10. Grace
Chapter 10
Grace
M y phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with a text from Kate. I’m halfway through folding laundry, a podcast droning in the background that I’m not even listening to. The moment I see her name, I know it’s not good.
Kate: Hey, just a heads-up—you forgot to check on the groomsmen's tux fittings. Kane mentioned it when I saw him earlier.
Damn it.
I groan, dropping the shirt I’m holding onto the couch. Of course, Kane would mention it. He probably did it with that smug grin, relishing the chance to call me out. Never mind that I’ve been drowning in work and trying to keep my own life together. No, Kane thrives on pointing out my screw-ups. It’s like oxygen to him.
With a muttered curse, I grab my phone and scroll to his contact. I hesitate for half a second before hitting call. The rational part of me knows texting would be easier—safer—but the other part? The part that’s still simmering from our last encounter? That part wants to hear his voice so I can tell him exactly where he can shove his tuxedo fittings.
He picks up after two rings, his voice smooth and irritatingly amused. “Grace. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised I can still see straight. “Don’t flatter yourself, Kane. Kate said you brought up the tux fittings. What’s going on with them?”
There’s a beat of silence, then his low chuckle filters through the line. “Ah, so you’re calling because you forgot about them. Not because you missed me.”
“Don’t push it,” I snap, pacing across my living room. “Just tell me what the issue is so I can fix it.”
“Issue?” he drawls, his tone dripping with mock innocence. “I didn’t say there was an issue. I just mentioned to Kate that you hadn’t checked in yet. You know, to be helpful.”
“You’re so full of it,” I mutter, biting back a smile. “You’re about as helpful as a flat tire.”
“Harsh, Gracie,” he says, his voice low and teasing. “I thought we were past that.”
“Past what?” I ask, stopping mid-step. “The part where you annoy me every chance you get?”
He laughs, and damn it if the sound doesn’t send a shiver down my spine. “Admit it—you’d be bored without me.”
“Hardly,” I say, but my tone lacks bite. I hate how easy it is to slip into this rhythm with him, like sparring partners who know exactly how to push each other’s buttons.
“Fine,” he says after a moment, and I can hear the grin in his voice. “I’ll play nice. The fittings are scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. Kate wanted me to remind you, but you’re clearly on top of things.”
The dig is subtle, but it’s there, and I narrow my eyes even though he can’t see me. “You know, Kane, for someone who’s supposed to be the best man, you’re awfully invested in making my life harder. ”
“It’s a talent,” he says smoothly. “But if it makes you feel better, I’m more than happy to handle the fittings myself. You can just sit back and relax.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “Right. Because trusting you to organize anything is a great idea.”
“Hey, I can be very organized,” he protests. “I even alphabetized my spice rack last week.”
“Sure you did,” I say, fighting back a laugh. “Let me guess—your idea of spices is salt and pepper.”
“That’s hurtful,” he says, his tone mock wounded. “I also have garlic powder and chili flakes. Try to keep up.”
The ridiculousness of the conversation makes me laugh, the sound slipping out before I can stop it. I bite my lip, trying to stifle it, but it’s too late. Kane hears it, and his chuckle follows, warm and smooth.
“See? You don’t hate me as much as you pretend to,” he says softly.
“Don’t get cocky,” I warn, though my voice lacks any real heat. “One laugh doesn’t mean I like you.”
“Maybe not,” he says, his tone dipping just enough to make my pulse skip. “But I’ll take it.”
Silence stretches between us, not awkward but charged, like the calm before a storm. I can feel the pull, the unspoken tension that always seems to hang in the air when he’s around—even over the phone.
“Well,” I say finally, clearing my throat. “Thanks for the update. I’ll handle it.”
“Anytime,” he says, and there’s something in his voice—something softer—that makes my chest tighten. “Good night, Gracie.”
I hang up before I can respond, staring at the phone in my hand like it might give me answers. My heart is racing, and I hate how much his voice lingers in my head, how easy it was to fall into banter with him .
He’s infuriating. Arrogant. Impossible.
