Chapter Nine
As Grace tossed the salad, Sean poured two bottles of beer into a pair of pilsner glasses he’d found in one of the kitchen cabinets.
He’d already set the table, and now they were waiting for the potatoes to finish in the microwave.
Neither of them had been thrilled with that shortcut, but with everything else ready, speed had won out over proper cooking.
Grace checked the timer, then bent to open the lower broiler and peek at the garlic bread.
He took a slow sip of beer and let his gaze linger on her backside longer than it should have. The woman had no business looking that good while checking on dinner.
He dragged his attention back to safer territory and glanced around the kitchen instead. The space suited her—bright, open, yet practical without feeling cold. He could see why she’d chosen the condo.
“This is a great kitchen. There’s plenty of room for two people to work without tripping over each other.”
What he didn’t say was how natural it had felt moving around the room with her.
There’d been no awkward bumping into each other, and no second-guessing who should do what.
They’d fallen into an easy rhythm that felt almost familiar, and that realization caught him off guard.
Spending time with Grace had become far too comfortable, way too fast.
After sliding the toasted bread onto a cutting board, she straightened and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s one of the reasons I picked this place. All the rooms are a nice size, there’s plenty of closet space, and it’s an end unit, so I have extra windows.”
Sean leaned enough to glance through the kitchen doorway into the living room, where unpacked boxes still lined one wall.
“I see you haven’t done much decorating yet unless cardboard boxes are the ‘in’ thing now.”
Her laugh lifted through the room and tugged a grin from him.
“Not that I know of, but if it is, then I’m good. I just haven’t had much time to unpack yet. I want Pro-Care up and running first, then I can work on this place.”
“Good. And when you’re done here, you can help me decorate my apartment. Everything is in storage while they paint and replace the old cabinetry and carpeting, but after I move in, my décor will be brown cardboard boxes too.”
Her laughter drifted through the kitchen again, quieting some of the noise still rattling around in his head from the day.
“It’s nice to know we have the same decorating style.” She jutted her chin toward the table. “Have a seat—everything’s ready.”
He grabbed the plate with the potatoes from the microwave and carried it to the table, taking a seat. He waited until she joined him before loading his plate. “Nice to know we have the same culinary aptitude too.”
“We’re two peas in a pod.” She handed him the basket of garlic bread and a bowl of cranberry jelly before sitting across from him and fixing her own plate.
The scene struck him as he dropped a slab of butter onto his potato.
There was something disarming about the quiet domesticity of it all.
A few days ago, they’d barely known each other—the adult versions.
Now they were sharing dinner in her kitchen, passing side dishes and trading easy conversation like they’d done this a hundred times before.
And if he was being honest, he liked it more than he should.
After adding a few dashes of pepper to his chicken and potato, he smiled at her. “So, honey, how was your day at work? Anything exciting happen?”
She chuckled, clearly catching his teasing tone, and played right along.
“Well, dear. I was very busy. I spent the morning doctor shopping, introducing myself, and trying to drum up some patient referrals. I hit as many as I could from the north end of Dare County. Over the next few days, I’ll do the south end and a few in Elizabeth City.
The physicians I saw today were happy to hear I was opening since there are so few PT clinics in the area outside of the hospitals. ”
“That’s good—very little competition.” He finished fixing his plate and picked up his fork and knife. “What else did you do, Mrs. Cleaver?”
She arched a brow. “Mrs. Cleaver, huh? Since when did you get old enough to have watched Leave It To Beaver?”
He laughed. “Hey, at least you got the reference—I caught the reruns with my Mom when I was a kid. Unless you’re older than fifty these days, that one goes over most people’s heads.”
Her grin widened.
“Very true.” Grace dug her fork into her potato. “Let’s see. I went to Staples to pick out a few filing cabinets, clipboards, pens, paper, folders, and everything else I’ll need in the office. It’s amazing how fast you can burn through a thousand dollars in that store.”
Sean nearly choked on a bite of chicken and reached for his beer. “Holy cow. No wonder the administrative assistants are always complaining when I need office stuff.”
Her mouth curved in amusement. “Yup. Anyway, after that, I finished painting the silhouettes. Tomorrow I’m interviewing the PT applicants.
Then all I need is for the furniture and equipment to be delivered, and I’ll be ready to open.
Oh, and I have to go to Best Buy and get a flat-screen TV for the patients to watch if they want.
There tends to be a lot of lying around when you’re in PT. ”
The words conjured an image Sean didn’t need, such as his brother stretched out on one of Grace’s therapy tables while she worked her hands over his back.
The thought landed like sandpaper against his nerves.
He shoved it aside and stabbed another piece of chicken with more force than necessary.
Brian could find his own physical therapist if the need ever arose.
Preferably one on the opposite side of the county.
It took him a second to realize Grace was speaking again, and he forced his attention back where it belonged.
“…on the radio about the three women who were murdered. That’s the case you’re working on, isn’t it?”
