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Sawyer
When I walked in earlier without Grace, thankfully Sydney didn’t press. She did, however, laugh when I deposited a fork and spoon into the sink.
“You’re so weird, Soy.”
I chuckled lightly, trying to keep the mood up, but I was still reeling from Grace leaving.
“When’s Caleb due home?” I asked her, after stuffing the thermals back in their spots.
Sydney stood at the counter, cutting even slices of cucumbers for the boys as the two of them fought over magnetic tiles in the living room. “Late tonight. They’ll fly home after the game but because of the time difference, it’ll only be around eleven that he gets in. They do have a morning game tomorrow though. Why, what’s up?” She glanced up as she swept a handful of cucumbers into a small blue bowl. Her phone beeped and after wiping her hands clean on a kitchen towel, she looked at her message with a small smile on her face.
“Just curious.” I pulled out a stool, the same one Grace sat on this morning, and regarded my sister, who put her phone down on the counter, face down. Figuring it had been her husband, I asked, “Does Brandon like to watch the games?” I wasn’t sure the kid could sit still for two and half hours, but maybe he could for sports.
Sydney shrugged a shoulder, focusing on the cucumber cutting again. “Sometimes. Usually Paw Patrol or something wins out though.”
“Maybe I could—” I started to say that I could take them to pizza or something, but now my phone vibrated in my back pocket. Frowning, I fished it out. It had been absolutely silent this entire trip. I almost forgot I had a cell phone. But, like my gun, it was a habitual fixture on me.
Grace, December 10th, 1812: I’m sorry. Can you come over?
I couldn’t get off my stool fast enough.
Well, I could; I managed to stand in a real smooth and slick fashion.
I opened my mouth, but Sydney beat me to the punch. Still cutting her cucumbers—good lord, how many was she feeding those boys?—she didn’t bother to look up at me, but had a smile on her face. “Caleb’s truck keys are in the drawer near the utility sink.”
My brows drew in. “How…?”
Sydney looked up now, pointing the knife at her phone. “She texted me, silly goose.” My sister spent entirely too much time with the under four crowd if she was calling me a silly goose.
She lined up her knife to the cucumber again. “Go. Be safe. Have fun. Yadda yadda yadda.”
“Are you sure? I’m supposed to be—”
Now she pointed the knife at me. It was a good thing she was my sister…
“Go.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll make this up to you.”
She just laughed and ignored me. Probably because everything was working out the way she wanted them to.
Well, they were working out the way I wanted them to, too.
I’d only been to Grace’s house a handful of times, but it wasn’t difficult to get to. She literally lived two blocks over from Sydney’s place and while it was in a different neighborhood and the houses weren’t nearly as large and glamourous, the little cottage she lived in was very ‘Grace.’
I maneuvered Caleb’s truck into the drive, pulling close to the house, and hopped out after shutting it down. Her front door had one of those funky fabric lace-like wreathes in red and green—probably for the upcoming holiday. Aside from the lights strewn on houses, it was easy to forget Christmas and the other winter holidays were around the corner when in the warmer climates.
Suddenly I wasn’t sure what I should do when she answered the door. Rather than think it out, I rapped my knuckles next to the wreath and stuffed my hands in my pockets. I couldn’t hear her moving around but I could hear the click of the lock as she slid it over.
I took a deep breath and ground my molars together for a brief moment, trying to find that even ground I so desperately needed right this moment, but I should have known better.
No matter the circumstances, simply seeing Grace did that, and the moment the door opened to her quiet, upturned face, everything stilled.
She’s so fucking beautiful.
It was a thought that ran through my head so many times whenever I was with her, but it was so true. Even in a faded shirt that had seen better years, and flannel sleep shorts, she was the most gorgeous woman I had ever seen.
“I’m sorry,” she said, repeating what she’d told me in text. “I kind of freaked out.” Her voice was soft but strong, not a single quiver of unease noticeable.
