“Mom?”
I’m startled out of the daydream by Mase’s question, realizing I’ve come to a stop too far away. Grafton’s already standing at the bottom of the steps, watching us with a furrowed brow.
I inch the car forward, pulling in behind his SUV, trying to slow my breathing and calm the way my heart is racing in my chest. The kids don’t have the same problem, theirreticence missing as they scramble from the car, yelling at me to get a move on. Grafton’s blue eyes lock with mine through the windshield, his expression understanding and warm. He tips his head at the house, mouthing, “Come on.”
Nerves make my hands shake, and I get out and slowly head over to where they’re all standing. Ginny looks at me as I stop at her side, suddenly remembering she’s supposed to be nervous, tucking her hand into mine. Mase is just staring at Grafton.
“Whose house is this?”
He lifts his eyebrows, his stare never leaving mine. “Why don’t we go find out?”
I swallow thickly. “What have you done?”
My eyes drop as his lips curl into a soft smile, stealing my breath. My palms start sweating, and I quickly look away, hoping he hasn’t noticed. But when I lift my eyes back to his, the heated look he sends back tells me he hasn’t missed a thing.
“Lean in, darling,” he reminds me huskily, and then tilts his head toward the front door. “Shall we?”
Grafton doesn’t give me a tour, instead choosing to follow silently as I make my way through the ground floor. Mase and Ginny took off the minute we got in the front door, but I can hear them chattering somewhere close by.
The house is just as impressive on the inside as out, even without any furniture in the place. It’s spacious and open, with original hardwood floors and high ceilings. There are windows in every room that flood the place with natural light, making it feel warmer. As I move through each space, it’s all too easy to imagine the place filled with furniture and family, laughter bouncing off walls covered in artwork by the kids and photos that document our lives.
The kitchen is a dream, with white marble counters andsoft, pastel-blue cabinetry. I find myself standing at the large farmhouse sink, staring out at the well-manicured lawn. My eyes lock on the wooden play structure sitting not too far from the house, my mind spinning so fast that it’s hard to pick the words I need from the chaos.
“Why are we here?” The question is yanked out of me, and there’s a rustle of fabric as Grafton comes closer.
“You know why,” he murmurs. I turn around, pressing my back against the sink, flutters filling my stomach. He’s standing right in front of me, his broad shoulders blocking my view of the rest of the room. His eyes are solemn, steady, and there is a gentle curve to his mouth.
“This isn’t?—”
He cuts me off, his reminder gentle. “You told me you’d let me help.” He waits a beat, checking if I am going to argue. “This is me helping, Lynley. Christopher isn’t about to play nice. We both know that. He’ll be doing everything in his power to make sure the divorce doesn’t go through because he knows he’s about to lose everything.” Grafton steps closer, and his cologne washes over me, making me feel dizzy. “You didn’t want to go back to that house anyway, right?”
“Right,” I whisper.
“So here’s your solution.” He says it so easily, like he gives women going through messy divorces houses every day. “I wanted to have it furnished, but I thought I had more time.” He glances around the empty kitchen with a frown. “Easily rectified, though. And probably better this way, so you can choose what you want. The deed is in my name. I didn’t want Christopher to try to use it in the divorce, but as soon as I can, I’ll transfer complete ownership to you.”
Tears spring to my eyes, unbidden, my voice hoarse as I tell him, “This is too much. I can’t accept this.”
He looks back at me, taking another step closer and reaching out to trail a finger over my cheek. “Nothing is too much, darling. You deserve all this and more.”
My skin prickles where he’s touched me, even when his hand falls away, and I desperately want to grab onto him so he’ll do it again.
A shrill scream pierces the air, and we share an alarmed look before we’re running to the stairs. Grafton’s long legs cover the distance faster, and he takes the steps two at a time in his rush to get to Ginny.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” he barks out, practically skidding to a stop in an open doorway.
“Is this my room?” she demands, and I step through the door, ready to tell her to change her tone, but pull up short at the sight of the pink and white bedroom.
It’s a stark contrast from the rest of the house, but it isn’t just the wallpaper. There’s a princess bed, complete with a silk canopy and a white oak dresser. There’s a matching bookshelf and desk, as well as a fluffy pink beanbag and a chest full of toys.
“Grafton,” I breathe. “What did you do?”
“Mom, look!” Ginny demands, pointing at a decal above her bed—two ballerinas dancing across the wall. She races across the room, snatching a jewelry box off the dresser. “And this!” She snaps it open, and the tinkle of music chimes through the room, a tiny ballerina snapping upright to twirl on her pedestal.
Grafton’s deep chuckle rolls through me, and I glance at him just in time to see the affectionate look in his eyes as he looks at my daughter. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s your room, Ginny.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to collect myself, but my voice is still hoarse when I say, “I thought you said you didn’t have time to furnish it.”
He looks at me over his shoulder, eyes sparkling. “I had time for a little shopping.”
