Chapter 12
SASHA
I look up from under the hand perched over my eyes to see Griffin tearing around the side of his house faster than I ever thought a man of his size could move.
“Hot damn!” the bearded, five-foot-nothing septuagenarian next to me hollers. He pulls off his straw hat and presses it against his chest. “Look at ’im go!”
Griffin stutters to a stop in front of us, then his face washes over in relief. And anger. He drops his hands onto his knees. “For fuck’s sake, Chester, seriously?”
I want to laugh. But I’m too touched by Griffin racing over here like I was in mortal danger.
And too distracted by the sight of him in a pair of running shorts and not much else.
I didn’t get to admire it last night. His body is thickly muscled, and I can’t help but follow the deep V dipping into his shorts.
I slept next to that all night and didn’t jump his bones?
Griffin’s neighbor plops his hat back on his white-haired head and gives me a wink big enough that his bushy white eyebrows fall and rise a full inch on his red, wrinkly face.
“Miss Sasha and I here are talkin’ about havin’ a shotgun weddin’.
And it ain’t a shotgun wedding if you don’t bring a shotgun, is it? ”
I feel a little giddy. I’m not sure whether it’s from shooting a gun for the first time in my life or ogling Griffin. I turn my attention back to Chester, who’s my new favorite person in the world. “It sure ain’t,” I agree in my best Dolly Parton twang.
Chester howls with laughter, revealing a set of teeth at least three short of full. His mirth is contagious. I laugh, too, which feels so, so good after the twenty-four hours I’ve had.
Griffin, meanwhile, scowls at both of us, then walks up and takes the shotgun from the older man by the barrel and skillfully clicks it open, shaking the second shell out onto the ground before handing both to the older man. He comes over and stands next to me, looking me up and down.
I’m still wearing only his T-shirt. “You checking for bullet holes?” I ask, even as my stomach flutters with his presence. The man is so big. I only come up to his shoulder.
Griff places his fingers at his hips, glowering at me. Then to Chester, he says, “You’re unbelievable. Didn’t I ask you to leave Louise at home when you come over here? You can’t just go shooting a gun anytime you like.”
“Actually it wasn’t Chester who shot Louise,” I say. “By the way, did you know Chester named his gun after his mother? Isn’t that sweet?”
Griff looks like he’s seeing red. “You let Sasha shoot your gun?”
Chester beams. “She’s a regular Annie Oakley, just like this sweetheart’s namesake.” He hugs the shotgun to his chest.
I have to bite back my laughter. But Griff looks like he’s barely holding it together, so I arrange my features into soberness.
“Hey, it’s okay.” I lay a hand on his forearm and suddenly wish I hadn’t.
I touched it last night, but somehow forgot how thick and corded with muscle it would be against my skin.
I take it away again. “I said I’d never shot a gun before, and Chester said he’d go back home and get Louise for me to try. Just one shot.”
Griff shakes his head. “This is all kinds of unsafe.”
“But it felt all kinds of good.” It did. I felt powerful for the first time in ages. “I finally see why people enjoy shooting guns.”
“Big galoots like Griff wouldn’t understand,” Chester says to me out the side of his mouth. “Ya don’t need help to feel intimidatin’ when you’re eight feet tall.”
Griffin shoots a murderous look at Chester, and now I do laugh.
“Don’t worry,” I say to Griffin. “One shot’s enough for me.”
“Never say never, girlie,” Chester says. “Ma learned how to shoot from her Pop, who lived in that very cabin I call home.” He points through the woods.
“Really?”
“Really. I’m a third-generation hermit. It’s a miracle my family line made it this far.”
I want to ask him about how his parents met. How his grandfather met his grandmother. Why a flash of sadness passes over the old man’s face when he talks about his family.
“Why are you here, anyway?” Griff asks. He’s just this side of rude.
I frown. “Chester came to bring us eggs. Isn’t that nice?”
