Chapter 31
Chapter thirty-one
Paisley
I sat at the counter, cupping a mug of tea in my hands. The dim glow of the range light cast eerie shadows around the kitchen, but the soothing notes of the chamomile helped. My mind was too busy to sleep.
Or go back to sleep. I’d woken up on the couch alone, an afghan draped over me and the stove range light shining dimly from the kitchen.
There was an infinite amount of comfort from seeing a stove light on.
It was something deeply grounding. A beacon of security and safety.
Like someone was waiting up for you. Like there was a light to keep the nightmares at bay.
A hundred thoughts and scenarios took center stage, demanding my attention as I remembered last night.
How rude.
A stair creaked—we really should fix that—and a shadow emerged in the doorway from the hall.
“Pais? Everything okay?” Greyson ran a hand over his face, deliciously sleep rumpled.
“Can’t sleep.” I raised my mug in a fake salute. “Chamomile and lemon balm.”
He shuffled, barefoot, into the kitchen until he stood opposite me, leaning against the far counter. He was in flannel pajamas and a white tee, and from the lines on his cheek he’d been sleeping.
“Sorry I woke you.”
His tired smile tipped up the corner of his mouth. “I’m not.”
I sipped my drink, my cheeks warming a little under his unabashed gaze. “Want some tea?”
“No thanks. But I’ve got an idea if you’re open to it.”
I raised an eyebrow over the rim of my cup. “Oh?”
He chuckled, warm and low. “Don’t sound so thrilled, love.”
Love. There it was again. He hadn’t used it much since the hospital. A few times it had slipped out, and each time, it did something to my heart. Annoying organ that insisted on beating irregularly.
Greyson picked up his phone and fiddled with it until quiet music started playing. “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran, if I wasn’t mistaken. Then he held out his hand. “Dance with me?”
I swallowed hard but slipped my hand into his. His skin was warm and his fingers slightly rough against mine. I let him draw me close into a slow dance, my hand in his and the other on his chest. His hand was warm on my lower back through the cotton of my oversized shirt.
Our faces were so close his woodsy shower soap enveloped me, and I could make out the silver ring around his pupils. It was so familiar. Like the second stanza of a song I knew the tune of but couldn’t place.
“We’ve danced like this before, haven’t we?” I whispered.
“Yeah.”
“To this song specifically?”
His throat bobbed, emotion flickering in his eyes. “Yes.” The word was so soft I barely caught it.
I frowned, grasping for the memory I shared with this man. With this song. One he knew. One I couldn’t remember.
Greyson’s thumb smoothed out the wrinkles on my forehead, and I peeked at him.
“Tell me. Please,” I begged.
Conflict etched his shadowed features, and he avoided eye contact.
“Grey—” But the pleading died on my lips when his gaze finally locked on mine. Whoa. Heat and heartbreak collided in his fathomless eyes. This memory wasn’t like the others. This was big. It meant something.
“Our first dance,” he rasped out before clearing his throat. “At our wedding.”
“It’s our song.”
He froze, mid-sway, and we stood there, staring. Locked in position. “You remember?” A thread of hope laced the words.
“I . . . I think so. It feels special. Important.” Flickers of stargazing and dancing in the rain and laughing over a shared plate of nachos hummed in my mind. Fragments and phantoms of a different time.
He wrapped his arms fully around me, breaking our dancing hold and tugging me into a hug.
I sank into his warmth. Wow, he was a good hugger. I could stay here forever. New postal address: Greyson’s arms. He hugged like he meant it. Like he was holding on for dear life and yet holding me together at the same time.
When the song changed, I leaned back slightly to study him.
He had that look again. Like he wanted to kiss me but thought better of it.
“Grey.” I brushed my finger over his bottom lip. My stomach spiraled with a buzz of nerves, and not all the good kind. Panic niggled my insides. What was I doing? I loved the way he made me feel special. But I . . .
His neck muscles rippled as he swallowed. But he didn’t lean down, just caught my finger gently in his hand. “Not yet, Pais. Not until you’re sure.”
My chin dropped, and embarrassment flooded my veins. It was two o’clock. What was that saying one of my foster moms used to say? Nothing good happened after dark. No doubt I’d regret my moment of boldness in the morning. I’d ruined everything by overthinking. And—
His finger tilted my chin up, and he kissed my forehead. About five inches higher than where I wanted his lips. He lingered for a minute before whispering against my hair, “Ready to get some sleep?”
