She was standingin the produce aisle at Morton’s Grocery, one hand resting on the handle of her basket, mentally calculating whether she needed milk or if there was enough at home.
Then the air shifted behind her. Too familiar. Too close.
Grace knew it was Luke before she saw him. There was a particular way her body reacted—an old, unhelpful reflex. A sharpening of awareness.
“Grace.”
She turned.
He was close—close enough that she could smell his soap, clean and sharp beneath the grocery store’s faint scent of apples and floor cleaner.
Close enough that his arm brushed hers.
“Officer Bennett.”
He was standing just a fraction too close for someone who hadn’t slept with her. He usually didn’t stand so close to her in public. He usually didn’t start conversations with her in public.
God, she’d been kidding herself. How had she ever thought that he saw her as anything other than a physical release for him.
At least Grace was seeing things clearly now. At last.
She took a step back. She watched, fascinated as a puzzled crease appeared between his brows. She felt grim satisfaction at how wrong-footed he looked right now. He wasn’t used toGracebeing the one who didn’t want to be aroundhim.
“Did you have any more trouble last night?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Window’s fixed,” she confirmed.
Silence stretched.
Luke studied her face. It used to make her feel seen. Now she knew exactly what he had been seeing when he looked at her.Someone beneath him. She raised her chin. She was done being found unworthy by Luke Bennett.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Who was that helping you?”
Oh, there it was. The worry that whoever Grace was interacting with might spill out on him and his precious cop reputation.
All at once, Grace deflated.
Because it would, wouldn’t it? Grace might have rebelled against her upbringing, but Eli had gone the other way. Eli had followed the example of their parents, breaking whatever rules he wanted, hot wiring cars for fun.
Grace stepped past him.
“That’s not your business,” she said. “Unless you’re asking as a police officer.”
Luke let out a breath through his nose. “I’m not asking as—” He stopped himself, recalibrated. “I just want to know if you’re safe.”
“I am,” she said, and turned away.
His fingers closed around her wrist—not tight, not rough, but familiar in a way that made her breath catch anyway. Heat flashed through her. For a split second her instincts betrayed her, forgetting the pain, the rejection. Remembering only the comfort of his hands.
Until he spoke.
“With him?” The words were sharp.
Grace stilled.
At the end of the aisle, Mrs. Connors paused with a carton of eggs in her hand. Her eyes flicked from Luke, to Grace, to his hand on Grace’s wrist.
Grace knew Luke saw it too. The crease between his brows deepened, irritation and something else tangling together in a way she didn’t bother to decipher.
