Chapter 31
Madeline used the gas station’s restroom to change into dry clothes while Grant fueled up with diesel for their long through-the-night return trip.
When the truck’s tank was full, they decided some of the furniture should be tied down more securely.
Grant pulled away from the pumps and parked in an open end of the ample parking area.
The job necessitated unscrewing legs from a few more pieces, so Madeline grabbed her drill and got busy.
As she worked, Grant watched her with an intense, thoughtful expression.
“What?” she finally asked.
“Nothing, really . . . Or I don’t know. It’s hard to put into words. Just . . . you really can do anything and everything you set your mind to, can’t you?”
Madeline glanced down at the drill in her hand. Was that what had him so ridiculously impressed? Her ability to use a drill?
She was about to make a crack about sexism and how not all women were power tool averse, but grief—freshly stirred and shaken by her confrontation with the storage lockers and then the graveyard—chose that moment to stick a sharpened dagger into her.
Lyle, killed instantly on impact, flashed into her mind.
Lauren in a hospital bed—a bed she occupied for less than an hour before her injuries took her.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I really can’t.”
Grant, not being an idiot, could tell the mood had changed again—and just nodded and accepted it.
She sighed. She wasn’t being fair to him. She knew he wanted more than she would ever be able to give him. And yet . . . she—so hideously selfish!—didn’t want to lose their friendship either.
“You know you can share whatever dark thoughts hit you from time to time, right? You won’t scare me away or lose me. I’m your friend or whatever for the long haul.” He took the drill from her and secured it in its case.
Madeline bit her lip. “That’s what’s bothering me.”
“How so?”
“You want—and you deserve—feelings I’ll never be able to return.”
“Never is a long time.”
Madeline wasn’t fooled by his light tone. She’d seen hurt flare in his blue eyes, though he quickly shifted his gaze to hide it.
“Do you remember when I asked you why you and your father were estranged?”
Grant nodded warily.
“You told me that ‘in a nutshell, it boiled down to his problems. That his pain or whatever it was got too big for you.’”
Grant nodded again.
“That’s me, Grant. That’s what I’m afraid of in a nutshell. That my pain, my problems . . . my issues . . . are too big. Being with me, like as a couple, not just as friends, would mean facing intense lows sometimes. It’s too much to ask of you—or of anyone. You’ve only seen mere ripples.”
He smiled, and Madeline couldn’t understand that response at all. What was there to smile about in this conversation?
“A wise friend of mine would say it’s not your job to protect me from my feelings and not your place to try and manage them for me.”
He was right, of course, and she got his “wise friend” reference too.
It was becoming a thing—him annoyingly quoting her own words back to her.
She scowled, but couldn’t argue with the sentiment, so settled for a slightly grouchy, “This friend of yours is beginning to sound like someone I’d love to hate. ”
Grant’s smile deepened, revealing the laugh lines she loved so much. When he spoke, though, his voice was somber and serious. “But don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Choose not to be with me out of some misguided idea that you’d be helping me or sparing me or something.
Your grief is not a ‘problem,’ and your ‘issues’ are not too big for me.
If you aren’t into me as more than a friend, that’s A-OK.
Ditto if you’re afraid and just don’t want to go there.
If we’re never more than we are right now, I’ll be okay with that.
More than okay, in fact. You’re my best friend—you brought me back to life. ”
Madeline swallowed a flood of emotion and stared down at the ground. He was . . . impossible.
“There is one thing, however, that it’s too late for.”
She jerked her gaze up to his. “What?”
“For me not to be absolutely devastated if we stop being friends, so . . . just don’t, okay?”
“Fine,” she muttered—which made him laugh. “Will you let me get back to work now, please?”
He stood back with his hands raised. “Of course. Be my guest. Get back to work.”
She didn’t. Instead, she studied Grant as he leaned over a squat table and reached for a bungee cord to secure it.
Re-engaging with life was like pouring water into sand, she thought as she watched him.
You couldn’t just let in a little bit here or a little bit there, wherever you were comfortable; it sought out every dry patch in its path.
Even six months ago, she would have been satisfied with a quiet, solitary existence.
Now, despite how excruciating the past few days had been in some ways, they had also been lovely.
And needed. She had done what she’d set out to do—and Grant hadn’t turned away from her pain.
She shouldn’t turn away because of her fear.
She should take the next step she’d intended—hoped—to take.
Grant sensed her eyes on him and turned around. “What?”
She reached up, rested her hands on his shoulders, and stared into his face.
He looked surprised—but only for a moment.
Then he snugged her hips and pulled her against him.
She melded to him instinctively and shivered as his lips touched down on her mouth, then her jaw by her ear, then trailed a path of soft kisses down the sensitive skin on her neck.
