6. CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 6
GRANT
This whole just friends thing is getting harder and harder to stick to.
Each time I remind myself why it’s better to just be friends with Scarlett, I believe it a little less.
All the reasons I clung to before don’t seem to make as much sense anymore.
I thought I was too busy to date. But here I am, working, volunteering, and still making plenty of time to see Scarlett every day.
It didn’t seem like she was looking for a relationship. But couldn’t she say the same thing about me? Is it possible Scarlett was reacting to my own hesitancy?
Things were comfortable as they were. Being friends was enough.
Is it, though? Now that I’ve gotten a taste of what it’s like to touch her, to hold her, to feel her soft body curled against me as she sleeps, how can I not think about more ?
And there was the baggage. My struggles and hers. Scarlett isn’t the only one who suffers from sleepless nights and ghosts of memories that won’t seem to leave.
But maybe we can face them together.
So I keep going back and forth. Do I tell Scarlett how I feel and risk ruining what we have? Or do I keep silent and risk losing something that could be even better?
I’ve been thinking about it for days.
Or if I’m honest with myself, it’s been in the back of my mind for months.
It’s so unlike me to be indecisive about something. I’ve always made a decision and that’s been it. I’m committed. Joining the Navy. Going through BUD/S training. Becoming a SEAL. Moving here and starting my company. That’s not to say the decisions have been easy, but I’ve never hesitated this long.
With Scarlett, though… I’m terrified of doing anything that could hurt her.
I feel so damn protective of her, even though I know she’s more than capable of taking care of herself. She’s thirty-three years old. A registered nurse. She takes care of people as a profession.
Still. There are the things she keeps hidden from almost everyone.
Like the nightmares I’m fairly certain she still has, even though she hasn’t mentioned them since the night I stayed over. The panic attacks. Her reluctance to ask for help, even from her best friend. The flashbacks she admitted to having the night of the robbery, but not explaining where they come from.
I know something bad happened a few years ago, back when Maya met Cole. Maya had a violent ex, and things spiraled out of control from there. Somewhere in all of that, Scarlett was involved. But she never volunteered the details, and I didn’t want to push.
But I want to know. I want to know everything about her.
Maybe tonight. Maybe after dinner, instead of watching TV, we can just talk.
Man. If my old teammates knew I was getting this worked up over a woman, they’d all be on their asses laughing at me. But they’d support me. Fearless Rhys would tell me to go for it, and promise to have my back if it didn’t go well. Eli would make jokes about how being single is better, but he’d grudgingly give his blessing. And Zack… married to his high school sweetheart since they were eighteen, he’d tell me to go all in.
I can practically hear him saying, If you think she might be the one, man, you have to take the chance. You’ll always regret it if you don’t.
Shit. Sometimes I miss that guy so much it hurts.
But he gave damn good advice.
So with Zack’s southern twang still in my head, I grab the gift bag off the passenger seat and get out of the car. I’m halfway up Scarlett’s front walk when she opens the door to greet me. Jasper darts out and rushes over to me, wagging his stubby little tail so hard his entire body shakes from it.
Scarlett comes out after him, laughing as she scolds him. “Jasper. You’re supposed to wait inside .” To me, she smiles and shakes her head as she says, “I trained him to stay. But whenever he sees you, he just can’t wait.”
God. She’s so beautiful it’s hard to breathe past it.
Her hair glows as the evening sun catches it; a shining blend of gold and corn silk that looks so soft I ache to touch it. Sapphire eyes sparkle with a joy that was missing in the days after the robbery, and her smile is the most breathtaking I’ve ever seen.
She’s wearing a thin sweater that almost exactly matches the shade of her eyes and worn jeans that mold to the curves I’ve spent more than a few nights dreaming about. The V of her sweater gives a hint of cleavage, reminding me of how her breasts feel when she hugs me.
But it’s not just the physical things that make Scarlett so beautiful. It’s how she smiles at me, her entire face lighting up with it. It’s how her eyes brighten as she gazes at me, like seeing me is the best part of her day.
Then there’s the way her cheeks go pink after she hugs me, and she says, “I’m so glad you’re here. I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” I can’t resist pulling her in for another quick hug. “And you look great.”
Her cheeks flush again, a deeper pink this time. “Thanks.” After a quick glance at me—top to bottom and back again—her lips quirk. “You look pretty great, too.” Then her gaze drops to the bag in my hand, she exclaims, “Grant! What did you bring this time? ”
“Nothing much.” Looping my arm around her waist, I guide Scarlett back to the house, keeping an eye on Jasper to make sure he’s following. Once we’re all inside, I hand her the bag. “Just something I saw the other day and I thought of you. So…”
“Grant.” It’s lightly scolding, but said with a smile. “You don’t need to keep bringing gifts. I’m okay. Really.”
