Chapter 25
Chapter twenty-five
Paisley
Memories haunted my dreams after coming home from Cannon Beach. Threads of the past and present tangled into knots worse than the back of my embroidery samplers.
Jared had been real. But his chapter was over. Then there was Greyson. Steady and reliable. The way he’d studied me on the beach. Like I was precious. Like he wanted to kiss me.
A girl could get used to that.
Fitful sleep (thanks for nothing, insomnia) made me oversleep on Monday, and even then I couldn’t drag myself from bed. I slept so much better with Greyson. Nope, not going there.
It was all too much. So much. All my life, the people around me had tried to use my softness against me. I just needed to toughen up. But just because I felt things deeply didn’t make me a wimp. And if I let the shadows make me hard, did that mean they won?
Wasn’t softness an act of defiance against a dark world?
I stared at my bedroom ceiling, looking for shapes in the popcorn texturing while deeply philosophical thoughts raced through my brain.
Fidgeting with the wedding band on my left ring finger, I held it up for further examination.
At first, I’d kept it on because it felt wrong the one time I’d tried to take it off.
Like I was naked without it. But now . .
. I twisted it. Now, it was a beacon, a reminder.
A silent plea to remember what I’d lost.
Lord, please . . . please let me remember a good man.
“Rise and shine,” Juliet announced, flinging my door open so hard it bounced against the doorstop with a boing.
I groaned at the interruption, covering my head with the blankets. “There’s no rising and shining. Only dark and dimming.”
“Not a thing.” Juliet whipped the covers back, exposing me to the brightness of the room because she’d already opened the curtains.
“Jules!” I shrieked, and snatched back the blanket shield to my chest. “What if I was indecent?”
Her gaze was unflinching. “I roomed with you for half a decade. You were never indecent.”
“But I’m married,” I muttered.
“And sleeping in separate rooms.” She raised an eyebrow. “Time to get out of bed.”
Glasses. I needed to see her to have this conversation. My hand groped the nightstand until I found them and jammed them on my face before flopping back against the downy pillows which were a cloudlike paradise. Almost as nice as cuddling with Greyson. Warmth flooded my cheeks. “I’m tired.”
“You need fresh air, sunshine, a change of scenery, and a shower. Get up.” She marched to the closet and tossed a few items at me, narrowly missing my head.
I gingerly pinched the cap-sleeve sheer blouse and high-waisted dotted swiss skirt. “Real clothes? What’s wrong with this?” I tugged at Greyson’s T-shirt, which I was still wearing. Yes, I had washed it. Don’t judge me.
She ignored my question. “You have thirty minutes.”
“No.”
She stood at the edge of the bed, arms crossed like a general staring down an insubordinate soldier. “I love you, Pais. You know that, right?”
I nodded. Because, oddly enough, I did. Juliet wasn’t demonstrative and rarely actually said the words I love you.
I was pretty sure she was allergic to most emotions, which made watching her emotional roller coaster pregnancy incredibly amusing.
But the point was, her usual emotive level was as comfortable as a steel wool scrubber.
She had her occasional softer moments—this was not one of them—but I felt her love deep in my bones.
In the way she stood up to me, for me. The flowers she randomly had delivered, just because.
The way she’d been in my corner from day one.
The first person in my life who’d decided to stick around and mean it.
“Good. Then know it’s love saying this to you. You’re dealing with a huge amount of trauma right now, and your body and brain are freaking out. I’ve been doing some reading and that’s normal. Expected.”
That right there was a love language. Juliet didn’t generally read for fun, and if she did, they were murder mysteries.
“But I refuse to let you spiral back to where you were before.” Her eyes burned with deadly fury. “What he did to you . . . what he made you believe. You were in a dark place, Pais. I can’t—” Her voice broke. “I won’t let you sink back there. Not if I can help it.”
“Jules . . .” I couldn’t exactly argue, since what did I remember? Oregon had taken a lot out of me, weighing heavy on my sternum. It was a lot to process in two days. But Greyson had been a bright spot in the wave of grief that washed over me.
I might never love Oregon for what happened to me there, but I could move forward in spite of it. I just needed time.
Juliet’s shoulders straightened, fixing me with a look. “For Frodo.”
What? I sat upright, ignoring the siren call of my pillow cloud and the depressive spiral of my thoughts. “Did you just say what I think you said?”
