“Why?”
“Why?” he repeats, and I catch his frown from the corner of my eye.
“Why were you hoping I’d call?”
His voice is tinged with amusement. “We pretending here, Lynley? Or are we going for honesty?”
I open my mouth to say honesty—because why would I want anything else?—but the words catch in my throat. He angles his head toward me, brows shadowing his eyes as he dips his chin.
“Like I thought,” he muses.
“Stop talking in riddles.” I huff, and he chuckles, the sound making my stomach swoop. I wrap my arms around my waist, unsure what to say next or why I asked him to meet me here. Unsure about everything.
I’m not sure if he senses my apprehension, but he changes the subject. “How’re the kids?”
I look at him, eyes locking with his blue ones, a worried dip to his brow. There’s a flutter in my stomach, maybe a little higher—the tiniest butterfly wings brushing against my insides, knowing he’s worried about my children.
“They’re okay, but they want to go home.”
“Understandable. What has your lawyer said?”
My shoulders go tight before I can stifle the reaction, stress rushing back in like a tidal wave. “Christopher has thirty days to either sign the divorce papers or contest it. My lawyer believes there’s a strong possibility of him contesting, especially once he realizes just how much he’ll lose financially.”
He stills beside me. “The house?”
I lift a shoulder. “It’s mine, but if he fights the prenup…”
He shakes his head. “Unacceptable. We’ll find you somewhere else to live. You shouldn’t go back there anyway. Not with everything that place represents.”
Trepidation slides through me, and I push off the bench, heading to the edge of the pond. He doesn’t move. Iknow without even looking that he’s still sitting here, watching me, some instinctual part of me aware of everything this man does.
“I’ll figure something out.” My words are quiet, hovering in the air above the water.
There’s a sharp inhale, his words a quiet rumble. “Let me help.”
I press my fingers to my mouth, feeling my lips trembling against the pads. “You’ve done enough.”
Gravel crunches under his shoes as he gets up and closes the distance between us. He stops right behind me, close enough that his body heat seeps into mine, and his breath brushes against the crown of my head. I shiver, goose bumps dimpling my flesh, feeling like electricity is coursing through my body.
“Not yet.”
“W-what?”
“I haven’t done enough yet,” he murmurs, a smile in his voice. He feels different from the man who met me at Rosetta Cafe. Softer. It’s almost like he’s soothed his sharp edges away, and I can’t help but wonder if he sees just how fragile I am, no matter how I try to hide it.
“Lynne,” he breathes, the ghost of a touch brushing against my shoulder, almost like he thought of closing the distance but changed his mind.
My eyes fall shut, wondering what the right move is here. He’s a relative stranger, already privy to so much of my personal drama. I’m a grown woman in my thirties. I can handle this on my own. My husband might have made this mess, but I allowed it.
“Let me help,” Grafton whispers again. For the briefest of seconds, he presses his chest against my back, his chin brushing my head. And then he steps away, leaving mealmost…bereft. “It’s getting late. Let me walk you to your car.”
Neither of us speaks until we reach the parking lot. He waits for me to unlock my car before opening the door for me. Once I’m sitting behind the wheel, he braces one hand against the roof of the vehicle and the other on top of the open door, leaning toward me. The parking lot is dark, leaving his face in shadows that the interior lighting doesn’t touch.
“I’ll call you.” It’s a promise.
I stare up at him, a sharp exhale parting my lips. “Is this a good idea?” Even as I ask, I want him to tell me it is. I’m tired to my bones, and the idea of letting him shoulder some of it is too tempting.
His mouth curves just slightly. “It’s the best idea.” He shuts the door before I can respond, and I watch through the windshield as he makes his way to his own car.
