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Grace looked down at her hands. “About… about last night…”
“Yes?”I drawled, wearing only the finest shit-eating-grin.
“It was…”
Amazing. Spectacular. You’re a sex god, Sam!Was what I expected.
Instead, she said, “I don’t… I don’t do that. Ever.”
Ah. I’d heard that line before from the ladies of my past. Though there was something about Grace—some part of her that seemed so out of place and closed off—that I believed her.
She didn’t do things like that.
Ever.
And from the look on her face, it looked like she was promising herself she’d never do it again.
She lifted her gaze and looked at me like a mistake.
I looked down at the food so my gut would have something to do besides stab me.
“Coffee?” I asked, leading us away from the thorny area of the conversation and toward the Chemex filter.
She brightened and followed. “Oh, yes, please!”
Manners, too. Cute.
I opened one of the sleek gray cabinets and plucked one of the ceramic mugs from it, then set it down in front of her with a fragilethunk.
“Is this… like, handmade pottery?” Grace asked, eyeing the crystals in the deep blue glaze.
I stiffened. All the words snowing through the air scattered, and I was left with a lame “Yep.”
“Where did you—”
“An art fair,” I lied.
I couldn’t tell her about my mom. I wouldn’t let that subject rampage through this sacred, happy morning we could share for just a little longer.
A shadow of understanding passed through her hazel eyes. “I’ll be careful with it.”
She must have felt the weight of importance imbued in the object. Hell, I sure did.
“Mind if I throw on some tunes?” I asked.
“Sure,” she said, taking a sip of the coffee.
I really,reallyliked the way her delicate fingers poked out from my shirt cuffs as she held the mug in both hands.
I poured the omelets and bacon onto a pair of plates and said confidently, “Alexa, resume.”
I had no idea what she’d play, but I delighted in the unknown. The unknown was where I made my nest.
The jazz beat of Hard Twelve by The Ante pulsed through the house. The atmosphere lifted as the shadows in my mind retreated to find somewhere quiet. Words and rhymes began reappearing in my vision, and I felt charming and confident again.
I watched Grace’s face to gauge her reaction.
She just looked sleepy and sipped her coffee, like the music was just background noise instead of breathing life into the experience. When she set the mug on the granite, she pursed her lips slightly, looked up, and asked, “What is this?”
