Chapter 31 #2
Once the pepperoni pizza and the half-Hawaiian and half-vegetarian monstrosities were in the oven, I started pulling produce out of the fridge. We weren’t big gardeners, but between Mama D and Juliet, who were both green-thumbed wonders, we were well supplied.
I grabbed my phone, grinning at the sunshiny yellow phone case.
Something inside me warmed thinking of the day Greyson had given it to me after the accident.
He took providing and protecting seriously.
Opening my music-streaming app, I clicked on Michael Bublé’s “It’s a Beautiful Day” and started humming while I rinsed the fresh orange cherry tomatoes and started chopping lettuce for a small salad.
But the beat sank into my blood, and I grabbed a whisk. I was home alone for the afternoon. Well, almost. Greyson was in his woodworking shop in the backyard, having to work on a project he’d promised to finish by next week.
So, I started singing.
Rosie Cotton stood up from her spot on the living room rug and trotted into the kitchen to check on me like she was Nana from Peter Pan.
“I’m fine.” I patted her head and laughed, shaking my hips and continuing to belt out the song. I was no Celine Dion, but I could carry a tune.
With a woof, Rosie Cotton shook herself, then carefully leapt up on her haunches to offer me her front paws.
“Aww, you wanna dance!” I set the whisk down and swayed with her to the music. She barked approvingly, and I laughed. Lightness flitted through my soul. It was nice to just exist in the moment. Something I was doing a lot of these days. Because this moment was all I had.
When Rosie hopped down, I grabbed the whisk again and belted out the bridge, twirling around until I screamed when a tall, shadowed silhouette leaned against the doorframe, watching me.
Not stopping to think, I dove at the utensil drawer and tossed the first thing my fingers grabbed at the man. Don’t die. Don’t die.
He caught it easily and raised an eyebrow, holding up the tool. A potato masher. How deadly. Why hadn’t I gone for the knife drawer?
My eyes caught up with my brain, and I realized it was only Greyson. Guess it was a good call on no-knives then. I scrunched my nose in apology and shrugged, continuing to sing and daring him to join me.
Greyson shook his head, but the half smile fighting to break free was glorious. He shuffled, sock footed, across the floor and shimmied his hips in an exaggerated motion.
I doubled over laughing, but he wasn’t done.
He sang his heart out over the final part of the chorus until the song faded away, and I hit pause.
I swiped tears from my cheeks as an intense flood of happiness flowed through me, making me feel high on champagne bubbles. Not that I actually knew what that felt like, but I’d read it in a book once and liked the imagery. “You’ve got moves, Marine.”
Greyson smirked. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, love.”
The strawberry timer dinged on the counter, and I flew to the oven to rescue the pizza. Not burnt, hallelujah.
“Dinner’s just about ready,” I called over my shoulder. “You want to wash up first before they get here?”
Greyson glanced down at himself. “Just my hands. The rest of me’s fine.” And as he walked away, I couldn’t help watching him.
Oh, the rest of him was fine indeed.
They were cuddling.
His arm was draped around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. And she liked it. Read: she hadn’t cut off his limbs and buried the body.
The he being Myles and the she being Juliet, in case that wasn’t clear.
From the moment they’d walked in the front door, they hadn’t stopped touching. His hand on her knee under the table. Her shoulder brushing his arm as she passed him a dish. And now this.
My love-cynic best friend had found herself a man who made her glow.
A man she’d married for convenience. Juliet still owed me that story because there was nothing fake about this.
And my heart gave a twinge of longing. I wanted what they had. Stealing a glance at Greyson while he and Myles discussed last season and summer training, I knew I’d had it. Once. Of all the things I’d forgotten, why did it have to be him?
Losing him . . . the one good thing in my life . . . God, it’s not fair. Why let me remember the man who hurt me, the mother who neglected me, the families who never wanted to keep me?
Greyson wanted me. I’d seen it on his face. And I meant what I said in Oregon—I wanted him to be my good thing. I wanted him in my life.
There was so much between us. So much I couldn’t remember. But he’d stayed. He hadn’t pushed. Maybe for now, that was enough.
After dinner, we broke out a card game over coffee and dessert.
“Were you a card shark in a previous life, Pais?” Myles groused, handing over a stack of cards.
I slipped them into my hand. “Only twice.” I didn’t find the admission alarming, but the rest of the table did.
Greyson, Juliet, and Myles all stared at me with varying expressions of surprise and concern.
I blinked, self-conscious. My past felt closer to me these days, breathing down my neck. I guess I hadn’t told them this. “It’s nothing. I needed lunch money.”
“So you turned into a card shark, eh?” Myles shook his head as if to pull himself from a daze. “Didn’t think you had it in you. Sunshine, here”—he nudged his wife—“I could see her turning to the dark side for sure.”
“Yeah, well, necessity is the mother of invention.” I shifted awkwardly. “But I only did it twice. It’s harder to live with a guilty conscience than an empty stomach.”
“What I want to know is how?” Juliet eyed me curiously.
I shrugged. “One of my foster families played poker with their friends and let me watch. I learned from them and then taught myself the rest at the library. Challenged a couple of bullies to a game after school and that was that.”
Memories of that time whirled in. Of my mother’s drinking. The constant pull between her cleaning her life up enough for me to be sent back to her and the times I’d get pulled right out again and into a different foster house.
Rosie whined in the back room, and I practically flew to my feet, grateful for the distraction. “I’ll get her.”
Flinging open the back door, I let Rosie patter down the steps before I followed, barefoot, inhaling deeply of the hard, sunbaked landscape and wiggling my toes in the dry grass.
My mom’s desperate need to be loved had made her weak, and I’d vowed to never become her. I wouldn’t need a man like she did. But I’d followed in her steps, making the same mistake with Jared. And now . . . I was in danger of falling again.
Could this time be different, though?