Page 15

Lucy frowned at seeing Charles appear so sad. “Come on, don’t make me feel sympathy for him!” she joked. “I planned on being a tyrannical boss. I can call him my assistant, right?”

Her comment had the desired effect: Charles laughed.

“I’m trusting you to handle this, Luce,” he said. “Can you do that?” Charles held out his pinky, and Lucy locked her own with his.

“Okay, pinky promise. But you have to get better soon!” Lucy said. “I can’t be held accountable for what I do when he annoys me …”

“Don’t worry, I’ll trade the hospital gown for stripes and play referee,” he said. “Now, on to more important matters—have you got anything sweet? It’s like a jail here with the way they feed me, I swear.”

“Oh!” She straightened, springing into action. “I brought you something but left it in the car. I’ll go get it!”

She went to find Grayson, reminding herself to be civil—for Charles’s sake.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t keeping an eye on him.

CHAPTER FIVE

Grayson

After briefly speaking to the doctors, Grayson stood at the door, peering in. He was alone, just as he always had been.

Frozen in place, he watched as Charles and Lucy chatted and laughed. The sight knifed through him—reminding him of a day over a decade ago—but he couldn’t bear to look away.

He hadn’t understood before why Lucy was behaving so badly toward him when she was a mere worker, but now, seeing her and Charles together, he got the sense that she was not just an employee. She and Charles looked close—much closer than he and Charles were, that was for certain.

Irritation burned through him as he watched the way Charles’s face lit up when he spoke with Lucy, the easy manner in which they conversed. It had been many years since he had felt the kind of warmth in that room, the feeling of belonging that came with family.

He had traveled all this way to find it again—but how could he with Lucy around? She took up so much space. There was none left for him.

She’d tried taking his phone when the hospital had called and had forced her way here when he’d told her to stay at the shop. He shouldn’t have vouched for her with the receptionist when they had arrived, but he had felt bad.

Not that Lucy felt any such qualms, hogging all of Charles’s attention.

Lucy got up from Charles’s side and approached the door. Grayson stepped away, so it wouldn’t appear as though he’d been watching them. When she came out, he walked up as if he’d just arrived.

“There you are,” she said, blowing a stray lock of hair from her dark eyes. “I need your keys; I have to get something from the car.”

“What is it?” he replied, not trusting her. “I can get it.”

She gave him a disappointed look. He bristled. “It’s okay,” she said very slowly, as if he wouldn’t understand otherwise. “I’m sure you want a moment alone with Charles, anyway.”

He did want to see Charles, but he was … afraid. He felt like a boy of six again, being sent away, stiffly hugging his grandparents goodbye, scarcely looking at them. His chest felt heavy at the memory, the feeling deep inside that he had carried with him for all these years.

Lucy seemed to sense this hesitation and gave him a small, reassuring smile. His heart softened a little.

“Yes. Right.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys, holding them out. As she reached to take them, their fingers brushed, and time seemed to slow.

It was such a simple moment, but a tingle shot through his arm like an electric jolt. Lucy paused across from him, her face vulnerable, staring at their fingertips, just barely connecting.

She looked up at him with wide eyes, neither of them pulling away. They were hardly touching, but he felt breathless all the same, his skin heating.

“Thank you,” he said, taking a step back, voice hoarse. She nodded, taking the keys and pulling her hand away. She flipped the keys in her hands, flexing her fingers as she headed toward the elevator to go down to the parking lot.

Grayson watched her go, his arm still tingling. He stood there until she was out of sight, then took a deep breath, turning toward Charles’s room. He realized she was right.

He hadn’t been here. As Grayson walked in, he felt awkward, unsure of what to say to the old man on the bed. He couldn’t reconcile this version of Charles with the version he had known as a child more than two decades ago. So much had changed.

In Grayson’s distant memories—which he rarely allowed himself to visit—his grandfather had salt-and-pepper hair and was fit and healthy. So many years had passed that Grayson could no longer recall Charles’s exact face in his mind, and he had kept no pictures, but he always remembered his grandfather as being energetic and spritely.