SableCorp can keep reaching. They’ll find nothing but steel.
CHAPTER TWO
Claire
The bell over Grace’s deli door sings as I step inside, a familiar chime wrapped in the scent of comfort itself. I smell the scent of garlic, basil, fresh bread, and something sweet that I think is cinnamon and sugar. The place hums with the soft rhythm of a weekday rush: utensils clinking, conversations weaving, and the espresso machine sighing between orders.
For a second, I just breathe it in. Normalcy. God, I need this. I’ve been so stressed lately with email orders for specialty books and attempting to create a new marketing strategy to help pick up sales at my shop. The stress I experience in keeping my little shop alive is beyond overwhelming.
Grace stands behind the counter, hair piled in a messy knot, cheeks pink from heat and laughter. Grace radiates a brightness that surpasses my own, as if happiness has become a permanent part of her being.
“Finally!” she calls when she spots me. “I thought you ditched me for a romance novel and a cup of tea.”
“Tempting,” I say, dropping onto the stool at the end of the counter. “But the romance novel doesn’t serve sandwiches.”
“Which is precisely why you keep me around.” She winks, sliding a glass of sparkling water across the counter.
“I see you’ve already decided what I’m eating.”
“Of course,” she says. “You’re predictable. In a charming way.”
I laugh, the sound coming easier than it has in days. “You always know what I want.”
Her eyes sparkle. “Careful saying that. It sounds like a quote your own Viking might recite to you.”
I groan. “Grace.”
“What? Don’t give me that look. You think I don’t notice the way you blush every time he walks into a room? It’s like a live-action slow burn happening right in front of me.”
“It’s not a slow burn,” I mutter, instantly regretting how defensive that sounds.
Her grin widens. “Ohhh. So it’s already burning?”
“Grace!”
She throws up her hands, laughing. “Okay, okay! I’m done. But for the record, he looks at you like he’s memorizing your pulse.”
The comment lands deeper than I expect. My pulse stutters, just as expected.
She softens when she sees it. “Hey. You look good, though. Seriously. Brighter. Like you’re sleeping again.”
I trace condensation around the rim of my glass. “He makes me feel…” The words hover between us.Vulnerable. Whole.Seen.“Anchored,” I settle on. “Like I don’t have to keep fixing myself all the time.”
Grace’s smile gentles. “Sounds like that special sort ofViking love.”
“Too soon to call it that,” I say, though the warmth in my chest betrays me.
“Mm-hmm.” She sips her drink, smirking over the rim. “If you say so.”
Grace gets up for a moment to head over to the counter where her dad places two plates, our orders, and she arrives with our food wearing a cheesy grin. The paninis warm from the press, tomato soup steaming, and a basket of garlic knots glistening. The smells are intoxicating and I can’t want to eat all of this goodness made just for us!
When she looks back at me, there’s something trembling under her composure. “Okay, before I lose my nerve…” She laughs softly, shaking her head. “You’re the first person I’m telling besides Bjorn.”
“Grace?” My spoon halts midair. “What’s going on?”
She reaches across the counter, palm up. Her fingers are shaking. “I’m pregnant. Eight weeks!”
The words ripple through the air, soft but seismic. For a heartbeat, I just stare at her hand, then her face, radiant, nervous, and so full of joy that it hurts to look at her.
