do this alone.
“Where do you live?” he asked.
“I bought the house from my parents when they moved, so I live where I always lived,” she said with stiff pride, as if the fact she had never left her family home proved everything he had just said about her.
And it did, didn’t it?
He sighed. “What time should I be there?”
“Fiveish?”
In the world he had started moving in, dinner didn’t happen at five. It happened at eight or nine. After cocktails. And hors d’oeuvres. After endless small talk, and sometimes a little careless flirting with people who were no more interested in relationships than he was.
The banality of it all suddenly made him feel like his world had become unbearably lonely.
He was being pulled into her little world. And he didn’t like it. But he was just going to have to suck it up until this Serenity situation was cleared up.
And then nothing, but nothing—not even the memory of the way Grace’s lips had tasted crushed beneath his own—was going to keep him from personally supervising that job in Australia.
CHAPTER SIX
“M R . Adams, are you all right?”
“Huh?” Rory had been staring aimlessly out his office window.
He’d had the dream last night. Worse than normal. The two teenage boys, the
bullets. This time, he had ducked, as if he could see the bullet coming, as if
he had deliberately let Graham get it instead of him.
And still, there was a sense of having awoken too soon. There
was still a piece missing, something important. Words.
Not that it mattered. There were no words that could make him
feel better, that could take away this feeling of tremendous guilt. There were
no words that could make the realization of a man’s powerlessness over life and
death any easier.
Sometimes, you couldn’t protect the people you cared about. His
mother. Graham. Was the dream more intense because he had spent time with
Gracie? Because he was seeing how his inability to stop bad things from
happening had gone out like a wave and swamped other lives?
If he could protect Grace from Serenity would it make up for
all his past failings?
“I’m fine,” he said gruffly to Bridey. “I’ve been invited out
for dinner tonight. Could you get me something to bring?”
“The regular?”
“Yeah, whatever.” What was the regular? A bottle of good wine,
exquisitely expensive, roses in the same price range. “No, wait.”
He didn’t want to bring wine if Serenity was there. She’d
probably swig it all back and then try to drive herself and the kid
somewhere.
And he actually didn’t want wine with Grace again, either.
Because after one glass at lunch, she’d lost her inhibitions enough to put on a
bikini.
And kiss him.
A kiss powerful enough to send a man packing to Australia!
“Uh, no wine,” he said. “And not roses for the flowers,
either.” Somehow, Grace wasn’t a rose kind of girl in his mind. “Something less,
uh, formal. Less, uh, ostentatious.”
“Got it,” Bridey said.
He arrived at Grace’s feeling foolishly like a boy on his first
date. He wished he hadn’t brought the flowers at all, because the bouquet was
quite large, a colorful explosion of daisies and daffodils, mums and lilies.
There was no sign of Serenity’s decrepit old truck yet.
He looked at the house—Graham’s house, really—and waited for
the sadness of the memories of them together here to hit. They didn’t and he
felt thankful for all that Grace had done to it. She had made the house her own,
painted, changed the facade, added colorful plantings beneath the windows and up
the walkway.
She came to the door, and he found himself steeling himself—not
against memories of him and Graham, but against memories of him and her.
And the way her lips had tasted: the hint of passion in them,
the faint eagerness. And the way she had made him feel.
As if he could trust her. As if he could trust her with things
he had told no one.
She opened the door and looked over his shoulder.
“Where do you live?” he asked.
“I bought the house from my parents when they moved, so I live where I always lived,” she said with stiff pride, as if the fact she had never left her family home proved everything he had just said about her.
And it did, didn’t it?
He sighed. “What time should I be there?”
“Fiveish?”
In the world he had started moving in, dinner didn’t happen at five. It happened at eight or nine. After cocktails. And hors d’oeuvres. After endless small talk, and sometimes a little careless flirting with people who were no more interested in relationships than he was.
The banality of it all suddenly made him feel like his world had become unbearably lonely.
He was being pulled into her little world. And he didn’t like it. But he was just going to have to suck it up until this Serenity situation was cleared up.
And then nothing, but nothing—not even the memory of the way Grace’s lips had tasted crushed beneath his own—was going to keep him from personally supervising that job in Australia.
CHAPTER SIX
“M R . Adams, are you all right?”
“Huh?” Rory had been staring aimlessly out his office window.
He’d had the dream last night. Worse than normal. The two teenage boys, the
bullets. This time, he had ducked, as if he could see the bullet coming, as if
he had deliberately let Graham get it instead of him.
And still, there was a sense of having awoken too soon. There
was still a piece missing, something important. Words.
Not that it mattered. There were no words that could make him
feel better, that could take away this feeling of tremendous guilt. There were
no words that could make the realization of a man’s powerlessness over life and
death any easier.
Sometimes, you couldn’t protect the people you cared about. His
mother. Graham. Was the dream more intense because he had spent time with
Gracie? Because he was seeing how his inability to stop bad things from
happening had gone out like a wave and swamped other lives?
If he could protect Grace from Serenity would it make up for
all his past failings?
“I’m fine,” he said gruffly to Bridey. “I’ve been invited out
for dinner tonight. Could you get me something to bring?”
“The regular?”
“Yeah, whatever.” What was the regular? A bottle of good wine,
exquisitely expensive, roses in the same price range. “No, wait.”
He didn’t want to bring wine if Serenity was there. She’d
probably swig it all back and then try to drive herself and the kid
somewhere.
And he actually didn’t want wine with Grace again, either.
Because after one glass at lunch, she’d lost her inhibitions enough to put on a
bikini.
And kiss him.
A kiss powerful enough to send a man packing to Australia!
“Uh, no wine,” he said. “And not roses for the flowers,
either.” Somehow, Grace wasn’t a rose kind of girl in his mind. “Something less,
uh, formal. Less, uh, ostentatious.”
“Got it,” Bridey said.
He arrived at Grace’s feeling foolishly like a boy on his first
date. He wished he hadn’t brought the flowers at all, because the bouquet was
quite large, a colorful explosion of daisies and daffodils, mums and lilies.
There was no sign of Serenity’s decrepit old truck yet.
He looked at the house—Graham’s house, really—and waited for
the sadness of the memories of them together here to hit. They didn’t and he
felt thankful for all that Grace had done to it. She had made the house her own,
painted, changed the facade, added colorful plantings beneath the windows and up
the walkway.
She came to the door, and he found himself steeling himself—not
against memories of him and Graham, but against memories of him and her.
And the way her lips had tasted: the hint of passion in them,
the faint eagerness. And the way she had made him feel.
As if he could trust her. As if he could trust her with things
he had told no one.
She opened the door and looked over his shoulder.
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