AJ
The Domain hums softly when we arrive. It’s early enough we can take our time, window shop and talk and laugh without a press of people all around us. Grace keeps a firm grip on Belle’s mobility harness with her right hand, her left tucked in the crook of my elbow.
My sport coat does its job, hiding the SIG at my waist, but I went out of my way to pull the tie Grace bought me for Christmas five years ago—dark purple shot through with silver so it catches the light, almost like alligator skin—out of the back of the closet.
She spent twenty minutes—twenty long minutes—deciding what to wear. And then she walked out of the closet in that off-the-shoulder peach sweater, those ripped jeans, and soft brown boots. And damn if I didn’t forget how to breathe.
Not because of the clothes, though they’re perfect. But because she chose them. She’s choosing this. Choosing us.
Every damn day she braves something new—something that scares her—to reclaim another piece of her life.
“Maybe on Sunday, you’ll let me take you to Stonewood Coffee?” I ask as we drift toward a shop window filled with glittering jewelry.
Her gaze lands on a ring—three center diamonds, all different shapes, with smaller jewels on the sides that look almost like stepping stones.
“Were diamonds ever my thing?” she asks, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes.
I’m already working out whether I’ll have time at lunch on Monday to get back down here for that ring for our anniversary. And if I should call the store from the restaurant and beg them to hold it for me.
“You wouldn’t let me buy you one when I proposed. Said it was silly to spend all that money on a ring when we were just startin’ out. But I got you a pair of diamond studs for your thirtieth birthday. You wore them almost every day. They’re in your jewelry box.”
Grace reaches up and touches her left ear. “I didn’t even know my ears were pierced.”
She turns from the window, and there’s the barest flicker of a wince.
“What is it?” I ask, tipping her chin up gently.
“Just a little headache. Nothing serious. Come on. I’m getting hungry.”
Her smile’s a little weak, and my gut twists. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, Captain Overprotective. I’m fine.” She tucks her hand back into the crook of my arm and rests her head on my shoulder for a beat. “Food first. Then I want to see the arcade. I think I used to be pretty good at Skee-Ball.”
“You beat my ass every time,” I say and press a kiss to the top of her head. “Okay. We’ll find a place to eat. But if the headache gets worse, you’ll tell me?”
Grace lifts her head, her gaze meeting mine. “I will. I promise.”
Fuck. I’m wound so tight, I’m seein’ danger everywhere. She’s allowed to have a goddamn headache without me sweeping her into my arms and rushing her home.
At a little Italian place, their covered patio strung in golden lights, Grace studies the menu like it’s a test she might fail. “What if…it’s like the eggs?” she says, her voice small and quiet.
“Then we’ll switch plates and you can have my fettuccine. Or we can ask for a to-go box, stop at a taco truck on the way home, and order the spiciest thing on the menu.”
Her eyes soften, and she reaches across the table to take my hand. “How do you always know the right thing to say?”
“I don’t. But there ain’t nothin’ I wouldn’t do for you, Grace. Even burn off all my taste buds—permanently.”
She laughs, her fingers tight on mine. “You are a damn fool, AJ Stone.”
I wink at her. “But I’m your damn fool.”
Over pasta and wine, she starts to relax—even tries a bite of my fettuccine.
“What do you think? That’s got to be the least spicy thing you’ve had since comin’ home. Any good?”
She dips her fork into the bowl a second time with a small smile. “Maybe.”
A drop of Alfredo sauce lingers at the corner of her mouth, and I lean forward to swipe it away with my thumb. Her cheeks flush bright pink, but she doesn’t look away.