Chester’s unbothered. “Saw you bustin’ your ugly butt out on the road this morning—you never told me you were comin’ home like you usually do, let alone bringin’ a lady. I woulda shot you a bird. You bring my muffins?”
“Shit, I’m sorry, Ches. We left the city kind of quick.”
I guess that’s their relationship—rude and sweet all at the same time.
“That’s all right.” Chester waves a hand. “Betsey’ll bring some up soon enough. I’ve almost perfected my own blueberry recipe anyway.” He sighs. “Too bad I donated today’s eggs to the raccoons, though.”
Griff follows his gaze to the mess of broken eggs at the tree line.
“What happened, anyway?” Griffin asks.
“We were just surprised to see each other, that’s all,” I say, sparing Chester the need to explain how when he came out and saw me stretched out on one of the Adirondacks on the porch, he’d jumped so high he’d upended his whole hatful of eggs.
I thought I’d given the poor man a heart attack the way he’d clutched his chest right after.
“But now we’re real good friends.” Chester winks. “She said we can get married here in your backyard.”
I laugh, explaining to a bewildered Griffin how after scaring the poor man half to death, I’d run out and dropped to my knees to see if any of the eggs were salvageable. He’d looked down at me and quipped, “Yes, I do.”
“He made a joke about a shotgun wedding, which led to me telling him I’d never seen a shotgun, and here we are,” I say.
“I was gone under an hour.” Griff says.
“Your whole life can change in under an hour,” I say.
But my mind immediately goes to yesterday. The time between me coming home and Griffin meeting me in that alley couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes.
Griffin shifts almost imperceptibly so he’s slightly closer to me, his body angled just a hair more toward mine, like he’s thinking the same thing.
It’s so subtle no one else would have noticed it—Chester certainly doesn’t as he goes off about how one of his chickens “ain’t layin’ right.
” But the gesture sends warmth flooding through me.
“You okay?” Griff asks, the words so quiet under his breath Chester doesn’t even stop talking.
The way he’s looking at me, I get the sense that if I said no, he’d pick me up and carry me inside, then hop on his bike and head to New York to potentially murder a very dangerous man. For me.
“I’m more than all right,” I promise.
He fixes me with that intense gaze a moment longer before turning his attention back to Chester, staying within an inch of me.
I should find his protectiveness oppressive. I should find a lot about this man oppressive. I hated when my exes took over or got jealous or tried to tell me what to do.
But this man can do all of those things. Because for Griffin, it’s not about his feelings. It’s all about keeping me safe, and almost more importantly, making me feel safe.
After only a few days of knowing him, I’m fairly convinced that the man who appears to be the most ornery man on the planet might in fact be one of the most selfless people I’ve ever met.
Well, except maybe for Chester.
It’s only after Chester says, “Did y’all lovebirds hear a damn thing I said?” that I realize Griffin’s hand is at my back and I’m leaning in against his chest.
How did that happen?
I step back, my cheeks burning.
“Well, thanks for coming by, I guess,” Griff says to Chester. To me he says, “Come on, we need to go get some food.”
Chester lights up. “You goin’ for waffles? If y’are, tell Betsey I’m almost out of muffins.”
My stomach grumbles audibly. “Waffles sound amazing.”
Griffin shakes his head. “We’re not going for waffles.”
“Why not?” I ask. Now that they’re in my head, I can’t think of anything else.
Chester frowns and leans forward, whispering loudly, “Is it the money, son? I know you’ve been wearing the same clothes for a while. I got my pension check last week. I can spot ya.”
I hide the little snort that comes out of me with a cough.
Griffin sighs wearily but places his big hands on the back of Chester’s shoulders and guides him toward the path. “Very kind of you, Ches, but we’ll sort it out.”
“You sure?” Chester asks as he lets himself be led toward the trees.
“Bye!” I call, blowing Chester a kiss.
He grins dopily, looking up at Griffin. “Did you see that?”
Griff grunts, turning him around again. “I didn’t see anything.”
