Chapter 15
EVERLY
Just when I sense Grey and I are about to have a breakthrough, my phone beeps.
I’m not exactly Miss Popularity and don’t have countless text threads consisting of multiple family members and friends who treat the form of communication like a social media app, sharing photos of their half-eaten pancakes—okay, Heidi does that sometimes.
But there are only a handful of people who text me.
She’s one. The wedding planner, seeking a refund, is another. I receive the occasional message from my aunt in Quebec City.
More than likely, it’s a thrext (that’s a threat text) from the Spider.
I’m afraid that if Grey sees, he’ll track Todd down, Hulk out, and squish him like a spider.
But that’s the least of my problems at the moment, because his expression is pure stone. It’s like the phone’s sound caused a Pavlovian response, and we silently but mutually agree to forget the hug and return to our corners in the boxing ring.
He says, “Everly, let me make one thing clear. You didn’t do anything wrong at the salon earlier. That was all me and—” He scrubs his hands down what remains of his beard. “And I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
I lift my gaze to meet his and all I see are those gray eyes battling with something deep inside.
“I’m truly sorry. I usually take my anger out on the field or in the gym,” he adds.
“I feel bad for the opposing team and the weight machines. We ought to incorporate a Hulkout into your daily workout.” I mean it as a joke. Sort of.
He grunts. My phone beeps again.
“I’m sorry for cutting your hair and beard, though. It was a bit of a shame to see it go.”
The corner of his mouth twitches.
I liked the wild, untamed aspects of him, yet I haven’t fully appreciated the way he looks cleaned up.
His trim hair reveals the masculine planes of his face and the cut of his jaw is visible through the shorter beard.
Overall, he still has an intimidating look about him, but I didn’t truly feel in danger at the salon.
More like, concerned for him. Even though he’s huge, whatever he’s dealing with is bigger.
I open my suitcase and lackadaisically go through the contents to find something to wear.
As far as ever feeling secure with a guy, my high school boyfriends don’t count, since we did little more than go on a few dates, to dances, and hang out, er, and make out. Todd was a mistake that my father forced upon me.
Grey, on the other hand, is entirely new territory. Some people say marriage is just a piece of paper, but it means more than that to me, despite the unusual circumstances with the insurance. And despite our rules, neither one of us could resist talking about it, acknowledging this connection.
I wanted an easy way out and to wipe our hands of each other, but it’s like we were dragged back together.
Something about his wildness attracts me even, though my better sensibilities should sound warning bells.
Instead, a sense of belonging pushes away the doubt and fear I’ve so desperately wanted to shake for months.
It has nothing to do with Grey and everything to do with Todd, who repeatedly texts. I put the phone on silent.
“Why do you think it was a shame to see it go?” Grey rubs his fingers along his jaw.
Hope lightens his tone, like that mess of hair meant something, but that can’t be right.
“Sometimes the way we look impacts the way we feel.” My breasts had been part of me, part of my identity. I was shocked at the effect losing them had on me. Though the Wise Warrior Women helped me through it.
“Is that so? Then explain this.” Grey tugs on one of Heidi’s hand-me-down garments that I hold up.
“It’s a babydoll dress that my best friend’s grandmother made at the height of early twenty-teens fashion—the time period, not the age, though she and I were teenagers.”
Grey’s eyes float up my body. My skin, already warm, melts like chocolate chip cookies in the oven.
“My dad had a box of these in the garage to wipe up greasy messes.”
“They’re not rags. They’re handkerchiefs. Heidi, Jimmy’s sister, and I collected them and thought this was the coolest style. We’d take turns wearing it. Lucky me, it still fits.”
“I guess I was too old for that fad.”
“What’s a decade?”
“Ten years.”
I swat him. “I know that. But when you reach a certain point, does age matter?”
“Depends—”
“On the people,” I finish.
“You knew how old I was when you—”
“Rules—” I remind us both.
“Right. The Club rules.”
A series of bad decisions floats into my mind.
“All the guys I dated to tick my father off, years later, Heidi convinced me to look each of them up on social media. Status update and all that. They were all around my age and it didn’t look like they went anywhere with their lives. Maybe I’d like someone a little older.”
“A guy who isn’t stuck in neutral.”
“A guy who has a car and a valid license would be a start.” I think specifically of Tony Mackie. “Also, their own place. You know, not in their parents’ basement.”
“Is that still acceptable?”
