For a moment, my world narrows to her laugh, the feel of her skin, and the love reflected in her eyes.
Until someone just behind me gasps, and a woman’s voice cuts through the air. “Oh, my God. You’re her. You’re Greta? Gloria? Grace! Grace Stone!”
Conversations fall silent all around us. Chairs scrape over the tile floor. A guy with greasy hair darts around one of the tables, his phone pointed right at my wife.
Grace’s fork clatters to the plate. All the color fades from her cheeks. “AJ?”
I’m on my feet in an instant, my chair shoved back hard enough to rattle the table behind us. Putting myself squarely between her and half a dozen gawkers, I narrow my eyes at the men and women turning our night of fun into their own personal true crime documentary.
“Back. Off,” I grit out, keeping my voice low but doing nothing to hide the warning in my tone.
“Grace! How are you feeling?” a woman calls out. “Have you remembered?—”
“Ma’am, I suggest you walk away. Right now. And if all y’all don’t stop pointin’ your goddamned phones at my wife’s face, I’m gonna forget the manners my mama worked so hard to teach me.”
The woman stumbles, bumping into the next table. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I just…” Her cheeks flame, but there’s fear in her eyes as she backs away.
More than one person is still filming though, preserving every second of Grace’s fear for the whole of the fucking internet to see. My fists ache with how hard I’m fighting not to punch someone.
Grace’s hand brushes my arm. She’s pale, her eyes brimming with tears, but she ain’t panicking. She needs me to stay calm. At her side. Not spendin’ a night in lockup for assault and destruction of property.
I drag in a breath, yank my wallet from my back pocket, and dig out one of my business cards. Our server, a young woman who’s probably still in college, is frozen next to our table, her tray tucked against her chest like a shield.
“I’m a captain with the Texas Rangers,” I say, fighting to keep my voice steady as I pass her the card. “I’ll call you once we’re in the car and settle the bill, okay?”
She nods and darts back to the kitchen.
I wrap an arm around Grace’s shoulders, shielding her as best I can while Belle, hackles raised, growls softly.
Every few steps, I glance behind us, and when the last of the gawkers disappears, guide Grace over to a bench. “Sit down for a minute, darlin’. Ain’t no one watchin’ anymore.”
Belle lays her head on Grace’s thigh, an eighty-pound anchor in a storm.
“Well, that was…fun.” Her voice is raspy. Thin. “I was really lookin’ forward to Skee-Ball.”
I lower myself down next to her, gritting my teeth when the bruise on my ass sends pain shooting up my back. “I’ll clear out the whole damn place if you want me to. In the name of public safety.”
Her laugh soothes a fraction of my anger. “You will do no such thing. This…what just happened…” She presses her hand to her chest. “It’s going to happen again. I wasn’t prepared. Next time…maybe I will be.”
“Grace, you ain’t giving yourself near enough credit. You didn’t run. You didn’t hide. Hell, you kept me from losing my shit. That’s what courage looks like. I’m so damn proud of you, darlin’.”
Her lips part on a shaky exhale. I skim my knuckles along her cheek, and she leans into the touch.
“I love you,” I whisper. “More and more every damn day.”
She settles closer to me, with Belle pressed to our shins. Under the warmth of the outdoor heaters, it feels like this moment could go on forever.
“Stone?”
The familiar voice grates along my spine. Marvin hustles across the promenade, his shirt rumpled and that God-awful belt buckle flashing like a beacon in the overhead lights.
Grace tenses, her fingers digging into my thigh.
“Marvin,” I say, unable to keep the ice from my tone. “You remember Grace.”
He offers her his hand with an easy smile. “Ma’am. Good to see you out and about.”
Belle growls, and Marvin takes a quick step back. “Whoa there, girl. Stone, you sure that dog should be out in public?”