“I know. But this is… different.”
My heart makes an uneven somersault as I watch Scarlett reach into the bag, rooting through the tissue paper the store employee insisted I needed to have, claiming it was an important part of the gift presentation , whatever that means.
Scarlett pulls out the smaller tissue-wrapped package and carefully unwraps it. For several seconds, she just stares at the gift in silence; long enough for me to worry that I got it all wrong.
“Grant!” She turns the canvas tote around in her hands, inspecting both printed sides of it. “How did you… where did you find this…?”
“At that new gift shop downtown. I was just walking by, and I saw all the bags on display in the window. And I remembered you saying that Little Women was your favorite book as a kid. And that you used to read your mom’s old copy over and over.”
Scarlett’s lips part in surprise. “You remembered that?”
“Yeah.” My lungs squeeze. “You said it made you love romance books and shows. The possibility of a happy ending. And then I was thinking how you said you needed a bag to carry your snacks when you’re working, so I thought this might work.”
“Oh.” An odd expression moves across her face, but it’s gone before I can examine it. Then she smiles and flings her arms around me, hugging me tight. “I love it, Grant. This is perfect. I’ll use it every day.”
The band around my chest relaxes a notch. “Good. I’m glad.”
It’s not that I haven’t brought things over for Scarlett before, just like she said. But it’s typically been something more practical. Food. A tool she mentioned wanting to have, like a real hex wrench to use the next time she’s putting together furniture instead of the flimsy metal one they always send. A new shovel to replace the cracked plastic one her landlord left for her.
This gift is more personal. And it feels a lot different giving it to her.
Scarlett hangs on to me for a few seconds longer before pulling away. Clutching the tote to her chest, she says, “I really love this. Truly. I can’t wait to bring it to work with me.” A faint pink touches her cheeks again. “I’ll think of you every time I use it.”
There goes my heart again. Doing those damn drunken somersaults.
“Well,” Scarlett continues with a smile, “I don’t have a gift for you, but I am making something good for dinner. Eggplant parmesan. You said that was one of your favorites, right?”
“It’s not just one of my favorites. It is my favorite. My grandmother used to make it every time we visited. ”
She sets the tote on the couch and takes my hand, leading me into the kitchen. “Was your grandmother Italian? Or she just liked the recipe?”
I stand beside Scarlett as she peers into the oven, checking on a bubbling tray of cheesy, saucy goodness. “My grandfather was half Italian. And his mother was born in Sicily. So he loved Italian food, and my grandmother learned how to make it for him.”
“Aw.” She closes the oven door and gives it an approving nod. “That’s so sweet.” Glancing up at me, she adds, “I don’t know if mine will come even close to your grandmother’s, but hopefully it won’t be too bad.”
“I’m sure it’ll be amazing. Everything you make is.” At least I think so.
“I’m not sure about that.” She laughs lightly. “I’m an average to slightly above average cook, depending on the day and recipe.” Reaching in a paper bag sitting on the counter, Scarlett pulls out a long loaf of Italian bread and hands it to me. “But you can help. If you slice this up, we can brush some melted butter and garlic on it.”
“Can we put cheese on it too?” I ask hopefully as my stomach makes an impatient growl.
Scarlett giggles. “Do you want cheese on everything ?”
Grinning, I reply, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Within seconds, I’m equipped with a cutting board and a long serrated knife, while Scarlett efficiently chops vegetables for a salad. I keep sneaking quick glances at her, inwardly flinching at how quickly she’s dicing and how close her fingers are to the blade.
She knows what she’s doing , I sternly remind myself. Just because I’ve apparently shifted into crazy overprotective mode doesn’t mean it’s necessarily reasonable.
Once I stifle my instinctive desire to insist on cutting the vegetables myself, which would be overbearing and weird, I relax into the rhythm of cooking with Scarlett. It’s not something I’ve done before—cooking with a woman—aside from the times when I was a kid and my mother guilted me into helping her.
But this is nice. Comfortable.
Yet there’s an intimacy to it as well. Like when Scarlett touches my hand to give me instructions, or she leans into me to watch what I’m doing, so close I can smell her sweetly sensual perfume and the hint of mint on her breath. Or when she gives me a little smile from across the kitchen and our eyes meet, things hanging heavy and unspoken between us.
I keep thinking about how right it feels all through dinner.