She snapped a nod.
I scooted closer to her and placed a hand on her forehead, like I was checking for a fever. “Juliet Delavan, do you even know who Frodo is? Are you feeling okay? Do I need to call Myles?”
She blinked. Crickets chirped.
“Gandalf?” I pressed.
Two blinks and more crickets.
“Aragorn and the Ents?”
She caved, sighing heavily. “Fine.”
“I knew it!” I shrieked, pumping my fist. “Why did you play dumb all these years? It’s not your style.”
Juliet rolled her eyes. “Because you always got so excited to school me on all things Tolkien, and I wasn’t going to take away your fun.”
It was my turn to blink. That was . . . remarkably thoughtful. Coming from Juliet, downright touching actually.
“Just . . . hold onto hope, okay? Frodo made it back to the Shire; you will, too.” She slapped her knees and stood up, straightening her dress slacks and blouse, like she was brushing off the remnants of sappiness.
“Let’s get moving. Go have a shower, and then we’re spending the afternoon out before going to Downto’n for dinner. ”
“Why am I getting déjà vu?” I muttered, peeling myself off the pillow cloud.
“It means my plan’s working.”
“You’re evil, you know that? You and Liz with your mastermind plans and schemes.” I grumbled, dangling my legs over the edge and toying with the hem of my oversized tee.
“But Liz can’t keep it a secret.”
I snorted. “So true.” Grabbing the clothes she’d tossed me, I paused in the doorway. “Hey, Jules?”
She glanced up from where she was already making the bed. And sure enough, like a crazy woman, she was tucking the corners at a forty-five-degree angle.
“Thanks.”
She huffed. “Don’t get mushy on me. It makes me nauseous.”
I grinned. “I love you, too.” Laughing, I ducked out into the hallway to avoid the pillow missile launched in my direction.
Juliet dragged me around town for the day, like it was her personal mission to try to lift my spirits. I hadn’t seen Greyson yet since he’d left before I’d woken up. But I’d found a note on the kitchen counter.
Didn’t want to wake you up. Jules said she’d spend the day with you. Come by the shop anytime if you need a break. Love, Greyson
I wasn’t sure how to interact with him after Cannon Beach, so I’d taken the easy way out and avoided the shop like the poster child of bravery I was.
“Wouldn’t you rather be with Myles tonight?” I asked, fidgeting in the booth at Donovan’s Downto’n. Don’t get me wrong, they had the best nachos—comfort food for the win—but all the peopling and activity had tanked my battery.
Juliet waved me off. “He and some of the guys on the team were meeting up, so he didn’t mind.”
“Did you set me up with him? Greyson?” I asked. “Here, at Downto’n?”
Juliet nodded. “I knew he was coming into town and persuaded Denver”—she nodded discreetly to the guy behind the counter, sporting lip fuzz—“to run a Lord of the Rings theme to draw you both out.”
“Why me, though?”
She sighed and played with the end of her ponytail. “Because Greyson was never home, and I was convinced you were the one person who could make him put down roots with your hobbit tendencies of hating adventures.”
“You wanted me to trap him?” I asked, confused. “But what if he loved what he did and resented me?”
Juliet shook her head firmly. “It wasn’t like that. I introduced you, but y’all did the dating on your own. Grey always goes after what he wants.”
“And that was me?”
Her smile was soft. “It still is, Pais. That hasn’t changed.” She sipped her ice water and glanced towards the door. “Speak of the man and he shall appear.”
I followed her gaze and found Greyson making his way towards us, hand in his pocket, blue eyes firmly fixed on me. “What’s he doing here?” I whispered before popping a nacho in my mouth.
“Pais,” Greyson said quietly, pausing in front of our table. “Care for a round of trivia?”
I blinked at him. “Huh?”
Greyson motioned a hand towards the bar counter. “There’s a Lord of the Rings theme queued up for tonight. If you’re interested.”
And just like that, I dredged up a bit more battery life. I arched an eyebrow. “Think you can beat me, Marine?”
He smirked. “Count on it, love.”
The words shouldn’t have made me flush. They were too much like flirting. But Jared isn’t here. You’re not cheating. This man is your husband for goodness’ sake.
“You’re on.”
A mustached man eyed us as we settled into the stools at the counter. “Time for a rematch, huh?” His gaze lingered just a little too long—a little too leering—on me, and I shifted closer to Greyson.
