Chapter 37
Chapter thirty-seven
Paisley
Several kisses later, Greyson went upstairs, leaving me to my sourdough starter. Once upon a time, I’d been proficient, and slowly the nuances were coming back. It was a science. And an arm workout.
Greyson’s phone chimed on the counter, and I leaned over to catch a glimpse of the name. If it was Gabe like he was expecting, I’d risk running it up to him despite his being in the shower.
But it wasn’t Gabe Carson. It was someone named Keegan.
KEEGAN:
Hey, man. How’s the wife? I still have a job opening for you in Tennessee that would be perfect. Gotta keep the options open.
The muscles in my neck tensed, strangling my breath. Tennessee? Job? What?
I heard the telltale fifth-step creak and took a moment to compose myself, taking deep calming breaths. Greyson didn’t come into the kitchen, though. From the sounds of it, he was heading to the laundry room.
That worked for me. I marched from the hall and found him exactly where I expected.
Or almost. He was measuring out the liquid detergent for a load of towels.
And he was shirtless. He was my husband, so it wasn’t wrong of me to admire the tanned expanse of muscles corded down his spine, the broadness of his shoulders, or the trim taper of his waist. Nope, not at all.
The machine beeped as he turned it on, and his eyebrows flew up when he saw me. “Pais, everything okay?”
It wasn’t. But I couldn’t tell him that. Not when he turned and gave me another eyeful of muscles. And a jagged mosaic of scars across his abdomen.
Oh, Grey. I swallowed hard and stepped closer, tracing a finger over the raised, puckered skin.
Greyson shuddered, and I yanked my hand back. “Sorry, did that hurt? I wasn’t—”
“It didn’t hurt,” he said roughly, intensity swirling in his eyes.
Oh.
I cleared my throat, and the charged energy of the moment vibrated between us. “Is that from the military?” I whispered.
“Yeah.” Greyson quickly grabbed the T-shirt sitting on the dryer and tugged it over his head. Like he was ashamed or trying to hide. “What’s up?”
I really wanted the story behind the scars, but I sensed he wasn’t ready for that conversation yet. “Who’s Keegan?” I asked bluntly.
Greyson stiffened. “Did he call?”
“Texted. Said something about Tennessee. I wasn’t snooping,” I added a little defensively.
Greyson rubbed the back of his neck, closing his eyes. “Can we talk?”
Were there any words more terrifying in the English language than “can we talk?” I think not. But I pasted on a brittle smile. “Sure.”
In the living room, I sank down on the sofa, but Greyson paced between me and the kitchen. Not saying a word.
When I couldn’t take it a moment longer, I burst out. “Is this some sort of secret bro code?”
Greyson paused and eyed me, confusion and amusement warring on his face. Then he sighed and dropped down beside me on the couch. “Keegan is a fellow Marine. He retired shortly after I did and moved back to Tennessee to start a new business.”
“Okay.” I dragged out the word, lifting an eyebrow.
“His business is a bodyguard-for-hire gig. Military veterans serve as the bodyguards, and it’s open to traveling dignitaries, celebrities, et cetera.”
“And he asked you to join him,” I filled in quietly.
Greyson nodded, clasping his hands over his knees.
“You and I were discussing the possibilities before . . . well, before.” His gaze was clear as it met mine.
“I didn’t lie to you, but I should have mentioned it sooner.
I promised you honesty and no secrets.” He sighed. “Once again, Gabe was right.”
I huffed softly, crossing my arms. “Yes, you should have told me.” Moving?
My palms dampened, and a strange pressure clamped around my rib cage.
I was just getting used to the idea of living in Serenity Springs again.
But Tennessee? I’d never been there. That I knew of.
What would the old Paisley have done? Panicked, probably.
Unexpected adventures were not my friend.
I had no answers and was way out of my league. And yet . . . we were a team.
Reaching out, I touched his knee. “What decision did we make?”
“We didn’t. Just talked about it.”
I scooted to the edge of the sofa cushion, the hair spilling from my askew messy bun. “Do you want to take the job?”
Greyson shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters!” I threw up my hands. “I need you to talk to me about this. Don’t pull that”—I pitched my voice down an octave in imitation—“‘I’m a muscly, macho guy and I don’t have feelings’ mumbo jumbo on me. Talk.”
His lips twitched. “Is that really how I sound?”
“Greyson,” I growled.
He blew out a breath, shoulders relaxing. “It’s lucrative, but hardly convenient.”
A frown wrinkled my forehead. This was like pulling teeth. “That’s still not what I asked. Do you want to take it? Forget the money, the relocation, me—” I paused when he winced. “Sorry, poor choice of words. Is this something Greyson Satterfield would want to do with his life?”
He held my gaze steadily, a hundred thoughts and concerns whirling in his expression. “I’m not a solo unit here, Pais. I have to think about you—how can I not?”
Be still my heart. I cupped his cheek. “And I love that about you. But I’m not going to hold you back if this is something you feel called to do.” I leaned back against the sofa. “Dream a bit with me, Grey.”
Those must have been the magic words because his demeanor softened, and he lay down on the couch, taking me with him until I was tucked against him like a little spoon.
I traced circles over the firm muscles of his forearm draped over my waist, holding me close. And as I listened to him finally talk—pros, cons, and everything in between—I was exactly where I wanted to be.