Miracle Under the Mistletoe
Author
Tracy Madison
Reads
19.1K
Chapters
12
Chapter One
This is a mistake.
Olivia Markham-Foster knew it the second she entered the dimly lit Italian restaurant. She’d arrived early to get her bearings, and the maître d’ had led her to a tucked-away-in-a-corner table that offered plenty of seclusion and privacy. She welcomed the privacy, but the lovey-dovey atmosphere was all wrong. Romance and seduction licked through the air, dripping from the chords of the softly played violin music, twisting her stomach into knots.
Oh, yes. This was most definitely a mistake.
Goose bumps coated her skin and she shivered. She choked down a sip of red wine before placing her finger-entwined hands on her lap. Tonight wasn’t about romance or seduction, but Grady… Well, she figured he’d stroll in, take one look at her sitting in this restaurant, at this table, and draw the completely wrong conclusion.
Her husband, for every inch of his tough exterior, was a romantic through and through, with a soft, melty heart that believed in happily ever after just as fervently as he believed in baseball. Add in the fact that when Grady wanted something, he usually got it, and tonight promised to be more than difficult. He so wasn’t going to like what she had to say.
But Olivia had made a decision and, come hell or high water, she was going to proceed as planned—even if she felt ridiculous for bringing him to a swanky restaurant for an intimate dinner. Maybe the location was Samantha’s fault, but it was too late to change that. Now, she had to follow through. Her life depended on it. If she was being honest, Grady’s life depended on it, too. Continuing on this way, stuck in place at opposite ends, was hurting both of them.
Olivia sighed and fiddled with her wineglass. He wouldn’t see it that way, though. He’d toss the same arguments at her that he always did, remind her of what they’d once been—as if she could possibly forget—and try to cloud her decision so she’d back down.
“Not this time,” she whispered. This time, she would stay strong.
Without warning, her throat tightened and telltale tingles sped along her arms. Whatever composure she’d managed to cling to evaporated in a rush of recognition. He was here. She didn’t need to look up to know that. Her body sensed Grady. Hell, her soul sensed him. It had been that way from the very beginning. She looked up anyway.
And that was another mistake.
She blinked, tried to force herself to look beyond him, but that proved impossible. Grady Foster didn’t simply walk into a room. His long-legged gait held equal amounts of danger and grace—like a panther, wild and untamed. Blacker-than-coal hair framed a sculpted, almost chiseled face, ending just above the hard angle of his jaw, pulling attention to the high-planed lines of his cheeks.
His gaze met hers. The distance between them didn’t mask the glitter of recognition, anticipation, in his cinnamon-speckled eyes. Her heart rippled like a caged butterfly, its wings beating mercilessly against her breastbone, begging for release—for freedom. Again, the image of a panther, catching sight of its prey and moving in for the kill, winged into her mind. And she was Grady’s prey.
Okay, not fair. He didn’t want to cause her harm. Just the opposite, actually. He wanted to pull her into his arms and give her the world. He wanted them to reclaim the life they’d lost, but that—like so many other things—was impossible.
He approached in ground-swallowing steps, every part of him focused on her. She stole another quick sip of wine before pulling in a breath, before relaxing her muscles and giving him the cool, practiced smile she’d perfected over the past three years. If she kept her emotions hidden and her voice calm and sure, she’d get through this. Somehow.
Just as she had everything else.
He slung his long, sinewy frame into the chair across from her and nodded. He tugged at his tie, loosening it ever so slightly. If she wasn’t fighting so hard to remain in control, she might feel ashamed for bringing him to a place that required a suit. Grady hated wearing them. A pity, really. Very few men looked quite as sexy as her husband did in a well-fitted suit.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet,” she said in a soft, clear voice. Her hope was to take control of the conversation, of this meeting, before they lapsed into the murky footsteps of their past. She also wanted to hide how much his presence shook her. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”
Disbelief creased his forehead with lines. “You’re my wife, Olly. Why would you think I’d refuse to see you? I’ve been waiting for this…waiting for you to reach out…for a long time.”