The comfortable warmth of the evening dimmed at the reminder. Even here, in her bright kitchen with the scent of garlic bread still hanging in the air, the case found a way to intrude.
He gave a grim nod. “Yeah. What a mess too.”
“Want to talk about it? I mean, what you can talk about.”
He lifted one shoulder and let it drop. There wasn’t much harm in sharing what the press already knew, maybe a little more. He just couldn’t mention the details that hadn’t been released—not that he had any desire to drag pennies and carved flesh into dinner conversation.
“Three female victims in three months. All between the ages of twenty-two and thirty-two. All taken from public areas after partying somewhere. They were strangled, then dumped in public places—though the last one was a little more concealed than the first two.” He glanced at her plate and then at his own.
“You sure you want to hear this over dinner?”
She offered a sheepish smile. “It is kind of morbid table talk, isn’t it? So, changing the subject, what else have you been doing since you moved back?”
The tension the murder case had dragged into the room faded as the conversation shifted.
They finished dinner while talking about the changes they’d both noticed around Whisper—new businesses crowding streets that Sean still thought of by their old landmarks, familiar storefronts long gone, and memories tied to places that existed now only in stories shared by people who’d grown up there.
By the time they cleared the table, the pleasantness of the evening had returned.
After loading their plates into the dishwasher, Sean poured them each another beer, and they moved into the living room.
With unopened boxes stacked against the walls and waiting to be unpacked, the couch was the only real place to sit.
Grace took one end, and Sean claimed the other.
Not that he liked the distance between them, but it was probably for the best.
Now and then, the faint scent of her perfume drifted his way, subtle and maddening enough to keep his attention fixed on her more than the conversation itself.
More than once, he caught himself wanting to shift down the couch and test his restraint.
He stayed where he was, knowing that if he gave in to the temptation, stopping at a few harmless inches would be asking too much of himself.
The hours slipped by as they talked about whatever came to mind—old shenanigans from high school, favorite hangouts from their teenage years, stories from college, and the strange turns life had taken to bring them both back to Whisper.
Then Grace yawned. “I’m sorry.” She gave him an apologetic smile. “It’s not the company. It’s just been a long day.”
He checked his watch and frowned. It was much later than he’d realized. “Yeah. I’d better get going, or we’ll both be dragging in the morning.”
They both stood, and she followed him to the front door.
“Thanks for dinner,” he said, turning back to her.
She giggled. “I’m glad you liked it after I slaved over a hot stove all day to make it.”
He smiled and leaned in to brush a kiss across her cheek, but at the last second, she turned her head.
Their lips met, and Sean froze. For one stunned heartbeat, his mind emptied. Then instinct took over.
He deepened the kiss, drawn in by the soft warmth of her mouth and the sweetness of her that sent heat rushing through him.
The world beyond the front door faded. There was only Grace—her quiet intake of breath, the way she melted toward him, and the taste of her that left him wanting far more than a single stolen kiss.
When her arms slid around his neck, his hands found her waist and pulled her closer. The moment her body pressed against his, she jerked back as though the contact had startled her as much as it had him.
They stood there staring at each other, both breathing hard. Desire flickered in her eyes, matched by the confusion he felt churning through his own thoughts.
“Um… wow. I… um…” He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck and forced air into his lungs. “I’d better get going before I do something crazy like take you to bed.”
“Yeah.” Grace swallowed and drew a shaky breath. “That would be crazy… just—”
“Crazy,” he finished, his voice rougher than he intended.
His gaze dropped to her mouth again, and leaving took every ounce of discipline he had. He wanted to kiss her again and see where this electric pull between them might lead. But rushing this felt wrong. Grace was worth more than a reckless decision made in the heat of the moment.
Lifting one hand, he traced his finger along her jaw, satisfaction flickering through him at the way her breath caught.
“Goodnight, Grace.”
“Goodnight, Sean.”
“... and the Sheriff’s Department is not releasing any more information about the homicides at this time, but we will continue to keep the public updated. This is Jessica Daly for the Channel Four evening news.”
George Wallace hummed under his breath as the screen shifted back to the male anchor, who moved on to some forgettable story about a city council budget dispute.
His attention had already drifted. A slow smile spread across his face as he cut another bite from the Salisbury steak on his TV tray. So, he’d made the news. It was about time.
The thought sent a warm rush through him, one that made his pulse quicken with quiet satisfaction. For years, his work had gone unnoticed. Ignored. Dismissed by a world too blind to recognize what needed to be done.
Now people were paying attention. Soon enough, they would understand.
He wasn’t some monster lurking in the dark, no matter what those fools at the sheriff’s department wanted the public to believe. He was doing what no one else had the courage to do—cleaning up the rot by removing women who contributed nothing more to society but poison and decay.
His smile widened.
They’d figure it out in time.
Taking another bite, he leaned back in his recliner and let his mind drift toward future possibilities. The next one would have to be chosen with care. The attention brought risk, but it also brought opportunity.
Outside, darkness pressed against the windows. But inside, George felt nothing but contentment.
Life was good—at least for him.