“I can do better than that.” She’d proceeded to make all Grace’s favorites and refused to charge him a dime.
Wyatt spread a tablecloth—Della again—on the rough-hewn table, and they sat across from each other. Grace raved over the chicken salad sandwiches, potato salad, and fresh fruit heaped on her plate. He liked that she had an appetite. He suspected she had a killer metabolism. She was active and in good physical condition.
They talked about the upcoming wedding and the dress she was required to wear. They talked about his love of science and math and her dislike for the financial side of her business. Her knack for bowling, his incompetence at anything requiring artistic skill.
“But you play the guitar. That’s artistic.”
“But it’s not visual. There’s a difference—I’m living proof.”
“I’m tone deaf.”
“Let me hear you sing something.”
She laughed. “Um, no. Some people are tone deaf, and they don’t know it. I know it.”
Then the conversation moved on to his training, some of the dignitaries he’d protected, some of his friends from the field office. She listened intently while he went on longer than he usually did about his work. She was a good listener. Not demanding or pressing. Just letting him say what he wanted.
“So...” Grace shifted in her seat. “About your work. I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
“Hit me.” He took a bite of the peach cobbler and pushed the container toward Grace, giving her his full attention.
“Would you mind if I told Levi and Molly what you do for a living? I kind of feel like I’m keeping something important from them.”
Wyatt felt a twinge of guilt. After all, he had secrets of his own. He hadn’t shared that the inn used to be his family’s summer home. If he did, then Grace would figure out who his mom was and how she’d met her end. He didn’t want to bring Grace into the middle of that horrible event. Their relationship was new and fresh and happy and he liked it that way.
“Wyatt?” she nudged when he was quiet for too long. “I’ll understand if you don’t want me to.”
He leaned forward on the table, quirking a brow. “Will your brother stop giving me the stink eye?”
“Probably.”
“Can they keep it to themselves?”
“They have their flaws, but they do know how to be discreet.”
“All right.”
“Just like that?”
“It’s the Secret Service, not the Top-Secret Service,” he said with a smile.
“You’re quiet about it though.”
He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t broadcast it. That doesn’t mean I can’t tell people what I do. I don’t exactly want to be the talk of the town, that’s all.”
“Are you allowed to tell friends and family where you’re going, how long you’ll be gone?”
“Sometimes—and sometimes not. There are times I’m sent on assignments with little notice. I have to drop my life and do my job. I had to miss my dad’s wedding, and I was his best man—thatwas the worst. I’ve missed Christmas and birthday parties and anniversaries.”
“Family or girlfriend?” she asked.
“Both.”
“I can see where that might be a problem.”
“It’s a sacrifice. Not just mine, either. But people’s lives are at stake, and I’m one of the people they depend on to make sure nothing happens.”
Grace closed the lid to the peach cobbler and propped her chin on her palm. “I bet you’re really good at what you do. You took a bullet for someone.”