“But I’m not—” She coughed to clear her throat. He was right. Regardless of how often she’d turned away from his attempts at reconciliation, she knew he’d show. He hadn’t given up hope. But she had, so she stuck with the lie. “I wasn’t sure,” she repeated.
“Then you haven’t been paying attention.” The brown in his eyes darkened, and his jaw clenched tight. “I’m available whenever you need me. I’ve made that clear to you, haven’t I?”
“Y-you have, but… Well—” She broke off when she saw the waiter approaching their table. Relief that she had a few precious minutes to regain her equilibrium saturated in, easing the acid roiling in her stomach.
The waiter set menus in front of them, gave a quick rundown of the evening’s specials, and took Grady’s drink order before leaving them alone again.
Grady returned his thickly lashed gaze to hers. “Let’s start over. I’m glad you called, Olivia. I’m glad we’re here together. We haven’t been to a place like this since before—” Rubbing his hand over his jaw, he frowned. “In years,” he said, correcting his near error.
It was so very hard not to react to the words he almost said. A shot of familiar sadness swept in, nearly crippling her. If she gave in to the sadness, she’d break down. The guilt would come next and before she knew it, she’d be up to her eyebrows in emotional quicksand. So she did what she always did—she shoved her feelings away as hard and as fast as she could. “Yes. Years. And this is a nice restaurant, but Grady…”
A few seconds passed while he waited for her to finish speaking, but when it became clear that she wasn’t going to, he raised his shoulders in question. “But what?”
Now or later? Dinner first would be best. Especially if they could manage cordial conversation. She gave her head a quick shake. “Nothing. Never mind.”
“I know you better than that, Olly. I’m here and I’m not going to bite. So tell me…but what?”
“Fine. Here goes.” Olivia inhaled a quick breath in an attempt to steady herself. “I know you’re probably thinking that I brought you here to…to…”
He sighed in exasperation. “Okay, Olivia. What’s going on? I think you asked me to meet you here for what? A good meal?” His voice held a teasing quality, but the lines in his forehead deepened even more. “Please tell me what I’m thinking.”
Oh, God. Why had she listened to Samantha? Coming here for this conversation had been her idea, and Olivia should have known better. “That I want us to get back together, and that I brought you here to discuss reconciliation.”
His entire body stilled as he appraised her.
For not the first time in her adult life, Olivia wished she had the ability to sit as still and quiet as he. To let him grow uncomfortable enough that he’d fill the silence. But he was the panther, not she. “I don’t—want to get back together, that is. I thought we could talk. We need to talk. But not about reconciliation.”
A new round of disbelief hardened his expression and glinted in his eyes. “I put on a suit, drove across town and met you in a romantic restaurant so you could inform me that nothing has changed? We could have had this conversation on the phone, or at the house, or— Hell, Olly, what were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking…I didn’t know— Samantha recommended this restaurant. She said the atmosphere was conducive to a private discussion. This conversation shouldn’t happen over the phone, and you haven’t lived in the house for months—close to a year, actually—so I was afraid you’d feel like we were on my turf.” Calm down, she instructed herself. Don’t get rattled. Straightening her posture, she said quietly, “I thought a place neither of us had ever been would even the playing field. So to speak.”
The tight, hard way he held his mouth relaxed. “Samantha told you to bring me here?”
“Yes. But I didn’t know—” Olivia narrowed her eyes at the devilish smirk on Grady’s face. Samantha Hagen was her best friend, but she was a huge fan of Grady’s. She wanted Olivia and Grady to reconcile almost as much as Grady did. “This isn’t funny! I’m trying to explain.”
Rather than disappearing, or even easing, the smirk widened. “I’ve always liked Sammy. I haven’t talked to her in ages. How’s she doing?”
“She’s fine,” Olivia snapped, annoyed with the change in his demeanor. “You could even say that business is booming.” Samantha earned her living as a divorce attorney. “In fact, she’s busier than ever.”
His smirk vanished. “I’m happy for her, but—”
“You don’t believe in divorce,” she said, finishing his sentence.
“That isn’t entirely true. I don’t believe in backing away from a commitment until all other alternatives have been exhausted.” He gave her a piercing look. “You used to feel the same.”
