“She’s got more manners than you,” I snap and push to my feet. I’ve got a good four inches on Marvin, and I’m gonna use it. “Sendin’ the chief to our house like that? What the fuck were you playin’ at?”
Marvin shoves his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t mean for things to blow up the way they did. You called out with no explanation. I was worried. Thought the chief should check in with you.”
My jaw tightens. “Check in? He barreled through the door screamin’. At my wife.”
His gaze drops, shoulders slumping as his focus slides to Grace. “AJ. Ma’am, I’m truly sorry about that. I hope you can forgive me.”
Grace doesn’t say a word, and I can feel the tension coiling in her limbs.
“Get the fuck out of here, Marvin. We might have to work together, but I ain’t gotta forgive you any time soon.”
Marvin holds up his hands. “You’re right. I’ll…see you at the station on Monday.” He tips his Stetson. “Ma’am. You have a good night now.”
He ambles back across the promenade, and I turn back to Grace. “Darlin’, let’s go home.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Grace
The rich scents of butter and pancake batter pull me into the kitchen. Yesterday’s headache—along with the halos that plagued me as I drew page after page of senseless shapes and cold, uncaring eyes—have fled with a good night’s sleep. And though I’m scared how I’ll handle AJ going back to work tomorrow, that’s a worry for later.
AJ’s at the stove, barefoot, and humming softly. The man can’t carry a tune in a bucket, but it’s the most relaxed sound I’ve heard from him since I came home.
Bracing myself against the counter, I let my gaze drift to his ass. “Need a hand?”
AJ glances over his shoulder, and his slow, almost boyish grin sends warmth flooding my core. “You offerin’ to flip? Or just taste test?”
“I can work the ladle.” I edge closer, breaking a piece off one of the pancakes on the plate beside him. “But, quality control is important too.”
“Oh, is it? How am I doin’, then?” He swats my hip lightly with the spatula, laughter spilling out of him, softening the lines around his eyes. For a moment, he looks like the man I sometimes see in my dreams. The AJ from before. Younger. Unburdened. Without an ocean of sadness in his eyes.
“Fair to middlin’.”
Lightning cuts across the sky, followed by a loud crack of thunder. Rain lashes against the windows. The kind of fat drops that sound like they’re about to crack the glass at any second.
My hand stills on the bowl. The warm, beige walls of the kitchen fade into the palest wood. The floor is cold against my bare feet. They take my shoes now. Every night. So I won’t run again.
As if I could. They took that from me too.
I press my forehead to the window pane, watching sheets of rain blur the world outside. It hits so hard, I can feel it.
Is it raining where you are, AJ? Are we caught in the same storm?
I feel him sometimes. Or…I think I do. But it could be nothing more than the last shreds of hope fading away.
The damp seeps into my bones. And locked in this tiny room—this cell—I can do nothing but cling to the scraps of my former life that come to me in my dreams.
Like one of our first dates. Mini-golfing on a Sunday afternoon. Until a storm rolled in. Running through a downpour, my hand clasped in his. We were soaked by the time we reached his truck, breathless with laughter, our clothes plastered to our bodies.
He’d kissed me, and I’d tasted the rain on his lips. That was the moment I knew what forever felt like.
Quiet, hopeless tears soak into my simple, white dress. But still, I pray we’re both seeing the same rain.
Warmth seeps back into my body by degrees. I blink, suddenly home again. In our kitchen with AJ watching me, a frown curving his lips.
Only then do I realize I’m crying here too.
“Grace?” He keeps his voice soft and steady. Soothing.
