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“You’re terrible,” Lucy said, hoping to convey the utmost disdain into the word. Grayson shifted on his feet.

“Whatever is between Charles and me is a personal family matter,” he said, which only aided in making her more upset.

Once again, he was reminding her that no matter how much she wished for it, Charles was not her family. She was stuck with her parents, who did not particularly care, and she couldn’t change any of it.

They were both sulking about as they finished up, and when Charles returned, he gave them a disbelieving look.

“You’re in an even worse mood!” he said. “Didn’t I tell you two to stop fighting?”

He shook his head. Lucy and Grayson were quiet. There was nothing to be said.

“Come on, I’ll take you home,” Grayson said, heading for the office to get his coat.

“No, I’ll find my own way back,” Charles replied, turning for the door.

“I’ll take you!” Lucy offered, hoping to get in his good graces again. Charles shook his head, not looking at her. Lucy’s heart broke.

He left, and Lucy’s eyes welled with tears. She turned, blinking quickly, but she was too late. Grayson had seen.

Lucy glanced back at him, thinking he would take it as another win, but he looked defeated, crestfallen.

Grayson ran a hand over his face, releasing a long breath. Slowly, he approached her.

“Lucy,” he said, voice soft.

“What?” She sniffled, not looking at him. Charles had never been angry with her before.

“Lucy, please.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, gently turning her to face him. She blinked the tears away.

“What?” she asked again, though this time her voice was softer.

“How about we call a truce?”

She looked up at him, surprised. “What?”

“A truce,” he said, eyes earnest. “We can’t keep working like this—it’s not good for the store or for Charles, or for either of us, to be frank.”

She knit her brows together skeptically, and he released her shoulders, holding out a hand for her to shake.

“Please,” he whispered.

And she couldn’t find it in her to say no. It was all temporary, anyway. He would leave, eventually, back to his life in Ireland. And she was tired of fighting.

“Truce,” she said, taking his hand. He had big hands with distinct veins and long fingers, and when his hand folded over hers, she was enveloped in warmth.

He ran his thumb over her knuckles softly, and she felt it like a kiss, gentle and sweet. Her breath hitched, her heart beating quickly, even after he had released her hand.

With a smile, Grayson went and grabbed her coat, handing it to her. She slipped it on, and they headed to the door together. With a snap of her fingers, she turned off all the lights. Grayson held open the door for her; he was being such a gentleman.

“Let’s take a picture,” she said when they stepped outside into the cold. “To show Charles we’ve made up.”

She was pleased just by the prospect; Charles would be delighted. Lucy lifted her phone up to take a selfie, but he was so tall that he got cut off.

“Let me,” he said, taking out his phone. Before she knew it, he had put his arm around her, tucking her into him. Her body hummed in response; he was so warm and solid.

She could smell his cologne and the scent of ink even in his coat, which was heavenly soft. His arm was strong around her.

She looked up at the screen to find he had it at a terrible angle.