A slew of tremors skidded down her spine, but she kept her voice steady. “I used to feel a lot of ways that I no longer do. Things change.”
Before she could blink, his hand captured hers. His touch, as simple as it was, wove into her and sparked a touch of desire deep in her belly. Dear God, she’d missed his touch. She pulled out of his grasp and flexed her fingers. “Things change,” she said again. “That hasn’t changed. You still want me. As much as I want you. Why do you fight against us so hard?”
“Because physical attraction isn’t enough.”
“You keep saying that, but—” The waiter appeared, delivering Grady’s beer, and asked for their orders.
Olivia had barely glanced at the menu. She started to say that they’d need a few more minutes when Grady stepped in and ordered for both of them. He’d ordered for her on plenty of occasions in the past, a trait she used to find endearing, but this time it riled her up. More than necessary, but she couldn’t stop her frustration from fueling into anger.
When the waiter left, she glowered at her husband. “Maybe I wanted something instead of chicken marsala. Maybe I thought the scallop linguine sounded good.”
He raised his left eyebrow. “Really? But you love chicken marsala.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
An exasperated huff pushed out of her lungs. “You could’ve asked.”
“Why would I?”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because you’ve always ordered chicken marsala at every Italian restaurant we’ve ever gone to.” He shook his head in confusion. “Why would I think that had changed?”
“Why would you think it hadn’t? I’m not the same woman you married. Many, many things have changed. Why can’t you accept that?”
“If you want linguine, I’ll get you linguine.” He started to raise his hand to gesture for the waiter, but she grabbed his arm and tugged.
“Stop! Please, Grady. You can’t fix everything! You can’t make everything right.” She gulped a mouthful of air. “Quit trying.”
He muttered a curse. “I apologize for ordering for you. It’s an old habit, and I did it without thinking. My intent wasn’t to upset you.”
Heavy tears pressed against her eyes. One blink and they’d come pouring out. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—cry in front of Grady. If she did, he would doubt her decision. And if he pushed her too hard, she’d probably capitulate and spend the next year, two, or possibly the rest of her life in the same empty place she’d already spent far too long. No way could she let that happen.
It was time. She needed to say what she came here to say before her emotions got the best of her. Waiting until after they ate now seemed absurd and pointless. She tried to talk, but the words got stuck in her throat.
Unsaid emotions drenched the air between them. Grady stared at her, his lips taut and his eyes hooded. Comprehension filtered over him. He expelled a harsh-sounding breath. “This isn’t about the chicken, is it?”
“No. It isn’t.”
“What is this about then, Olivia?”
She almost couldn’t say the words. Memories of their past—of how happy their lives had been—whispered through her mind. She opened her mouth but closed it just as fast.
“Well?” He sounded resigned, as if he knew what was coming and just wanted to get it over with. “It’s me. You can tell me anything.”
Raising her chin, she met his gaze with hers, and that was all it took to put her back on course. No matter how good those early memories were, they weren’t enough. “I want a divorce,” she said softly but with conviction.
His shoulders stiffened as he took in her statement. “What did you say?”
“I said that I want a divorce.” Her heart pounded so fast and so hard that her chest almost hurt from the pressure. “I’m sorry, Grady. It’s time. You know it’s time.”
“I know nothing of the sort.” Grady’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not interested in a divorce. And we have a long way to go before I’ll even consider it.”
“How much longer? We haven’t been a real couple for two—almost three—years.”
“We were together and happy for seven.”
“That was a lifetime ago.”
“Our lifetime, Olly. Yours and mine. Why won’t you give us a chance?” Frustration colored his tone and a gleam of hurt pooled in his eyes. “What are you so afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid. But you moved out of the house nine months ago. We lead separate lives. There isn’t any reason to pretend any longer, Grady.” She lifted her chin. “Our marriage is over.”
“I moved out because you asked me to. I’ve kept to our agreement of one phone call a week. I don’t drop by without your permission.” He combed his fingers through his hair in a quick, jagged movement. “And do you know why I’ve done these things?”
She knew. Of course, she knew. “Because I asked you to. Because you hoped that a little distance would bring us closer together. But that hasn’t happened.”
“Because you haven’t let it.”
