Page 72 of In Every Chapter

“But people break promises all the time,” Paisley whispered. “My mom did.”

The words tugged deep at my heart. “I know, love. But I’m not her. In sickness and in health, till death do us part,” I continued quietly. “I’m not going anywhere, Pais.” But I wasn’t sure she heard me as a soft snuffle filled the room.

I lightly kissed her forehead. “Good night, love.”

Chapter thirty-one

Paisley

I sat at the counter, cupping a mug of tea in my hands. The dim glow of the range light cast eerie shadows around the kitchen, but the soothing notes of the chamomile helped. My mind was too busy to sleep.

Or go back to sleep. I’d woken up on the couch alone, an afghan draped over me and the stove range light shining dimly from the kitchen. There was an infinite amount of comfort from seeing a stove light on. It was something deeply grounding. A beacon of security and safety. Like someone was waiting up for you. Like there was a light to keep the nightmares at bay.

A hundred thoughts and scenarios took center stage, demanding my attention as I remembered last night.

How rude.

A stair creaked—we really should fix that—and a shadow emerged in the doorway from the hall.

“Pais? Everything okay?” Greyson ran a hand over his face, deliciously sleep rumpled.

“Can’t sleep.” I raised my mug in a fake salute. “Chamomile and lemon balm.”

He shuffled, barefoot, into the kitchen until he stood opposite me, leaning against the far counter. He was in flannel pajamas and a white tee, and from the lines on his cheek he’d been sleeping.

“Sorry I woke you.”

His tired smile tipped up the corner of his mouth. “I’m not.”

I sipped my drink, my cheeks warming a little under his unabashed gaze. “Want some tea?”

“No thanks. But I’ve got an idea if you’re open to it.”

I raised an eyebrow over the rim of my cup. “Oh?”

He chuckled, warm and low. “Don’t sound so thrilled, love.”

Love. There it was again. He hadn’t used it much since the hospital. A few times it had slipped out, and each time, it did something to my heart. Annoying organ that insisted on beating irregularly.

Greyson picked up his phone and fiddled with it until quiet music started playing. “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran, if I wasn’t mistaken. Then he held out his hand. “Dance with me?”

I swallowed hard but slipped my hand into his. His skin was warm and his fingers slightly rough against mine. I let him draw me close into a slow dance, my hand in his and the other on his chest. His hand was warm on my lower back through the cotton of my oversized shirt.

Our faces were so close his woodsy shower soap enveloped me, and I could make out the silver ring around his pupils. It was so familiar. Like the second stanza of a song I knew the tune of but couldn’t place.

“We’ve danced like this before, haven’t we?” I whispered.

“Yeah.”

“To this song specifically?”

His throat bobbed, emotion flickering in his eyes. “Yes.” The word was so soft I barely caught it.

I frowned, grasping for the memory I shared with this man. With this song. One he knew. One I couldn’t remember.

Greyson’s thumb smoothed out the wrinkles on my forehead, and I peeked at him.

“Tell me. Please,” I begged.