Emi: Yes. Absolutely. And don’t worry. We’ll remind you.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Grace
AJ turns onto a quiet street lined with tidy lawns and colorfully painted mailboxes. The first spring flowers are starting to bloom in window boxes and garden beds.
If I had to guess, Connor and Isabel are probably on a first-name basis with all their neighbors.
My husband is tense, his knuckles pure white where he grips the steering wheel.
“I can be back here in twenty-seven minutes. Twenty-four if I use the siren,” he says, his voice gritty and strained.
The idea of him flipping on the siren to pick me up from girls’ night is so absurd, it eases a tiny fraction of my nerves.
He pulls into the driveway, cuts the engine, and my heart rate skyrockets. Until I spot the cameras. They’re tucked into the eaves. Over the garage. Watching the front steps. Just like home.
The tight knot in my chest loosens. Not completely, but enough for me to breathe.
“Your panic button will alert me, Connor, Jasper, Hardison, Parker, Connor’s former boss at the FBI, Zephyr, and Pritchard out in Connecticut if anything happens. I’ll pick you up at eleven.”
He doesn’t ask me if I’m sure. Doesn’t tell me he’ll drive me home right now if I want him to. Probably good, because I’m equal parts excited and terrified.
AJ gets out of the SUV and comes around to open my door. My knees wobble as I get to my feet, but Belle is at my side seconds later. With her harness in my hand, I feel almost steady. In control.
“Grace.” AJ rests his hand at the small of my back, presses his lips to my forehead for a long moment, and then straightens. “Have fun, darlin’.”
Fun.
I don’t remember fun. But if anyone can help with that, it’s Parker, Emi, and Isabel.
Belle helps me make it up the three short steps without losing my balance, and the front door bursts open before I can reach for the doorbell.
Parker—dressed in yoga pants and a baggy sweatshirt—ushers me inside, waves to AJ, and then shuts the door. As soon as she’s double-checked the locks, she pulls me in for a gentle, one-armed hug and whispers, “If this gets to be too much, let me know.”
The house smells like spicy queso, and my stomach growls. “As long as there’s food, I’ll be okay.”
At least…I’ll try to be.
“I…hope it’s okay that I brought Belle.” I cling to her harness like it’s a security blanket. It is, in a way. Not only do I have a panic button in my pocket, but there’s a second one hidden under the top strap of the harness.
“Hon, she’s welcome any time,” Isabel says, coming in from the kitchen with a bowl of chips and a warm smile. “Connor and I have been talking about getting a dog once Veronica goes off to college in the fall. Empty nest and all.”
She bustles about for a moment, setting the chips on the table, giving Belle a scratch behind the ears, and helping me off with my coat before hanging it on a rack by the door.
“Okay, Grace,” she says, “since this is your first official girls’ night, we have two questions for you.”
I must not hide the quick stab of panic in my chest, because her eyes widen. “Oh, shit. Don’t worry, hon. They’re easy and there are no wrong answers, okay?” At my slow nod, she continues. “First question. Are you a hugger? Or are fist bumps more your jam?”
“Fist bumps?” Memory is such an odd thing. I remember how to brush my teeth, work the television remote, and use the microwave. But sometimes, the most basic phrases confuse me.
Isabel’s dark eyes turn serious. “This is a judgment-free zone, Grace. Unless you don’t like queso. Then…well… Oh, who am I kidding? We’ll just make you something else.”
I lean on Belle, my legs shaking. “I’m…a hugger. I think.”
“Oh, good.” She wraps me in a gentle embrace, giving me a light squeeze before she lets go. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to meet after the press conference. But AJ had you out of there quicker than small town gossip.”
Emi comes in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. With no makeup, no heels, and her hair in a low ponytail, she almost looks like a different person. Except for her eyes. And her smile. “Second question. How do you like your margaritas? Frozen or on the rocks?”
