Bonus Epilogue Paisley
End of January (before Stephanie and Nash’s engagement)
I burned dinner.
No. That sounded too tame. Too benign.
I scorched dinner beyond recognition. Like Smaug would have done to the dwarves if Bilbo Baggins hadn’t snuck into Mount Erebor first.
Our guests—my best friends Liz, Juliet, and Stephanie plus their fellas—were arriving within the hour, and I now had nothing to serve them.
After assuring my besties at Christmas that I hadn’t burnt a meal since Greyson and I got married three years ago, Murphy’s Law would come back to bite me when it counted most.
I threw the windows open to clear the billows of smoke as the detector screamed at me. “I’m doing the best I can!” I yelled to no one in particular.
Rosie Cotton, our beloved Golden Retriever, hunkered in the corner of the living room having a meltdown.
She hated all beeping noises but especially the smoke detector, and that was all it took to turn her into a nervous wreck of the shakes.
But I couldn't comfort her while I had Mount Doom erupting inside my oven.
The fire extinguisher was not in its designated home under the sink, so I grabbed the mason jar of baking soda from the cupboard and hucked the contents into the oven.
The fire spluttered down enough for me to rescue the dish and set it in the sink, in all its smoldering glory.
Therein lies the remains of a roast dinner—may it rest in peace.
Tears stung my eyes, and heat prickled the back of my neck.
One time. Could something go right in my life just one time?
And today of all days with my friends coming over, and…
and… I studiously avoided looking at the calendar.
I didn’t need a reminder of the date. The day I’d married the first man I’d ever loved. A man who wasn’t Greyson Satterfield.
“Rosie, chill out!” I snapped over her frenzied barking.
It had been years. Jared didn’t deserve any more of my head space. And he certainly wasn’t worth burning a meal over. Get your head in the game, Paisley Grace.
Dragging a stool under the kitchen smoke detector, I climbed up and yanked it from the ceiling, killing the high-pitched shrill. Silence fell over the house, still thickly choked in smoke.
Surveying my smoky domain from the loftiness of the stool, I pinched the bridge of my nose, and my chest heaved in a silent sob.
I wanted tonight to be special. Perfect.
Nash, Stephanie’s boyfriend, was a millionaire for goodness’ sake.
Not that I thought he’d be a snob. I didn’t get that vibe from him when we met on New Year’s Eve almost a month ago.
But still. It had taken forever to finagle this dinner onto the agenda with Nash and Stephanie’s work schedule in their race against the clock to get Genesis’s new marketing program launched by end of January.
Their official launch was yesterday. Tonight we’d hear how successful they’d been.
My shoulders drooped. I’d wanted this dinner to be a celebration. Not a letdown.
Warm hands grasped my waist, and my eyes flew open. It was Greyson. Shirtless with a towel around his waist, still wet.
“What are you—I thought you were in the shower,” I spluttered, glaring down at him. “You’re dripping on my clean floor.”
Greyson studied me for a minute, then lifted me down off the stool with ease, muscles rippling.
It wasn’t fair how simple he made it look.
Sure, I was a bit of a lightweight who needed some more meat on my bones, but did he have to rub it in?
Didn’t stop me from appreciating it, though.
No, ma’am. Time in the military had done wonders for my husband’s physique.
Even though he’d retired a few years back to come home as the new local mechanic.
“I heard the fire alarm and Rosie. Thought something was wrong,” he said in that husky voice I loved.
Did he have to be so sweet about it when I practically bit his head off?
“Oh, something’s wrong all right,” I snapped.
“Look in the sink.” It was a silly thing to say since the cloying perfume of smoke made it obvious charcoal à la mode was on the menu tonight.
Those stupidly persistent tears kept knocking on my tear gates, but I ignored them even as my chest ached with pressure from the build up.
I didn’t have time or the emotional bandwidth for tears. I needed a plan.
Or more accurately, dinner for eight in the next forty-three minutes.
“What’s going on in that mind of yours?” Greyson asked, his rough voice gentle as he turned me towards him.
“Oh, I don’t think you can handle all that.”
He made an amused hum deep in his throat, leaning down. I thought he was going in for a kiss, but nope. He bypassed my willing lips and traced his nose over my jaw before kissing down my neck. “You know what they say about assuming.”
“What’s that?” I asked, way more breathless than I intended. He was playing dirty, kissing me to steal my anger—and my snark. Infuriating man.
Greyson chuckled again. Another kiss over my pulse.
“Grey, we have company coming,” I whispered, my voice nearly strangled.