“In the era of helicopter parenting, it’s sometimes encouraged. Also, having a clean police record would be preferred.”
“Can’t help you there,” Grey mutters.
“Were you caught robbing a bank?”
“Got into a few fights when I was younger, dumber, quicker to swing. Went with the Bruiser territory, but now that I’m the old man on the team—”
“You’re not old.”
He grunts.
“I’d imagine a woman would want someone who matured, grew out of being young, dumb, and quick to swing. Someone who knows who he is and what he wants.”
Grey’s eyes lift to mine and lock. A long moment passes without us breaking any Marriage of Convenience Club rules.
Swept into the moment, I blurt, “I’d sure like to work on a DTR.”
“A what?”
“A Dutch thingamajig radish,” I ramble, not wanting to say what the acronym actually stands for, because that would break all the MOC Club rules again.
“I speak Norwegian, not Dutch, but I don’t think that’s what DTR means.”
“Define the relation—” I can’t say it. A few minutes ago, wrapped in each other’s arms felt like a safe haven. But now, out in the open, I’m afraid to discuss what it might mean to say no or yes.
Grey’s expression goes flat, like we belatedly realized we’d soared too close to a no-fly zone and are both waiting for missiles to fire.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Anyway, these clothes are on loan. And for the record, I liked you the way you were before as much as I like this version.”
“I’m not too pleased with either right now. But thanks.” A subtle grin widens on Grey’s face, giving him a shy, boyish look, even with the trim beard and scar.
Despite everything I’ve been through, I still somehow believe in second chances and seeing the best in people. Grunting and the outburst in the salon aside, I see good in Grey.
He tucks his thumbs into the loops of his jeans. “You’re kind on the eyes too, if I do say so, Mrs. Adams.”
At that, the moment ripples with an electrical current that wasn’t there before. It’s like those words plugged something in. I’m lit up and my pulse hums.
Grey’s lips quirk as he lets out a low, husky sound that almost, but not quite, sounds like laughter.
“Sounds to me like you need to knock the rust off that thing.”
He grips the back of his neck. “You wouldn’t be wrong. It’s been a year.”
I puff an exhale and my shoulders drop a measure. “You’re telling me.”
“Do you want to?” he asks.
“Do I want to what?”
“Tell me. Talk, I mean.”
“First rule of—”
Grey pumps his hands. “I know, I know. The first rule of the Marriage of Convenience Club is we don’t talk about Marriage of Convenience Club.”
It’s like we’re rapidly going through the states of a relationship, but out of order. Comfortable companionship, support, and flirtation.
“But, uh, speaking of that, do you happen to have a copy of the marriage license around here? I need a copy.”
“Do I want to know why?”
“Probably not. The second rule of the Marriage of Convenience Club is we don’t talk about the Marriage of Convenience Club.”
I chuckle. “Got it. I like this policy. I think it works for us.”
Us. Now there is an interesting notion. Who’d imagine little ‘ole me interacting with a beast like Grey? Compared to Todd, this guy is completely wild, whereas my ex wore tailored suits and rarely had a hair out of place. He was fit but not capable. It’s obvious Grey puts his body to good use with the muscles capping his shoulders, the bulge of his biceps, and the cut cords wrapping around his forearms.
He’s definitely the strong, silent type and seems like he prefers to observe. His dirty blond hair and gray eyes remind me of the LARP warriors the guys in college fantasized about being.
I recall the breathy little whoosh that left my chest when I was done trimming his hair and beard. Hidden underneath all that mess is a very handsome man and I don’t even think he realizes it.
But I do.
Our gazes meet for another curious moment as if we’re wondering how far to take this thing. Maybe because we both have the same unspoken question, we realize we’re on the same team. Or perhaps that’s just wishful thinking. Either way, the mood lightens.
“I’ll admit that very little about this situation is funny, but I’ve been on the edge of laughter because this whole thing is absolute lunacy.” I clap my hand over my mouth. “Oops. I broke the rule. Moving on. Grey, did you learn anything at etiquette school today?”
He remains mute, as usual.
On thin ice, I leap, jumping over it, and continue my dazzling program.
“What did I learn at etiquette school today? So glad you asked, Mr. Adams. In much the same way, there is a light spectrum and an electromagnetic spectrum, there exists in nature what I’m calling the ‘Triple G Spectrum.’ It starts on one side with The Grump.