But he makes me laugh, and that might be the most dangerous thing of all.
My phone vibrates on the counter, and I glance at it while I pour the last of my ginger ale. This morning sickness at any time of the day sucks. The name on the screen makes my stomach twist in that infuriating way it always does when Kane decides to invade my peace and I would vomit, but I’ve got nothing left.
Kane: Hooplas. 8 p.m. We need to nail down the bachelor/bachelorette party plans. Be there.
No “please.” No “are you free?” Just Kane and his irritating, presumptive charm, like he knows I’ll show up because it’s him asking. And damn it, I will show up, but only because Kate would kill me if I didn’t.
Me: I don’t take orders, Kane. But fine. See you then.
I take a long sip of my ginger ale, hoping it will settle the way my pulse skitters at the thought of seeing him again. It’s been days since our conversation at the marina, but his words—his honesty —still linger, and I hate that I can’t stop thinking about them.
Hooplas is buzzing with its usual crowd when I walk in, the low hum of laughter and music blending with the clatter of glasses. Kane is already there, leaning against the bar with the kind of casual confidence that makes it impossible not to notice him.
He spots me instantly, his grin spreading like he’s been waiting for this moment all night. He looks too good in his fitted shirt and dark jeans, his broad shoulders and easy stance drawing more than a few glances from the other women in the bar. Not that he notices. No, his eyes are locked on me, and it’s enough to make my steps falter.
“Right on time,” he says as I approach, his voice warm but teasing. “I was starting to think you’d chicken out.”
I roll my eyes, sliding onto the barstool next to him. “You’re not that lucky.”
“Lucky, huh?” His grin deepens, and damn it, why does he have to look so smug?
“Let’s just get this over with,” I mutter, pulling out my notebook. “Kate wants this party to be perfect, and I’d rather not listen to her lecture me about slacking.”
He raises an eyebrow, signaling the bartender for another drink. “You? Slacking? Never thought I’d see the day.”
“Don’t start,” I warn, but my lips twitch despite myself.
He leans in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make my pulse skip. “What’s the fun in that?”
The bartender sets his drink down, and he nudges it toward me. “Here. You look like you could use this.”
“I don’t need your charity,” I say, but I take the glass anyway, my fingers brushing his as I grab it. The contact is brief, but it sends a jolt through me that I try to ignore.
“Consider it a peace offering,” he says, his tone lighter now. “Let’s call a truce, at least until we get through this planning.”
“Fine,” I say, pushing the bottle to the side hoping he doesn’t notice I’m not drinking it. “But don’t push your luck.”
We dive into the details, and to my surprise, we actually work well together. He’s quick with ideas—some good, some ridiculous—but his confidence is infectious, and before long, I find myself laughing more than I’d like to admit. His wit is sharp, his charm disarming, and the way he focuses on me, like I’m the only thing in the room that matters, is... unsettling.
“You’re not terrible at this,” I admit after we’ve hashed out the schedule. “For someone who thinks a bachelor party should involve tequila and questionable life choices.”
“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it,” he says, his grin wicked. “But I have layers, Gracie. You should know that by now.”
“Stop calling me that,” I snap automatically, but there’s no heat in my voice. If anything, it comes out softer than I intended.
“Why?” he asks, his tone lower now, more serious. “It suits you.”
The air between us shifts, the playful banter giving way to something heavier. I feel it in the way his gaze lingers on me, the way his voice dips just enough to make my stomach flutter in a good way, not a pregnancy way. I look away, pretending to check my phone, but my hands are shaking, and I know he sees it.
Once we’re finished with the plans for the party, we walk out together, the cool night air wrapping around us as we step into the parking lot. The tension that’s been simmering all evening follows us, crackling like a live wire. I half expect him to say goodnight and walk off, but he doesn’t. Instead, he falls into step beside me, his presence both comforting and maddening.
“Which one’s yours?” he asks, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
I nod toward my car, and we stop in front of it. He stands there, not moving to leave, and I don’t either. The silence stretches, thick with unspoken words.
“Thanks for... tonight,” I say finally, the words feeling awkward but necessary.
