Chapter 47
Chapter forty-seven
Paisley
I didn’t sleep at all that night.
Insomnia was a beast on the regular, but couple that with my emotional cocktail, and sleep was a losing battle.
Curled up on the guest bed in Myles and Juliet’s apartment, I scrolled through the photo album on my phone in the dark, a familiar TV show playing softly in the background.
My camera roll was full of pictures of books because I ran the library’s social media account.
Pictures of the girls and me. Short clips of Rosie’s cute antics.
A yellow sticky note with the words I love you next to a thermos of tea.
But most of all? Pictures of Greyson or the two of us.
Greyson napping on the living room rug, arm flung over his eyes and Rosie curled next to him for a snooze.
Greyson, Khia, and I in the kitchen, flour on our cheeks.
Greyson playing his guitar.
Greyson hugging me from behind, chin propped on my shoulder.
Greyson, Greyson, Greyson.
Hundreds of pictures and videos flashed across the screen. I was clearly obsessed with the man. If this were a true crime show, I’d be borderline stalker level. But he seemed to be obsessed with me, too.
Everything about this strong man radiated kindness. How he held me. How he treated our sweet dog. How he interacted with our nieces and nephews.
He wasn’t Jared. He never had been.
I’d been wrong to compare them. Even if it was my body’s way of trying to protect me.
A tear trickled down my cheek into the pillow. Then another. Grey won’t hurt me. He never did. His hands had only been gentle, never rough. That gentleness, those blue eyes and half smile healed the broken fissures in my heart.
Greyson was in a league all his own. And . . . I love him.
It was time to tell him that.
After breakfast, Juliet took me home for a fresh change of clothes—Greyson was nowhere to be seen—and then dropped me off half a block down from the mechanic shop. I needed those steps to clear my head. Not that I hadn’t already been rehearsing the conversation all night.
I’d made a mistake and taken it out on the last man in the world I should have willingly hurt. A walk of shame and a hefty dose of humble pie was in order.
I paused in the open doorway of the bay, watching.
Greyson’s coveralls were tied at his waist, leaving him in a light grey tee streaked with grease. He was alone.
Be brave. Reach out and grab your second chance.
I crossed the space between us, and Greyson turned at the click of my favourite camel-coloured oxford heels—which always made me feel a smidgeon braver.
So did the yellow gingham sundress I loved, and from the way his gaze had lingered when I wore it before, I knew he liked it too.
“Pais.” His face betrayed his surprise, and he started wiping his hands on a rag. “What are you—?”
I didn’t let him finish, just rocked up on my tiptoes, gripped his shoulders, and yanked him into a kiss. I tried to pour every word I couldn’t say and every emotion racing through my battered heart into that kiss.
Greyson only hesitated a moment before his deliciously calloused hands gripped my waist, tugging me closer and deepening the kiss.
His kiss was all consuming, powerful yet gentle. A dance of emotions and promises. He kissed like a man who knew exactly what he wanted, and I was the object of all his desires. But there was a tethered restraint behind it, and I wanted to snap it.
“Grey.” I kissed up his jawline, loving the rasp of his stubble, to his ear. “Could we reconvene this reunion to somewhere without an audience?”
He pulled back, as breathless as I was. “What?”
I loved his dazed look and the puzzled line between his brows. I poked his forehead lightly to smooth out the frown. “We’re in your shop with the bay doors open, and I’m almost positive Mrs. Gulliver is across the street filming us for The Vine.”
Greyson whirled around, shooting daggers as he scanned the street for the woman, pivoting to put his body between me and the rest of the world.
I laughed at the surge of defensiveness. But also, swoon.
Without another word, he dragged me across the shop to his private office and shut the door. “Not that I’m complaining, but what did that mean, Pais?” he asked gruffly, running a hand through his hair.
I stepped towards him feeling calm and bold, like all the bookish heroines I adored who finally had the courage to embrace the path presented to them.
Like éowyn and Faramir. Anne and Captain Wentworth.
Meg and Mr. Brooks. Anne and Gilbert. “It meant everything,” I said quietly.
“I’m sorry. Thank you. I love you.” I peeked up at him.
“I don’t want to run, Grey. I didn’t mean what I said.
I panicked. You’re not him. I know that. ”
His eyes briefly slid shut. “Thank God,” he murmured, then hauled me into his arms.
Had I mentioned how much I loved his hugs?
“I’m so sorry I scared you,” he said hoarsely into my hair. “I never want to be the man you’re afraid of, and I let my frustration with Keegan and the panic of seeing you on the ladder come out on you. I swear I don’t blame you, Pais. I never have.”
“I know. We both could have handled things better.”
“Will you forgive me?”
“If you forgive me.”
“Of course.” Greyson cupped my face in his warm, capable hands.
“Paisley Grace Satterfield, I have loved every version of you, in every chapter of every lifetime.” Sincerity bled through his words in a soft caress.
“I love you. Your mind. Your soul. Your big heart. And the way you see the world.” His lips tipped into a ghost of a smile.
“I love the way you talk literary to me.”
I sniffed and tasted the salty tears on my lips but didn’t look away.
“It’s always only ever been you.” He leaned his forehead against mine, and I relished in the contact. His sweet words and intoxicating smell rolled over me. “Trust my love for you,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m yours forever. I’m not going anywhere, my love.”
“I know,” I whispered. And I believed it. “Thank you for loving me so well.”
He held me, the silence between us reverent and sweet.
The steady beat of his heart under my ear lulled me into restfulness.
He was my safe harbour. The stove light in the dark.
My favourite story I wanted to read again and again.
The security blanket I never wanted to unwrap myself from.
I was safe. I was home. I was loved. That hug morphed into a light kiss of understanding and healing.
“At Nash and Steph’s wedding, I asked you a question,” Greyson murmured between kisses.
“Oh yeah?” Give a girl a minute to refocus after that earth-shattering kiss. Question. Oh . . . that question.
Greyson chuckled. “Oh yeah.” He leaned back, brushing his thumb over my cheek to catch a stray tear. He lifted my left hand, the one still wearing his ring, and held it between us. “Will you, Paisley Grace, marry me? One last time.”
“Since you asked so nicely,” I teased, punctuating it with a kiss. There were still things to work through, but I’d found the one my soul adored. My heart had a home. “So,” I added saucily, arching a brow, “what time will you be home?”
Greyson grinned. “Immediately. I’ll tell the guys I’m taking the day off. Today’s just you, me, and an empty house. I wonder what we’ll do? I’ve got some ideas.”
His heated gaze seared me, making warm bubbles pump through my veins. I leaned in for another kiss, smirking right back at him. Because, of course he did. He and I were finally on the same page of the same book at the same moment.
“I’m sure we’ll think of something,” I whispered against his lips, then got lost in the sweetness of his kiss.