Dear Mr. Stone,
Thank you for your interest in the Emergency Management Specialist Position with the Federal Emergency Management Agency.
Your application has been reviewed and determined to meet the qualifications for the position. At this time, your application has been referred to a staffing specialist for further consideration in the hiring process.
You may be contacted if additional information or next steps are required. We appreciate your interest in serving with FEMA.
Sincerely,
Barbara Sterling, FEMA Human Resources
Federal Emergency Management Agency
I close out the app and climb into my Jeep.
Maybe I should put a stop to the process. When I started pursuing the DC job, Hallie wasn’t on my radar. I thought I could do more good in a position of that magnitude. And I wasn’t wrong. I’d help more people—be a part of saving lives at a much wider scope.
But, the way Hallie was talking this morning, if she’s getting serious and sees us making this last, I’m obviously not going anywhere.
Chapter 26
Hallie
Let the rain kiss you.
~ Langston Hughes
I can’t get enough of Greyson.
The scenery along the road to his house is starting to feel like coming home. I pass out of the neighborhood surrounding the school, through more residential neighborhoods, and then down the long two-lane country road.
Every day Mia’s in school and we’re off duty, I drive to Greyson’s house as soon as I drop her off. He’s there waiting on his porch, smelling like coffee, and drawing me into the warmth of his arms the moment I step out of the van. Occasionally before work, we grab a coffee at Mo’s together. We laugh while Mo teases Greyson, telling me I’m too good for that rascal.
Recently, Mo’s started teasing me too, telling Greyson he’s seen me in the diner with a different man every morning. The other day he looked Grey dead in the eyes and said, “You’dbetter lock this beauty down and make an honest woman of her. She’s a floozy, this one.” I nearly choked on my coffee, droplets flying onto the table. Greyson just chuckled and put his hand over mine, giving it a soft squeeze while I hurried to mop up the spray with paper napkins from the dispenser.
I’m at every practice and game—in the stands, catching the way he glances over at me when he thinks no one is looking. And when we aren’t exhausted, we wake in the middle of the night to meet in the station kitchen—preferably without Dustin catching us.
We spend nights on the phone after Mia’s asleep, talking about everything and nothing. And he texts me when we’re not together, telling me he’s thinking of me, or that I looked beautiful the last time he saw me. He surprises me with his affection—like the time he sent a picture of my coffee creamer sitting in his practically empty fridge with the caption,I’m not the only one who misses you.
We’re grabbing up every spare second we have to spend with one another while being so very careful not to shortchange Mia.
The one thing we dance around is the fact that we’re keeping our relationship a secret. We both know this arrangement can’t last. But we’re not willing to stop seeing one another. And the timing is definitely not right to tell Mia. Just the other day she said, “I miss my daddy.” She hasn’t said that in a year. But since the family reunion, he’s gone radio silent. And Mia feels his absence like it’s fresh all over again.
Top that all off with the baseball moms. If they knew I was dating Greyson, they’d really make a stink. But I’m not hiding for their sake. I’m doing it for Mia. She deserves stability and the opportunity to settle into Waterford without her mother’s love life complicating everything.
I turn onto the street leading to Greyson’s property, and the same giddy energy swirls through me as always.
At the end of the driveway, I put my van in park, and oh, me. Oh, my.
Greyson is in a white undershirt, jeans and work boots. The sunlight spills through the tree branches, illuminating him like a spotlight. I inhale and let out a slow breath. His wavy hair is tousled—wilder than usual—and he’s wearing protective goggles. He’s bent over, holding a chainsaw and cutting through a very large branch.
I sit in the driver’s seat and watch him, studying the way he moves, how his muscles bunch under the sleeves of his shirt, the focus in his expression.
He looks up, turns off the saw and walks toward me.
I step out of the van.
“I thought you’d be standing out here with your mug of coffee, waiting,” I say.
