Page 130 of PR Stunt

I roll my eyes, sliding the edge of my fork through another piece. “Still not sure how I feel about the Miss Grace thing.”

“Liar,” Grayson says, his mouth curving faintly. “You always liked it when I called you that.”

A laugh slips out before I can stop it. I glance down at my plate, cutting off another bite. “Okay,” I admit. “Maybe a little.”

Grayson reaches across the table, his hand settling lightly at the back of my neck, fingers warm just below my bun. The touch makes me look up fully. He draws me toward him gently, and I lean across the table without thinking, meeting him halfway as his mouth brushes mine in a slow, easy kiss.

When he pulls back, his gaze stays on mine.

“You still haven’t answered—and thank you for cooking,” he says.

The look on his face makes something in me shift. For a second, I’m not looking at the man across from me but the teenager he once was, forced to grow up too fast, learning how to cook breakfast while waiting for footsteps that came long after they should have. The thought lands with unexpected force, a quiet certainty settling inside me: I want to be someone who gives him softness where life clearly forgot to.

I clear my throat. “Today?”

He nods. “Yeah. No contracts. No cameras. No pretending. Just a day. You and me, baby.”

I pop a blueberry into my mouth, thinking.

“Well,” I say after swallowing, “for starters, you’re going to need clothes.”

“Yeah, but do I?” Grayson hooks a hand around my chair and drags it across the hardwood until I’m facing him fully. I laugh, giving him a playful shove, though warmth ripples through me at the look on his face. He settles his hands on my knees, his thumbs moving slowly back and forth against my skin.

Then his expression shifts, subtle but immediate. “How are you doing?” he asks. “Really.”

The question carries differently than everything else this morning. The hotel room. Freddy. My scream I can still hear if I let myself think too long about it. Honestly, considering yesterday, the fact that I’m sitting here like this at all feels almost surreal.

“I’m okay,” I say after a moment, quieter now. “Or at least…I think I am.”

His eyes stay on mine as he listens without interrupting.

“I mean, considering everything, I’m fine. A little unsettled, maybe. But fine.”

He nods once, like he expected that answer and respects it anyway.

“I had security arranged for this morning,” he says. “They’re coming here to upgrade the system, check every entry point, cameras, locks. Everything.”

I blink. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

His tone stays matter of fact, like this part isn’t negotiable. “I want you to feel safe here.” He lifts one hand, tucking the loose strand of hair that escaped my bun behind my ear.

My heart does a small, ridiculous somersault.

The call comes later that morning. The detective doesn’t waste time getting to the point. Freddy stalked me for years, even during visits to my parents’ house in Bellingham. Police found the walls of his studio apartment covered in photos, magazine clippings, printouts. Me at premieres. Me leaving restaurants. Me on my walks at the beach. Even so much as cutting out old childhood yearbook photos. The thought turns my stomach. After reviewing the security footage I provided, they discovered he’d entered the gate code and unlocked my front door more than once. Because I’d turned off phone alerts, I never saw the notifications. The first and last time I’d ever do that. As for the hotel, security reviewed the footage and saw exactly how he got in. The hotel manager had been distracted for less than a minute, and Freddy reached behind the counter, took the master key, and disappeared before anyone noticed. Just bad luck. Terrible timing.

By late morning, I’ve added a pair of loose sweatpants beneath Grayson’s dress shirt when the team starts filtering in to check on me. Miranda arrives first, carrying a duffel bag stuffed with clothes and toiletries for Grayson, though before she says anything else, she pulls me into a tight hug that catches me slightly off guard. For all her polished composure, her relief feels real. When she steps back, her hands stay briefly on my arms, eyes scanning my face like she needs to see for herself that I’m standing here, fine, in my own house. Only then does she fill us in on the premiere. Between her and Anna, they managed the fallout exactly as well as anyone could have hoped. Given the circumstances, the coverage ended up overwhelmingly sympathetic, though she makes it clear she would have traded every headline for a different outcome yesterday.

That part, I believe.

Not long after, Juno arrives with enough energy for three people, followed by Anna, Luca, Hailey, and Sienna. Everyone is embarrassingly thrilled that Grayson and I are finally admitting what’s been obvious to everyone else. Juno, unsurprisingly, is the least subtle about it. By the time they leave, the house feels quiet again. Grayson changes into sweats, though he doesn’t bother with a shirt. I change too, pulling on the old hoodie I stole from his place the first night I visited there, the sleeves still too long, the fabric soft from too many washes. He sees it immediately when I walk back downstairs, and the look he gives me makes it very clear that he remembers exactly where that hoodie came from. Later, I show him my favorite books. He sits cross-legged on the rug in my office, one arm resting loosely over his knee, flipping through covers while I pull titles from the shelves. He studies each one like the answer matters. Then he holds one up, glancing at me.

“This one,” he says. “Read me the first page.”

Later, when the security team arrives, Grayson and I finally get fully dressed and head down to the beach, and for the first time in my life, cameras are the last thing on my mind.

By the time we make it back, I’m laughing hard enough that Grayson crouches slightly in front of me without warning.

“Hop on.” He grins.