Greyson glared at the man. “Get moving, Denver.”
Denver huffed lightly, lifting his hand in defense. “Right. Let’s get this over with.” He turned back to the TV screen and fiddled with the remote, adding with a mutter, “No harm in looking.”
My face burned, skin crawling. What a toad.
Greyson sprang to his feet, leaning across the counter. “Don’t you dare disrespect my wife,” he growled.
My hero.
“I’ll take it from here,” Marcel said, stepping forward, nudging Denver away with more force than necessary.
I stared at the wiry grey-bearded barkeeper with a red bandana tied around his forehead and a leather biker vest over a faded T-shirt. “I’ve never heard you talk!” With Denver disappearing into the back room, it was easier to breathe now.
Marcel, bless him, dipped his chin at me. “Glad to see you’re doing well, Ms. Paisley. Shirley Temple? It’s on the house.”
“You’re the best!” I wiggled on the barstool, beaming at the man.
Marcel slid my drink across the counter without a word—back to his mime routine—but if I wasn’t mistaken, his neck was a bit red under the collar.
“Sorry about Denver,” Greyson said gruffly, retaking his seat.
Butterflies still fluttering in my stomach from his heroics, I gave a shy half shrug. “He’s always given me the creeps. Why does he still work here?”
Greyson scoffed lightly. “Because his father owns the place. He should have been fired years ago.”
“Caterpillar-lipped nepo baby.”
He snorted, covering it with a cough. “Warn a man, Pais.”
“Laughter looks good on you.”
His humour faded into quiet surprise, and the frankness of my words had me backpedaling. I didn’t know how to flirt, and I wasn’t trying to. Best course of action? Keep my mouth shut.
That lasted three seconds.
A quote with fill in the blanks flashed across the screen, and I smacked the buzzer with repeated excitement. “Ooh, I know! I know!”
I wasn’t sure if Greyson let me win or if I really just did better than him, but I was taking the victory for what it was.
And after he bought me a celebratory Shirley Temple, the music started.
The girls and I used to line dance the few times we’d come out here in college.
I hadn’t done it in ages. My foot tapped lightly to the beat.
“Wanna dance?” I asked Greyson, hopefully.
He hesitated only a moment before nodding. “All right.”
But it wasn’t exactly a line dance. Rascal Flatts’s “Bless the Broken Road” was more of a slow dance that put me in way too close proximity to Greyson’s chest. And his face. And those gorgeous blue eyes.
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that it felt nice to be held, swaying back and forth to the music. A nearly perfect date.
By the time we headed home, my cheeks hurt from grinning. “Any plans tonight?” I asked, opening the fridge and peering in curiously. We’d eaten dinner at Downto’n, but dessert sounded heavenly.
Greyson shook his head. “I thought about finishing my journey through Middle Earth.”
“Which one are you on?”
“The Return of the King.”
I sighed contentedly. “My favourite.” My eyes fluttered shut, and I whispered, “‘Hope and memory shall live still in some hidden valley where the grass is green.’”
A delightful roll of Middle Earth images flashed through my mind.
What I wouldn’t give to see New Zealand for myself one day.
When I blinked my eyes back open to return to the real world, I caught my breath with the flood of emotion flowing from Greyson’s eyes.
It was heat and memory, amusement and aching.
He swallowed hard, throat bobbing. “Meet me in the living room?”
What was that about? I nodded. “Want some birthday cake?” Juliet had brought leftovers from the barbecue earlier, and something sweet sounded perfect.
Greyson pointed to two exceptionally pretty pottery dishes—a gorgeous swirl of blues, yellows, and creams painted with sunflowers—on the shelf. “Those are our dessert plates if you want.”
“Where’d we get these?” I asked Greyson a few minutes later, handing him a dish of cake and plopping down on the sofa.
The movie was already queued up, and he dropped into the armchair. “Our anniversary trip last year in Coeur d’Alene.”
I grabbed the facts with my mind and tried to trace the memories like a loose string.
I’d wanted to go to CDA for years. There was something about housing the world’s largest floating boardwalk that just spoke to me.
But I couldn’t recall the mental image of being there.
Of spending an anniversary there. My cheeks heated, and I shoved a forkful of cake into my mouth instead of answering.