He smirks, leaning against my car like he belongs there. “ Don’t tell me you had fun, Gracie. You might ruin your reputation.”
I roll my eyes, but my lips twitch in a reluctant smile. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”
“And yet, here we are,” he says softly, his gaze locking onto mine.
The moment stretches, the air between us charged with something I don’t want to name. His eyes drop to my lips, and I swear my heart skips a beat. For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me. For a second, I want him to.
But then he steps back, his expression unreadable. “Goodnight, Gracie.”
“Goodnight,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
He walks away, his steps slow and deliberate, and I watch him until he disappears around the corner. My heart is pounding, my head spinning, and I can still feel the weight of his gaze, the heat of his presence.
I climb into my car, gripping the steering wheel like it might steady me, but it doesn’t. All I can think about is him—his smile, his laugh, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered.
It scares the hell out of me because for the first time, I’m not sure I want to keep fighting this pull between us.
I close the door to my apartment and lean against it, the quiet pressing around me like a weighted blanket. My heels clatter to the floor, one after the other, but I don’t move. I just stand there, my head tilted back, staring at the ceiling like it might hold the answers to the million questions swirling in my mind.
And every single one of them has his name written all over it.
Kane .
The man is like a storm—loud, reckless, and impossible to ignore. He’s always there, throwing my perfectly ordered life into chaos, yet somehow making me feel more alive than I have in years. It’s maddening. Infuriating. Completely unsettling.
I push off the door, pacing across the living room. “Why him?” I mutter to no one. “Why does it have to be him ?”
I grab a glass of water, but my hands are shaking as I bring it to my lips. Tonight was supposed to be simple—just planning for the party, going through the motions, and getting it done. But of course, Kane had to turn it into something more with his teasing, his cocky grin, and those damned eyes that look at me like he sees right through every wall I’ve built.
He doesn’t just get in my head; he lives there, burrowing deeper every time I tell myself to stay away, and I hate that. Hate that he can make me laugh when I’m determined to stay annoyed. Hate that one look from him can make my pulse race. Hate that I can’t stop thinking about how it felt to stand next to him tonight, the air between us humming like a live wire.
Hate that I want more of it.
I set the glass down harder than necessary, the sharp clink breaking the silence. “Get it together, Grace,” I mutter. “He’s just a guy. An obnoxious, arrogant, infuriating guy.”
But the words feel hollow, even to me. Because Kane isn’t just anything. He’s everything I shouldn’t want but do, and it’s terrifying. The way he looked at me tonight, like he was daring me to let my guard down, to step into the fire just to see if we’d burn—god, it’s addictive.
I flop onto the couch, my head falling back against the cushions. My phone is on the coffee table, lighting up briefly with a notification I don’t bother checking. My thoughts are too tangled, too loud. The memory of him walking me to my car plays on a loop in my mind—the way he stood so close, the way his voice softened when he said goodnight, like he didn’t want to leave any more than I did.
I run a hand through my hair, frustration building in my chest. This isn’t me. I don’t get caught up in messy emotions or whirlwind attractions. I keep things simple, safe. But Kane? He’s the opposite of safe. He’s the kind of man who could break every rule I’ve ever made for myself and leave me questioning if the rules were ever worth it in the first place.
My eyes drift to my phone again, and my stomach twists. The secret I’ve been carrying presses against me, heavy and unrelenting. He doesn’t know. How could he? I’ve made sure of that. But every time I think about telling him, my resolve crumbles.
What would he even say if I told him? Would he care? Would he be furious? Would he walk away?
The thought makes my chest ache in a way I don’t want to name. Because the truth is, I don’t know if I want him to walk away. And that’s the scariest part of all.
I pick up the phone, my fingers hovering over his name in my contacts. It would be so easy—just a text, just a few words to change everything. To bring this secret out into the open and see where the pieces fall.
But I can’t do it. Not tonight. Not when I still don’t know what the hell I want from him—or from myself.
With a frustrated sigh, I set the phone back down, my decision leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. For now, the secret stays mine.