Grace decides to cut his urging off at the pass by asking, “Is that Easton?” She points at the photo in question. “Were you two in the army together?” The words tumble out with no regard for how prying they are, and it’s profoundly disappointing to watch Crew’s smile fade in response. To be the reason it disappears.
His chin dips to his chest. With a tight nod, he says, “Yeah. We grew up together, too.”
At the admission, Grace clears her throat. She’s slightly stunned by this, by the peek into the lore of Halcyon. “The guys were looking at a centerfold of him earlier tonight. Apparently he’s a cologne model now.”
A little huff escapes Crew’s nose. “I heard.”
When he offers nothing further, Grace makes a mental note—that’stwoCaldwell siblings who seem to have beef with Easton. It’s curious, though, because having a framed picture of someone in your house doesn’t exactly screammortal enemy.
Thighs starting to burn, Grace finally surrenders and stands, stuffing her hands into her pockets and walking awkwardly into the safety of the center of the room. It’s as though she can’t be too close to any one thing—his pictures, his furniture,him.With every little directionless step she takes, Crew watches her with slightly narrowed eyes. There’s no judgment in them, at least from what she can see. It’s just…curiosity. Like she’s some kind of puzzle with no picture on the box to guide him in piecing things together. She purses her lips, eyes scanning the room.
“This is a nice place,” she says, because she can’t think of anything else to say to fill up the silence. She’s never been one to talk just for the sake of talking, but she’s…unnerved. Really, sheshould head out. At this rate, the longer she stands in his space, the higher the odds are that she’ll stick her foot directly into her mouth.
“Thanks,” he replies. “I can’t take much credit for it.”
“No?” She chances a look in his direction, then feigns shock and asks, “You mean you’renotan interior designer in your spare time?”
Crew’s smile returns, this time with teeth. It’s a sight to behold, the crookedness that overcomes his mouth when he fully grins. It humanizes him in a way nothing else does, bringing him back down to earth to stand among the mortals. Grace has to look away, but now she’s smiling, too. “Was it your mom?”
From the corner of her eye, she sees him shake his head. “My sister. She moved in here when my grandfather died. Forced my dad to give up his credit card for a few months while she swapped out the gun safes and stag heads for all of this.” His eyes dance around the room.
“Safes, as in plural?” Grace replies, amused.
Crew chuckles. “I think he had one in every closet.”
“A man who liked to stay prepared,” she muses.
“Oh, that’s not even the half of it.” He points at a door on the opposite side of the house, past the little kitchenette. “There’s a half-completed doomsday bunker in the backyard.”
Grace barks out a laugh. “What was his nonperishable of choice?”
Crew grimaces. “Black-eyed peas.”
“Hey,” she counters. “There’s decent protein in those. Gotta be strategic in the apocalypse.”
“You spend a lot of time thinking about the apocalypse?”
Grace snorts. “Among other things.”
Unconsciously, she’s made her way back toward the wall of pictures and knickknacks. She lands on one of Renata, young and suntanned in a flowy pink dress, sitting in a lounge chair with an easy smile on her face. At the edge of the chair, leaning back onto her mother’s legs, is the same little girl from the tub. School-aged Caia’s brown hair is roughly chopped, almost like she took a pair of scissors to it herself. Her smile is wide, and her two front teeth are notably absent.
“Why’d she leave?” Grace asks before she can think better of it. Something about this night—this chaotic, ridiculous night—has honest, bald curiosity bubbling up her throat until she can’t help but let it free. When Crew doesn’t answer for a beat, she turns toward him, embarrassment creeping up into her cheeks and turning them hot.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s none of my business.”
Crew shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he says, but his smile has once again transformed into something much less bright and warm. There’s a sadness twisting his mouth now, and it has seeped into his eyes, too. “She left for the same reasons we all did. Change of scenery. A chance to be just another face in a crowd. To put some distance between her and theCaldwell dynasty.” The last words come out a touch derisively; Crew looks past Grace to stare at the picture that sparked her curiosity. “She’s a VP at a software company in New York now.”
With a slow nod, Grace says, “That’s impressive.”
“Yeah,” Crew agrees. “Always been a real go-getter.”
“And you?” An internal, exasperated sigh looses in her belly at the question.Good God on a hot dog, Grace Louise. Stop giving this man the third degree.
But Crew just chuckles, shaking his head. “I can confidentlysay I’m the least worldly of the three of us. Getting deployed was the only time I’ve ever left the country.”
“If it makes you feel any better,” Grace counters, rocking back onto her heels, “I’ve never left the state.” She admits this to him without considering the implications—he already knows her background, and that the company she kept until recently was less than desirable. But continuing to paint the picture of her past, sharpening it with details like the one she just shared—she wonders if he’ll pity her.
But the look in his eyes doesn’t speak to pity, or shock, or anything, really. He’s simply giving her the opportunity to elaborate, and when she doesn’t, he offers a lighthearted shrug. “Well, Texas is as good as it gets, in my opinion.”