“I know.” He sighed, warm breath feathering my skin. “But you’re deflecting, because I can feel those thoughts in that beautiful brain whirling at the speed of light. What’s going on? Are you nervous about tonight?”
“Maybe.” I fiddled with his damp sandy-brown hair. “We’re about to have a millionaire in our house.”
“We have Cal and Myles here on a regular basis.”
“Not the same thing. They’re family.”
“Nash didn’t strike me as the pretentious type.”
I rolled my eyes. “He’s not. Steph would have chewed him up and spit him out if he were.”
Greyson choked on a laugh. We both knew I wasn’t wrong. “Then what’s the real problem? Because I have a guess, if you care to hear it.”
“I’m fine. No problem.”
“Pais.” Greyson’s voice took on a serious edge, different from the playful, flirty tone he’d been using before. “The date. You’re overwhelming your brain with thoughts and tasks to avoid thinking about it.”
Nope, we were not talking about this right now.
I shoved his chest, and he released me. “Don’t be ridiculous.
And go put some clothes on.” I ran the cold water in the sink, letting it cascade over the blackened mess.
What did I have in the pantry for short notice?
Tacos? Quesadillas? Frozen pizza? Way to make it special, Paisley Grace.
Greyson’s arms slid around my waist from behind, and I reluctantly sagged against his chest. “If you want to talk about this later, we can table it. But we have to talk about it sometime, Pais.”
“But I’m fine,” I tried to insist, though it sounded wobbly.
He sighed and kissed behind my ear. “Pull out some ground beef from the freezer. I’ll make spaghetti. We can use the sourdough you made yesterday for garlic bread, and there’s lettuce for a Caesar salad.”
That… would work. And Grey’s spaghetti was to die for.
I spun in his embrace, looping my arms over his broad shoulders. “I love you. Even if you’re just trying to distract me.”
He smirked, nudging our noses. “Is it working?”
I bit my lip. “Maybe. I just…” I dropped my hands to his chest, his skin warm under my touch and smelling divinely like soap.
His heart beating in a rhythmic thrum under my palm.
That was one of the things I loved best about this man.
He was rock-solid steady. And after the life I’d lived, nothing in the world was more attractive than that.
Greyson gently tilted my chin up with his finger. His piercing blue eyes—a shared trait among all the Satterfield offspring along with their all over-six-feet heights—waiting patiently. Encouraging me to open up.
“I hate that he still takes up space in my head after all these years,” I whispered. “I don’t want to think about him. It hurts.”
Greyson pressed an achingly sweet kiss to my forehead.
“Then don’t. Tonight, laugh with our friends, forget about him and this…
soggy mess.” He reached behind me and flicked off the tap.
“And remember you’re loved. Right here.” His lips moved gently over mine as he kissed me, punctuating his words. “Right now.”
This time I was the one urging him closer, but he tugged back with a cocky grin. “We have guests coming, Mrs. Satterfield.”
I groaned. “Rake. Fiend. Rogue.”
“I love your vocabulary.” He laughed and chucked my chin. “Grab the beef. Give me five minutes, and I’ll be back.”
And he was. Together, we assembled the spaghetti, garlic bread, and Caesar salad then chilled out one big baby of a dog. By the time the doorbell rang at six o’clock, the smoky haze ceased to exist, and Greyson’s spaghetti was ready.
Liz and Ben stood on the porch, bearing gifts, and Juliet and Myles climbed out of their truck in the driveway.
“Ooh, spaghetti!” Liz exclaimed, stepping inside and flinging her arms around me.
“Where’s Steph and Nash?” I asked, returning the hug.
Liz laughed. “They’re just behind us. Now where’s that fur baby? Auntie Liz has gifts.” She jiggled a baby-pink gift bag.
“I put her in the laundry room,” Greyson said from behind me. “She still gets too excited when the front door opens.” And as if confirming his words, Rosie’s excited bark from the back of the house proved it.
Juliet trudged up the steps, Myles behind her.
When they stepped out of the shadows into the entryway, I gasped. “Myles! Your face!”
In addition to his usual man bun, he sported a black eye and a three-inch cut across his left cheek, held together with stitches. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
Juliet scoffed and hung up her coat on the vintage coat stand. “That’s what they all say.”
Myles’s smile was slightly strained, like smiling pulled on the wrong muscles, and I got the sense this was a conversation they’d been arguing for days. “You should see the bruise on my side.”
“They should not.”
Myles grinned at her, brown eyes twinkling with mischief. “Ladies love a man with a scar, Jules.”