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When I climbed to the podium after being introduced, I gripped the makeshift lectern and searched for Grace’s face amidst the sea of people and lights. I didn’t expect to be able to find her, but somehow I zeroed in on her as if she were a beacon.
Holding my light in her hands, she was.
The tremor in my fingers I hadn’t even fully been aware of subsided as I greeted the crowd. I’d given many speeches and talked to many groups before, often ones made up of the very rich and powerful. None of those talks shook me like this one, where I faced honesty and had to give back my own.
“Jimmy Calagnino is six years old. Not was six years old, is six years old. Because until we hear otherwise, he’s as alive as you and me. He has dreams and hopes and wishes just like all of us do, but the difference is that for this moment, we’re charged with fulfilling his. And the number one wish we need to fulfill of Jimmy’s is that we never forget his name or his face so that we can bring him home.”
I sought Grace’s gaze again and again as I spoke. Knowing she was watching me kept me steady and focused. Without her there, I would’ve floundered, lost in a sea of my own recriminations. Not about Jimmy, but about my own life. Faced with such innocence—and its potential loss—it was impossible not to see all the opportunities that had been squandered.
Even with an ocean of pale blue lights and reflective glass all around me, I would’ve been caught in the dark.
When I finally finished my speech, it was the event organizer’s turn, then finally Jimmy’s parents approached the podium, their hands clenched tightly together. In halting words, they thanked everyone for coming before the park began to empty for the planned walk through the streets. I moved toward Grace, and silently, we joined the others, eventually falling toward the back of the large group.
It seemed as if we walked for miles, chanting the words “Find Jimmy.” I cast a quick look at Grace and she was staring straight ahead, mouthing the words, her focus centered entirely on our group leader as we walked al
ong the damp streets.
Once we reached the walk’s planned end at yet another park, there was another quick round of speeches and a moment of applause for Carson Covenant’s sponsorship of the event. I didn’t want undue attention so I merely raised my lantern in appreciation of their gratitude.
The instant the spotlight shifted back onto Jimmy’s parents and the large glossy photo of their son that they carried, I reached down and gripped Grace’s hand, tugging her away from the crowd.
I’d reached my limit on socialization tonight. Now I needed to be alone with her. To study her face in flickering candlelight, full of joy once more. I couldn’t stand to see her somber.
She’d been that the day of Annabelle’s funeral, her head bent, her long hair streaming to shield her expression. I hadn’t needed to glimpse her pain to know the grief that seized her. I’d felt just a fraction and it had been crippling.
“Are you hungry?” I asked quietly, drawing her with me up the street. Without realizing, I’d tucked her arm under mine and was dragging her with me.
When I’d had enough, I’d had enough.
She glanced down at my hold then up at my face. “You’re holding on to me.”
I didn’t let go. I couldn’t just yet. “Is it bothering you?”
“Not as much as the fact that my feet have barely touched the ground in the last fifty paces. Holy fast. Slow down, Speedy.”
I smiled and relaxed my grip. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Just short legs here. Respect the short legs.”
Chuckling, I shook my head. “Your legs are perfect, just like the rest of you.”
“You’ve already been in my pants. No need to whip out the flattery now.”
I lowered my head and brushed my lips against her hair. I was trying to be circumspect while we were in public, but she made it so very difficult. “Skirt both times. I’ve never seen you in pants.”
“My preference is overalls, when I work on my projects. Only problem is I tend to forget to put on shirts underneath. Sometimes I don’t even remember underwear.” She shot me another of those heavy looks under her lashes as we rounded the next block. “And yes, I’m hungry. Starving, actually.”
Her meaning was clear. So was mine as I nudged her toward the darkened doorway of “Je L’adore”, a French restaurant I’d visited a few times.
“Then let me take care of all your needs.” I slipped my hand around her waist to guide her inside, and lightly pressed my pinky against the top of her thigh. She inhaled. “Oh, and Grace?” She glanced back at me, her eyes huge in the faint light from the sign in the window. “As soon as we’re seated, take off your panties.”
Seven
We were seated in a circular booth near the back of the restaurant at my request. As soon as the server left to fill our drink orders, I lowered my menu and cocked a brow at Grace. “I believe you have a task to complete, Ms. Copeland.”
Her lips trembled and she nodded. I expected her to slip out of the booth and head to the bathroom, but instead, she shimmied a bit lower in her seat and flipped up her dress, working so quickly I could barely see her hands move. After a moment, she drew out a swatch of purple lace—a darker shade than the day before—and fashioned it into a triangle.
Before I could fully process what she was doing, she’d whipped out the pocket square from my suit jacket and slipped the panties inside, fluffing the material until it looked like it had been made for that purpose.
