Page 17

“That you drink coffee like a psychopath? Hard to forget.”

I wrap my hands around the mug.

He leans against the counter, arms folded across his chest.

“Didn’t think you’d come.”

“Neither did I.”

“Yet here you are.”

“Unfortunately, my curiosity is stronger than my common sense.”

“Always was.”

Our eyes meet.

For a moment, the years disappear.

Then I remember why I’m here.

“You said you had something for me.”

His expression changes.

“Yeah.”

He sets down his coffee.

“Come on.”

I follow him through another hallway and into a study overlooking the overgrown gardens.

Unlike the rest of the house, this room is finished.

Dark green walls. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A massive wooden desk. A leather sofa beside a stone fireplace.

It’s masculine and moody and ridiculously sexy.

Much like its owner.

“Okay,” I admit. “This room I like.”

“High praise.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.”

He crosses to the desk and opens a drawer.

When he turns around, he’s holding a small wooden box.

My breath catches.

I recognize it immediately.

Grayson made that box when he was nineteen.