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“We’re negotiating?”
“Gracie’s? You named your salon after the one name you hated me calling you?”
Her face reddened. “You called me Gracie when you were drunk, and don’t change the subject.”
“That still makes little sense, Grace.”
“Argh.” She let out a frustrated breath.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.” She threw her hands up in the air. “It’s just weird looking at you like this.”
“I thought you were into cavemen?”
“Bears. I said bears, and not that I was into them, but that… Now, where are my glasses?” It was cute how her voice trembled. She stomped across the room, found her glasses on the table, and set them on her nose. Her freckles popped and her eyes widened. The glasses suited her, and again, I didn’t recall all these cuteness factors from when we were together. It messed with my head, but awakened the need to protect her and make her happy.
I strode her way and guided her to the bed. She sat down, and I poured her a glass of spring water.
“Thank you,” she whispered, sipping.
“Food should be here soon.”
“I’m not sure I can eat.”
“Hydrate, at least. Seriously, why ‘Gracie’?”
She set her glass aside.“It was a statement of independence. After you left, I wanted to pave my own path, and ‘Gracie’ reminded me how the man I loved put me down. I stood back up after you left, and I do so every morning.”
Her use of the past tense for me—loved—stung deep in my heart. I grabbed an elastic band from the side drawer and pulled my dreads into a bun. Her lips parted as she watched me, and the jugular at her neck pulsed strongly.
“I’m sorry for the pain I caused you. I know it’s too late, but I’m truly sorry.”
She patted the bed beside her, and I sat down.
“So, tell me about this attack. Why are the Hartleys after me?”
Someone knocked on the door. “Room service.”
I grinned. “I’ll tell you everything I can, but first, we eat. I’m starving.”
“Hunter—”
“I came to save you straight from the airport—you know, like a knight in shining armor—and this body needs to be fed. I haven’t had a bite since the flight.”
I opened the door for the private suite butler, and he rolled in a cart full of every item I’d dreamed of in Costa Rica: pizza, burgers, hot dogs, and fries. Plus a few leafy salads and vegetarian options for Grace. The butler set the food on the table and left. I locked the door.
“Make yourself comfortable.”
“Who’s going to eat all this?”
“We are.”
“I’m not hungry.”
I pulled back her chair, and she took her seat.
“Not even for coffee ice cream?” I asked.