After that? Absolutely not. I needed to go find a hole to bury myself in. Avoiding his gaze, I nodded and set my mug in the sink. He turned the range light off and trailed me up the stairs, neither of us saying anything.
He walked me to my door. Same as usual, but it was different, too. “Good night,” he said, his voice gravelly with emotion.
But I didn’t go into my room. Something glued my feet to the rug, and I stared up at him.
He wasn’t retreating either. In a last moment of bravery, I lifted a hand, cupping his cheek, the scrape of his five o’clock shadow sharp against my fingertips.
“’You and I, we must endure with patience the hours of waiting. ’”
His eyes fluttered shut, his jaw working under my touch.
I wanted this. Wanted him. I think. Maybe. But . . . “Good night,” I whispered and fled behind the door, like the coward I was.
“Are you sure grocery shopping is the best way to tell everyone I’m fine? I thought that was what church on Wednesday was for?” I asked as Greyson’s hand on my lower back gently steered me between the aisles on Friday afternoon.
Jazz floated over the speakers, and I wasn’t sure if it was because the owners were literally in their eighties and loved this stuff or if it was a poor attempt to relax customers.
Because everyone knew grocery shopping was the worst chore on the planet.
Although . . .I side-eyed Greyson. Having someone to share in the mundane tasks somehow made it sweeter.
Greyson grunted. “Trust me, Camille is working the counter today, so it’ll officially be all over town by nightfall.”
I huffed and tugged a couple bags of rice off the shelves. “So much trouble over nothing.”
“Not nothing, Pais.” Greyson’s voice trailed seriously over my neck.
“Not what I meant. It’s just . . . This is . . . hard to navigate, you know?”
“Yeah.”
After the midnight kitchen escapade, things between us had tiptoed into the land of slightly awkward.
There was new history being formed and the past kept getting tangled alongside it.
I liked Greyson. A lot. But that wasn’t enough of a reason to jump back into a relationship with no foundation. At least, no foundation I remembered.
He’d been in his right mind to stop me last night. Even if a part of me really, really wished he weren’t so noble.
Greyson was still his usual self. Like it didn’t faze him. But there were times I caught him watching me. And in those moments, he didn’t look as unaffected as he projected.
By the time we hit the produce section, I’d ticked nearly everything off the list of things we needed to have Myles and Juliet over for dinner tomorrow.
That’s when I saw her.
I didn’t think. Didn’t stop to assess the situation. Nothing. I just acted.
It was survival instinct, pure and simple.
Which meant grabbing Greyson’s shirt front and yanking him between two food displays of bananas and a rafter-high fruit pyramid of all things red, white, and blue.
Thankfully I caught him off guard enough that he came willingly.
Because there was no way I could have hauled him otherwise.
The man was solid muscle, and I was . . . not.
“What—?”
I clapped a hand over his mouth. “Gulliver sighting,” I hissed. The telltale rumble of a chuckle vibrated under my fingers. Which were on his lips. I snatched my hand back and listened intently.
Mrs. Gulliver was a kind soul, but she was nosy. And a mini interrogation in the grocery store was the last item on my agenda for today.
Only once I knew she was gone did I breathe a sigh of relief. “Has she always been so . . . invested?”
Greyson laughed, a warm gravelly sound I loved. “She means well.”
I couldn’t fight the smile warring at my lips. “You’ve got a nice laugh, you know.”
His amusement faded into something more . . . just more. Even though there was hardly any space between us, I couldn’t read him. Instead, I said, “Coast is clear,” and waltzed back out.
Greyson followed, and when we trailed the aisle back towards the cashier, his hand extended behind him.
I doubt he even realized he did it because this time I did take his hand, and he jolted. I smiled, and he laced our fingers. The lines crinkled around his eyes in a real smile. I could get used to this dating stuff again.
And I’d certainly never been this giddy over holding a man’s hand before.
At the risk of sounding proud, I was doing smashingly on the cooking front. Except when I forgot things on the stove or in the oven.
But I wasn’t about to let that stop me. The strawberry timer Greyson bought me after the cookie debacle was my new best friend. So far, I was doing better remembering to set that timer than anything else. Probably because it had cute little eyes and a smile. Baby steps.
Tonight, we were having homemade pizza. How badly could I mess that up?
Especially since we were having Myles and Juliet over for dinner, and I was dying to see my bestie act mushy over a man.
The celebratory barbecue had been too hectic to give me a good picture, and I needed to see it.
Because I never thought I’d see the day.