The corners of Grafton’s mouth go tight, but he doesn’t say anything. His eyes never leave mine, his fingers pulsing against my skin. “Maybe it’s time to have that discussion. You’ll have to explain why Christopher isn’t living with you anymore sooner rather than later, right?” He tilts his head to the side, his expression curious.
He’s not worried. I can tell that much. And I appreciatethat he’s not trying to tell me what to do. It’s more a subtle push for something he knows I already understand.
I find myself leaning into his side, seeking the comfort of his touch. He doesn’t hesitate, wrapping his arms around me, his chin pressed to the crown of my head. He smells like sunshine and man, a musky cologne that fills my lungs and settles low in my belly.
“I know,” I whisper. “I was hoping to do it when we got back to some normalcy, but…” I look away, admitting quietly, “The deadline for Christopher to sign the papers is in a couple of days, but he’s throwing his weight around, talking about contesting it.”
“You didn’t tell me that.” Grafton tenses before he blows out a heavy breath, like he’s forcing himself to relax. “What’s he doing?”
A huff of unamused laughter escapes me. “My lawyer says he’s refusing to sign. That he wants me to agree to mediation.” I lean back, looking up at him. “He won’t leave the house. Not until he’s forced to.”
Grafton brushes his finger along my cheek. “You didn’t want to go back anyway.”
A frustrated noise leaves me. “I know, but now I’m stuck here.” I point at the house again. “The kids miss having their own space, and a routine. My mother is—” I press my lips together. “Doesn’t matter. Anyway, we can’t stay here. It’s already been too long. But until the divorce goes through…” I shrug helplessly. “The money I have isn’t enough for another place for us. And no one will rent to me without income, which means I need a job. I haven’t worked in…years. I never even finished my degree.”
I step away from him, sinking down onto the cold concrete step. Grafton watches me for a moment, but thenfollows my lead, sitting beside me, the scorching heat of his leg pressing into mine—knee to hip.
“You have a real opportunity here,” he says softly. “Reinvent yourself. Go back to school, if you want. Or don’t. Find a job you enjoy. One you love.” He pauses, turning to spear me with those bright blue orbs. They crease down at the corners as he flashes me a cheeky smile. “Or come work for me.”
I stare at him for a moment, and then let out a light laugh. “You’re funny.”
He nudges me with his elbow, and then his arm slides around my shoulders, tucking me against him. I don’t fight the hold because it’s so nice to feel like I’m not alone. It’s been so long since I’ve been hugged by someone my age—without sticky fingers.
“I’m not kidding.”
I fall quiet, unsure what to say, but again, Grafton doesn’t push, letting me sort through the chaos of my thoughts in my own time. “This doesn’t seem like a good idea,” I murmur eventually, carefully averting my gaze from his. He strokes a hand down my arm, his fingers softly stroking over my skin when they reach the hem of my sleeve.
“What doesn’t?”
“Us,” I whisper, because there’s no pretending there isn’t an us. “I’m still married, and it could be months before that’s over. I don’t want to drag you into my drama.”
“But you want me,” he says cockily, and I shoot him an amused look, finding his mouth pulled into a toe-curling grin.
Feeling brave, I smile back at him, finally giving voice to the truth. “Yes, I do.”
His bright eyes flare with surprise, and then go heavywith pleasure. His free hand comes up, cupping my chin between his thumb and finger, holding me still. He ducks his head, pressing his lips to the corner of my mouth—not quite a kiss, but close enough that skin tingles from the touch.
“That’s all I needed,” he whispers. “Now we’ve got all the time in the world to get to know each other.”
“And when the divorce goes through?” I dare to ask.
His thumb lifts, pressing against my bottom lip, dragging it down. Without thought, my tongue flicks out against the pad of the digit, and his eyes darken to a stormy blue.
“When the divorce goes through?” he repeats. “You’re mine.”
After he leaves, I walk into the house and find the kids entranced by an animated movie in the living room. Ginny’s on her stomach, right in front of the television, her legs swaying behind her. Mase is stretched out on the couch, still in his dirty uniform. His eyes are heavy as the lights of the screen flash across his face, and I know he’ll be dead to the world within minutes.
I turn and head for the kitchen, finding my mother at the table, doing a crossword puzzle on the daily newspaper. She glances up as I enter, her mouth in a tight, disapproving line. I stifle a sigh as I head for the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water. I sit down across from her, uncapping it and taking a long pull, knowing there’s no point in trying to escape from this.
If she’s got something to say, avoiding my mother will only make her more determined to make her point.
“You’re making a mistake.”
I stall, taking another drink before glancing at her. “Okay. What mistake?”
She slaps her newspaper down against the table, squinting at me in the same mean way that Caroline does. “You’re destroying a family,” she hisses. “Christopher has asked you to go to counseling. The least you can do is try.”
I tap my nails against the table, staring at her. “I want to ask if you’re kidding,” I say softly, “But I know you’re not.” This isn’t the first time she’s tried to convince me to go back to my husband; the implication that his “straying” is my fault is heavier each time.
