Page 93 of Terms and Traditions

“Rosie, chill out!” I snapped over her frenzied barking.

It had been years. Jared didn’t deserve any more of my head space. And he certainly wasn’t worth burning a meal over. Get your head in the game, Paisley Grace.

Dragging a stool under the kitchen smoke detector, I climbed up and yanked it from the ceiling, killing the high-pitched shrill. Silence fell over the house, still thickly choked in smoke.

Surveying my smoky domain from the loftiness of the stool, I pinched the bridge of my nose, and my chest heaved in a silent sob. I wanted tonight to be special. Perfect. Nash, Stephanie’s boyfriend, was a millionaire for goodness’ sake. Not that I thought he’d be a snob. I didn’t get that vibe from him when we met on New Year’s Eve almost a month ago. But still. It had taken forever to finagle this dinner onto the agenda with Nash and Stephanie’s work schedule in their race against the clock to get Genesis’s new marketing program launched by end of January. Their official launch was yesterday. Tonight we’d hear how successful they’d been.

My shoulders drooped. I’d wanted this dinner to be a celebration. Not a letdown.

Warm hands grasped my waist, and my eyes flew open. It was Greyson. Shirtless with a towel around his waist, still wet.

“What are you—I thought you were in the shower,” I spluttered, glaring down at him. “You’re dripping on my clean floor.”

Greyson studied me for a minute, then lifted me down off the stool with ease, muscles rippling. It wasn’t fair how simple he made it look. Sure, I was a bit of a lightweight who needed some more meat on my bones, but did he have to rub it in? Didn’t stop me from appreciating it, though. No, ma’am. Time in the military had done wonders for my husband’s physique. Even though he’d retired a few years back to come home as the new local mechanic.

“I heard the fire alarm and Rosie. Thought something was wrong,” he said in that husky voice I loved.

Did he have to be so sweet about it when I practically bit his head off? “Oh, something’s wrong all right,” I snapped. “Look in the sink.” It was a silly thing to say since the cloying perfume of smoke made it obvious charcoal à la mode was on the menu tonight. Those stupidly persistent tears kept knocking on my tear gates, but I ignored them even as my chest ached with pressure from the build up. I didn’t have time or the emotional bandwidth for tears. I needed a plan.

Or more accurately, dinner for eight in the next forty-three minutes.

“What’s going on in that mind of yours?” Greyson asked, his rough voice gentle as he turned me towards him.

“Oh, I don’t think you can handle all that.”

He made an amused hum deep in his throat, leaning down. I thought he was going in for a kiss, but nope. He bypassed my willing lips and traced his nose over my jaw before kissing down my neck. “You know what they say about assuming.”

“What’s that?” I asked, way more breathless than I intended. He was playing dirty, kissing me to steal my anger—and my snark. Infuriating man.

Greyson chuckled again. Another kiss over my pulse.

“Grey, we have company coming,” I whispered, my voice nearly strangled.

“I know.” He sighed, warm breath feathering my skin. “But you’re deflecting, because I can feel those thoughts in that beautiful brain whirling at the speed of light. What’s going on? Are you nervous about tonight?”

“Maybe.” I fiddled with his damp sandy-brown hair. “We’re about to have a millionaire in our house.”

“We have Cal and Myles here on a regular basis.”

“Not the same thing. They’re family.”

“Nash didn’t strike me as the pretentious type.”

I rolled my eyes. “He’s not. Steph would have chewed him up and spit him out if he were.”

Greyson choked on a laugh. We both knew I wasn’t wrong. “Then what’s the real problem? Because I have a guess, if you care to hear it.”

“I’m fine. No problem.”

“Pais.” Greyson’s voice took on a serious edge, different from the playful, flirty tone he’d been using before. “The date. You’re overwhelming your brain with thoughts and tasks to avoid thinking about it.”

Nope, we were not talking about this right now. I shoved his chest, and he released me. “Don’t be ridiculous. And go put some clothes on.” I ran the cold water in the sink, letting it cascade over the blackened mess. What did I have in the pantry for short notice? Tacos? Quesadillas? Frozen pizza? Way to make it special, Paisley Grace.

Greyson’s arms slid around my waist from behind, and I reluctantly sagged against his chest. “If you want to talk about this later, we can table it. But we have to talk about it sometime, Pais.”

“But I’m fine,” I tried to insist, though it sounded wobbly.

He sighed and kissed behind my ear. “Pull out some ground beef from the freezer. I’ll make spaghetti. We can use the sourdough you made yesterday for garlic bread, and there’s lettuce for a Caesar salad.”