As we chat about our days—Scarlett telling me excitedly about how the twins don’t need nursing care anymore but she’s still going to babysit them, Mrs. Plimpton’s latest requests for her shed—it keeps hitting me how much I like this. How much nicer it is to enjoy a meal with Scarlett instead of eating alone at my house.
I like seeing her smile at me from across the table. I like how her leg bumps mine beneath it. And I like just being with her. All of it. The smiles and laughs and shared glances and the magnetic pull between us. The draw I feel towards Scarlett, like my body instinctively wants to be closer to her.
How could I have ever thought just being friends was enough?
Once I’ve cleared my plate after two servings of eggplant parm and four slices of garlic bread—one of the perks of an active job and daily workouts is I can still eat like I’m twenty—I sigh in pleasure and say, “Scarlett. That was incredible. No offense to my grandmother, but if she was still around to taste it, she’d agree yours is better.”
“Oh, thank you.” Scarlett grins. “I’m still not sure about that, but I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“Truly.” I hold her gaze. “You’re really talented. How did you learn to cook so well?”
She pauses a moment before answering. “I taught myself, really. I just watched videos and read my mom’s old recipe books—she actually worked as a chef in her twenties, before she had my brothers, so she had a ton of them.”
I know Scarlett lost her mom when she was just a baby, so I imagine reading through those old recipes must have been special for her. “It’s nice that you had them to look through. Something you and your mom could share.”
“Yeah. It was. Like Little Women . But the recipe books… cooking the same recipes made me feel closer to her. And honestly—” Scarlett’s pensive expression brightens. “My dad and brothers are terrible cooks. They tried, but everything was so bad. So once I got old enough, I started making the meals myself.”
“They must have been happy about that.”
“Not for a while. I had to beg to be allowed to just use the oven by myself. You know my brothers are a lot older than me—Ryder is twelve years older, and Heath is ten—so they were really protective of me. And my dad… he was beyond overprotective. My mom died right after I was born, and I think all three of them got freaked out about something happening to me, too. Even though I was fine. I love them, but they were… it was a lot. Especially growing up.”
“How protective?” I’m mentally reshuffling things in my head, trying to figure out how I can assuage my own instincts without making Scarlett feel smothered.
“They didn’t want me going anywhere alone. Vacations with friends, school trips, just going shopping downtown, hiking in the park—it was all considered too dangerous. Dating? Forget it.” She pauses. “It’s not that I didn’t understand. But I wanted more freedom. That’s why I insisted on going to school in Rochester instead of staying in Saratoga and commuting to Skidmore.”
“And they’re still living upstate?”
“Yes. Ryder’s a sheriff’s deputy in Washington County. Heath owns a sporting goods store in Ballston Spa. And my dad still works at the Adelphi right in downtown Saratoga. ”
I reach across the table to take her hand in mine. “They must have gotten over it, eventually. You being an adult and going off on your own.”
Scarlett stares at me, her brow creasing. Her lips press into a pale line. Then she sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slowly before saying, “I guess they’re okay with it. But… I was so determined. To be independent. To prove I could do everything on my own.” She sighs again. “I haven’t told you this. Haven’t really wanted to. But… I feel like now… you should know.”
There’s a heaviness to her words, a hint to the shadows I’ve seen in her eyes. A preface to the things I think she’s been holding back. Things that she’s still struggling with.
“Let’s sit someplace more comfortable,” I suggest gently. Rising from the table, I tug Scarlett along with me over to the couch.
She glances at the plates on the table with a worried expression. “But the plates. I should rinse them—”
“They can wait.” I draw Scarlett down next to me and wrap my arm around her side. “Talking to you is more important.”
Scarlett stares at me, worrying her lower lip with small white teeth. Her shoulders sag. “I was so determined to be independent, I screwed things all up.” Gaze dipping to her lap, she continues quietly, “I almost got my best friend killed. Caused her terrible trauma. All because I wanted to prove I could handle things on my own.”
It’s a kick to the chest. Not that I believe what Scarlett said for a second, but that she believes it. That she sounds so damn guilty and miserable about it. But rather than immediately debate what she said, I ask gently, “What do you mean?”
Still staring at her lap, Scarlett says in a soft monotone, “Maya’s ex was violent. He threatened her. So we found Blade and Arrow to help. They came to protect Maya, and Cole asked me… if I thought I was in danger. He wanted to offer me protection, too. Since Trever—her ex—had said some threatening things to me.”
Hands twisting nervously, she continues, “I insisted I was fine. I said I’d agree to some cameras at my place and that was it. I wouldn’t consider any other option. Maya was the priority, and that was it. But deep down… I wanted so badly to believe I could handle anything. That I didn’t need protection.”