“Grant,” she whispered.
He stepped back slightly but continued to hold her hips. “Madeline.” Even if her eyes had been closed, she would have heard the smile in his voice.
“I want to be ready for this, for you and me, but I just don’t know if I am fully, or if I ever will be.” Her voice dropped. “So much of who I am was buried with my family. I’m not who I used to be. . . .”
Grant nodded. “I can’t even imagine what it’s like,” he said tentatively, “but for what it’s worth, I really like the you that you are. The Madeline I know.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
His eyes burned into her. “So, don’t.”
If only life were that simple. Just decide not to hurt someone and don’t. Choose not to be broken—and don’t be.
His smile was so kind. So understanding.
Every part of Madeline wanted to just . .
. welcome him in, in every way. She recalled the time she’d suggested that shared misery wasn’t the best thing to build a relationship on and Grant had so seriously, so earnestly responded, “That’s just it.
I feel joy when I’m with you, Madeline. I am joyful.
And I’m excited about the future again—both things I never expected to feel again. ”
Remembering the comment made her smile even as she winced. She had known exactly what he meant. Exactly. She could be happy with Grant, she knew. And that’s why it felt so wrong. Made her so sad.
But, she reminded herself yet again, hadn’t that been part of—the hugest part, even—of this buying trip?
So she could combine it with reconciling with her past, a past she would always long to have been different than it was .
. . but wasn’t. And when she’d—stupidly, she saw now—thought he might get back together with Holly, hadn’t it clarified her feelings for him, made her realize what she really wanted?
She put her hand up to his cheek, liking it clean-shaven, but fondly remembering the scruffy, silvery whiskers he’d been hiding behind when she first met him.
Grant nodded, seeming to understand all the things she still couldn’t. Then he turned his face toward her palm and kissed it—the same way she had after their first kiss all those months ago.
He stepped back, exhaling. “We’d better get this show on the road. Lots of miles to cover if we’re going to make it back in time for your shift.”
For the moment, the store seemed the least of her priorities. “Why are you so nice to me?”
He laughed. “Come off it. You’re very nice to me, too. You just have more self-control than I do.”
She wasn’t sure about that at all. “I’m serious.”
Grant’s blue eyes held the depths of the sea as they locked on hers, and for a moment, she thought she might drown in all that she saw there. “From our very first conversation, you reminded me of something old and good about human nature—something I’d forgotten the power of.”
“And what’s that exactly?”
Grant’s smile was shy. He shrugged a little. “Love.”
Madeline’s breath hitched, and she felt the pull of a tide she was powerless against. “You’re a sweet man, Grant Graham.”
Grant looked slightly disappointed but mustered a joke. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me—and you do a masterful job of hiding it most of the time.”
As Grant chuckled, Madeline put her hands on both sides of his face again. “I don’t know what it means yet, but I love you too.”
To his apparent surprise, almost horror, tears sprang to his eyes. He rubbed at them furiously. “You don’t have to say that.”
Aw, the poor man. They’d both had a pretty rough ride of life so far, hadn’t they? “Of course, I don’t have to, you nut.”
That made him laugh again and seem embarrassed about his first response—but then he reached into his pocket and withdrew a square of folded flannel. “I got you something when you weren’t looking.”
“What is it?” she asked, but he had already unfolded the small package.
She could plainly see for herself what it was: an old-fashioned ring with an intricate silver band and three amber stones nestled in an ornate setting.
Her heart stuttered. Was he going to ruin everything by wanting way too much too soon?
“What do you mean by it?” She could hardly get the words out.
He shook his head, intuiting her thoughts. “No panic allowed. The color reminded me of your eyes is all, and, well, it has three stones. One for Lyle, one for Lauren, and one for Ronny.”
Madeline blinked rapidly.
“Mostly though, it’s just a beautiful ring with a history for a beautiful—”
“No . . . ” Madeline cringed and laughed lightly, a rush of conflicting emotions rioting through her. “Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say. It’s too corny.”
The laugh lines around Grant’s eyes deepened. “Corny, maybe, but also true, and it bears repeating. It’s just a beautiful ring with history—for a beautiful woman with history.”
Madeline groaned but couldn’t help looking down at the ring. It really was pretty—more than pretty, even. And that Grant saw the potential symbolism of those three stones for her . . .
“It’s a friendship ring,” Grant added softly. “That’s all.”
“That’s also everything.”
“Yes.” Grant smiled. “But now, like I said, we really need to roll, or I’ll be stopping for a nap before we even get on the freeway.”
She wanted to tease him for needing his sleep, but she was too mesmerized by the unaccustomed weight on her right hand. The ring was a perfect fit and already warming to her skin.