They’re someone who displays fits of moodiness, are gruff, and complain about how banks no longer give out lollipops. ”
Grey rocks back on his heels like he knows I refer to him. But I detect a hidden smile, so I continue, wearing one of my own.
“Moving along the axis, there’s The Grouch whose tendencies toward ill humor are longer lasting. They binge on their own bad moods and might remain in this state for days on end.”
“I don’t like where this is going.”
I wink. “Then there is Grey. Grey Adams, to be precise. He encapsulates all of the above, plus his communication is limited to guttural grunts. He seems annoyed at the world for existing, and prefers his own company, which seems challenging, at least for those forced to spend thirty days with him.”
“You missed one, Buttercup.”
I dip my head in question. “Buttercup?”
The corner of his lip twitches like calling me Buttercup is a matter between him and, well, him.
Ignoring me, he says, “There’s also the ghost. I’m not grumpy or a grouch. Well, some of the time I am. No, I’m hardly here.” He sighs like it’s a foregone conclusion.
I’m not entirely sure he realizes he’s saying this out loud.
“That’s bleak and concerning. I’ve come across people like that.” In fact, my father is the original. He ghosts in and out of my life like a super grumpy ghoul.
Just then, a whistling sound followed by a clatter comes from somewhere beyond the main room of the suite.
On alert, I stiffen and glance at my phone, reminded of Todd’s call earlier and repeated texts.
Grey lazily glances over his shoulder like nothing spooks him.
“What was that?” I ask when he doesn’t budge.
“Something fell?”
“We’re the only two people here. Things don’t just fall on their own.”
“Do you think the manor is haunted?” If I’m not mistaken, he fights a smile.
“Are you trying to scare me? I’ve heard things at night. You said it yourself, you’re a ghost. Go scare off the other ghosts.” I wave my hand as if to shoo him in the general direction of the sound.
“Are you saying this is my territory?”
“I’m saying, please go look to see if there’s a rodent or something in my closet.”
“Sounds like something a husband would do.”
“We have an agreement, Grey,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Right, right. We don’t talk about—” He exhales long. “I have some work to do, huh?”
“If you mean to make sure I’m not going to wake up with rat droppings on my pillow, by all means.
If you’re going to call the Ghostbusters and have them zap the ghost out of you, go for it.
If you’re looking for a life coach to help you out of a rut, I’m right here.
” I don’t know if the manor is actually haunted, but something is haunting Grey.
“I thought you were an etiquette coach.”
“Both. I also have a degree in business with a focus on hospitality and have continued studying Victorian history since I graduated college, where I minored in it.”
“Hence the fear of ghosts.”
“If you’re asking if I’m afraid of you, no. If you’re asking if I trust you, I’m not sure yet.”
“I’ll take a look around and make sure I don’t see any of my kind.”
“Har har.” What I don’t say is that if he meant am I his wife and want to help, to be here for him, Reply hazy, try again later.
Okay, fine. Yes, yes, I do. Even though I still didn’t know why Grey had the freak out in the salon, as he pokes around, checking cabinets and closets, I realize I, too have my work cut out for me.
His table manners need a bit of improvement, particularly when he devours his food like he’s been out at sea, raiding and plundering for months and it’s the first solid meal he’s had in ages.
He also has the unfortunate grunting habit, but all I need to do is preface a conversation with football and that usually breaks the seal.
He sometimes plods down the hall like a herd of buffalo and forgets to wipe his feet off before he comes inside—particularly after we spent yesterday horseback riding, something I hadn’t done since I was a teenager.
But we’ve been working diligently on his manners and Grey proves to be a willing student—the salon incident notwithstanding.
He closes a closet door and I startle, realizing he’s caught me staring. Don’t judge. It’s hard not to wonder about #BruiserButt.
“All clear. Before I go, do you have that document?”
My phone continues to vibrate while I search for the marriage license in my folder of important papers. “Here it is.” I pass it to Grey and our hands brush.
My skin tingles and what he says next comes in pieces.
“I’ll get it back to you tomorrow afternoon. Again, I’m sorry about earlier.”
“Are you going to explain or drop any hints?” I ask, finding my voice scattered around the room from his touch.
His shoulders lower as he exhales. “No, but I was the kid who got yelled at for going on the neighbor’s lawn, Buttercup.”
As he saunters down the hall, my skin doesn’t only tingle, it warms. We broke the rules and I can’t say I entirely mind.