As much as I want to jump in, I keep silent and give her hand a little squeeze.
“I messed up,” Scarlett says, her chin wobbling. “I should have accepted their offer. Because… Trevor… he grabbed me. Took me into the woods and threatened to kill me if Maya didn’t come. And then… she took my place. He almost killed her, instead. When I tried to help… Maya killed him. She had to kill a man. And it’s my fault. She was hurt, traumatized, and all these terrible things happened to her. Because of me.”
My heart twists into a painful knot. “Scarlett, no.”
“I feel so guilty about it. I can’t stop feeling guilty. I couldn’t face Maya for a while, which makes me a terrible friend. We’re okay now, but… I feel so terrible about it. I couldn’t talk to anyone; I was so ashamed. It took months of panic attacks before I even considered going to a counselor.” Her gaze lifts to mine, dark and tortured. “I didn’t think I deserved to feel better.”
“Oh, no. Baby, no.” There’s a raw ache in my chest. I gather Scarlett into my arms and hug her to me, kissing her hair, all pretenses of distance gone in an instant. “That is not true. It’s not your fault. At all.”
“How can it not be?” Scarlett whispers into my neck. “If I hadn’t—”
“There was no way to know. If it hadn’t happened then, it could have another time. There are so many what-ifs. What if Maya had pushed you harder? Cole? What if you’d been grabbed at work? At the store?” I rub slow circles on her back. “The only one at fault was Trevor.”
“But… Maya…”
“Did you blame Maya for being taken?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Then why are you to blame?”
Scarlett lifts her head to gaze up at me. Her eyes are glassy with unshed tears. “I don’t know, Grant. I just feel so guilty.”
“Have you talked to Maya about this?”
“Only a little. I didn’t… I was scared. Ashamed.”
“Ah, baby. You should talk to her. You might feel better after.”
She stares at me for a while, thoughts working in her eyes. “Maybe.”
I stroke her soft cheek, hesitating only for a moment before baring myself to her. “I’ve felt guilty, too. It was crippling for a while. I had flashbacks. Panic attacks. Didn’t want to be around people. I know how hard it is.”
Compassion softens her voice. “From when you were in the Navy?”
“Yes. I… there were losses. And I lost someone who was very important to me. It was one of the reasons I left. Came back here to be closer to my family. But it was a struggle. And it became a reason to keep people at a distance.”
Scarlett nods. “Yes. I didn’t think anyone… with my nightmares… and just…” Her cheeks go pink. “There wasn’t anyone I wanted to talk to about it, anyway. Not until…”
Oh. This breathless feeling. “Until you.”
Hope comes to life in her eyes, a flicker of light kindling. “Yes. You’re the only one. With you… it’s different. I…”
Is this the right time? The right place?
Does it matter when the truth is the same?
Cupping Scarlett’s cheek, I say, “I feel different with you. I didn’t think I wanted more. But with you… it’s impossible not to.”
“I know.” Her eyes are wide as they meet mine, emotion turning them a deep twilight. “I think… I want more, too.”
Yes.
No more excuses.
I lean in, slowly at first, giving her a chance to change her mind.
But Scarlett moves closer instead.
Her lips part. One small hand clutches my shoulder .
We’re close enough that I can see the tiny brush of freckles on her nose and the flecks of silver in her eyes. The delicate arches of her brows. The flutter of her pulse at her neck.
My heart races.
A breath away, I murmur, “Are you sure?” before it’s too late to turn back.
Her eyes heat with desire. “I’m sure.”
And then.
We kiss.
It’s soft at first, tender, a slow exploration.
Tasting her sweetness.
Feeling her soft lips against mine.
Then little nips and teases, tracing my tongue along the seam of her mouth until she opens for me.
I plunge inside, stroking my tongue against hers. And she doesn’t shy from it, instead meeting each move with an answering one of her own.
Our kiss grows deeper. More intense. More… everything.
My entire body is on fire with it.
I’m hard and there’s nothing more I’d like to do than haul Scarlett onto my lap. Touch her in all the places I’ve fantasized about. But it’s our first kiss and I want to do it right.
I want this to be perfect for her.
So I pull away and brush my thumb across her kiss-swollen lips, then give her another soft kiss before searching her gaze. She looks slightly shell-shocked, pupils dilated so her eyes are almost black. But I hope it’s a good surprise this time. “Was that alright?”
Scarlett blinks. Hesitates.
My heart sinks.
Then her lips curve into a teasing smile. “I think so. But we should probably try again. Just to be sure.”
Well. In that case.
I grin at her. “You’re right. That’s an excellent idea.”