I laugh, then run inside.
I wish dearly that I had some new clothes, but I’d wear a potato sack right now for waffles. I’m not taking no for an answer on that. Still, except for a few streaks of dirt, my pantsuit is in surprisingly decent shape. Besides, a waffle place isn’t going to have a dress code.
I’m just tucking my shirt in as I head for the front entry when Griffin comes in the back.
“I know you don’t want to,” I say, “but I’m desperate for waffles. I’ll buy.”
He frowns. “What are you doing?”
“Getting dressed. You know, in clothes. I’m wearing the same ones as yesterday, but that’s out of necessity, not because I’m struggling for money.”
“I’m not—” He looks down. “Okay, listen, Chester thinks I’m wearing the same clothes as the last time he saw me because I only have one kind of clothes.”
“Oh I know. You left your closet door open this morning.”
He glowers. “I was asking why you’re heading for those boots.”
I want to be a smartass and say it’s because I don’t have any shoes yet, but he already looks a little steamy. Instead I smile sweetly. “Because we’re going out for waffles.”
“I didn’t say we were going for waffles.”
“You’re right. Chester did, and I think it’s a great idea.”
Griffin folds his arms.
I’m getting irritated now. “Sorry, do you have plans or something?”
Griffin looks exasperated. “We can’t just go wandering around in public, Sasha. Did you forget everything that happened yesterday?”
Just like that, the warm feelings I had about him a moment ago cool over like ice. My irritation turns to anger. “I can’t believe you just asked me that.”
“And I can’t believe you’re ready to go gallivanting out in the world when a fucking criminal appears to be stalking you.”
My stomach goes swirly. I think I’m going to be sick. “Stalking?”
Griffin pales. “Fuck. No. We don’t know that. I shouldn’t have used that word.”
“No? Just a pet theory you’re working on?” I swallow, sitting down on the little bench in his entryway. It’s a nice bench. “Did you make this?” I ask, running my hand along the seat next to me. “I wonder if I could make something like this.”
He only said the words I was thinking. Why am I suddenly so physically affected?
Griffin gets up, returning a few seconds later with a glass of water.
I try to push it away, but the damn bossy asshole shoves it in my face. “Drink. It’ll ground you.”
I am thirsty, though I greatly dislike how he seems to be right about everything. I take a big gulp, then another, and finally drain the glass.
Griffin stands up, taking the glass from me. He cups it in both hands. It looks tiny. “You are safe here.”
“So why don’t you want to go for waffles?”
“Nothing’s ever 100 percent.”
“Do you think he followed us here?”
“No.”
“Do you think you’d be able to intercept him if he turned up?”
“Yes. I—yes.”
“I saw your cupboards. It’s like Old Man Hubbard’s house over here.”
Griffin does that face-scrubby thing again. I’m coming to know this is the move he makes when he’s either trying to find the right thing to say or trying not to say something at all.
“You’re not a man who loves words, are you?”
“What?”
“I love crosswords. The New York Times crossword specifically. I like doing them over long brunches on the weekend. I like how there’s a theme to them, and I like not looking anything up on my phone because a) it’s cheating and b) Saturday is phone-off day.”
Griffin leans against the wall, looking half like he’s worried about my sanity and half like he’s enjoying it.
“You know what else I like? Taking my time with stuff and enjoying life and spending time with people I love, and if this bullshit with Sam and that asshole comes in between me and that life, we need to find a way to put a stop to it. But right now, all I want is some goddamned waffles.”
I hadn’t meant to go there, but they’re all the words that were clearly needing spilling.
To my utter surprise, Griffin nods. “Okay.”
“Okay, like, okay, we’re going for waffles?”
“Whatever you want, Sasha.”
I grin, jumping up from the bench. “Fantastic, I’m starving.”
He mumbles something about getting changed, then heads for the shower.
He may have scowled as he disappeared, but I know I saw the slightest twitch of a smile under those wary chocolate eyes.