuff moved into the guest room and let the girls take care of you.”
“Greyson, I—”