One deep breath in, another out, and she said, “We’re at the end. You have to know that.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know that. What I know is that we are not finished. What I know is that there is still plenty between us. Tell me I’m wrong.”
The pain in her chest expanded. “You’re not wrong,” she said in a shaky whisper. “There are feelings here. There will probably always be feelings between us, but we can’t—”
“What?” he demanded. “We can’t what?”
“Recover. Be the same as we were. Turn back time.” But dear God, she wished they could. She swallowed a sob. “We can’t fix the one thing that needs to be fixed.”
Every hard edge softened. He closed his eyes and drew in a long breath that must have reached his toes. When he opened his eyes again, she no longer saw frustration. She saw compassion, as well as the same raw pain that met her gaze every time she looked into a mirror. This was what they shared now: pain and loss. And how were they to build anything meaningful, anything positive, with that as their foundation?
“You’re right. I would do anything—give up anything—to change what happened. But I can’t, sweetheart. You can’t, either. But we—you and I—can forge something new, something different. It will never be the same, but we can be happy again. I believe that, Olly. If you’ll just give us a real chance.” His jaw set in that stubborn line. “Unless… Is there someone else?”
“No,” she said instantly. “But there never will be for either of us if we’re still married to each other.”
“I don’t want anyone else,” he said in a growl.
“Fine! Maybe I do! M-maybe I’m ready to start dating again.” The lie fell easily from her lips, but not so easily from her heart. “Maybe I’m ready to move on.”
“Then move on with me.”
He made it sound so easy. As if simply saying yes would magically set everything right. And she—God help her—wanted to say yes. But she’d had more peace in the past nine months than she’d had before he moved out. That made her answer clear and absolute. “I can’t. There is nowhere left for us to go. It’s been three years since we’ve been happy, Grady.”
“Yup,” he said, surprising her with his agreement. “But in those three years, have we seen a counselor? Have we had an honest conversation about what happened?” He shook his head. “No, we haven’t. Therefore, all alternatives have not been exhausted.”
“Tell me the past nine months haven’t been a relief?” she countered.
“They’ve been hell,” he said quietly.
“Not for me.” This wasn’t the entire truth. She’d missed her husband. At times, had even ached to see him, to hear his voice, to feel his arms close around her at night. But the greater part of her had found relief. Amnesty. A reprieve from the darkness. “I—I don’t need your agreement to file for divorce.”
“No. You don’t. Oregon is a no-fault state. But that doesn’t mean I won’t put up a fight.”
“It would be easier if you would agree. I would like it so much better if we were on the same page. I don’t want to fight you,” she admitted in a rush of syllables. “But I can’t stand still anymore. Please understand.”
“Understand what? That you’re my wife? I love you, Olivia. Doesn’t that mean anything to you now?”
And she still loved him. She probably always would. But sometimes, love wasn’t enough. It sucked, and she hated it, but that was the way life worked. “No, Grady. It doesn’t.” She cringed at her tone—at another lie—but backing down wasn’t an option. “I need this. I need to move on, and I can’t do that until we are officially over with.”
Defeat, followed by a hot blaze of emotion ripped over Grady’s features. “What would Cody say to this? Have you thought about that?”
His words slammed into her, shaking her bravado and stealing her breath away. “Don’t you do that. Don’t you bring Cody into this.”
“Oh, come on, Olivia. Let’s be honest with each other about this for once.” Grady clenched his hands into fists. “This is completely about Cody. This has everything to do with Cody. So let me ask you again—what would our son have to say about this?”
Every iota of calmness she’d managed to maintain evaporated. This was too much. She needed to get away from here—from him. Standing from the table, she grabbed her purse and set an icy glare upon her husband. “I’m going to have Samantha start the paperwork. You might want to consider hiring an attorney.”
With that, she left the restaurant in slow, measured steps that belied her off-the-charts emotional state. Her entire body quaked as sadness mixed with shock and anger rushed through her. How dare he? Bringing their son into this was wrong.
She made it to her car without shedding a tear. Knowing Grady was apt to come looking for her, to make sure she was all right and to offer her comfort, she drove down the street a few miles before pulling into another parking lot, this one in front of a grocery store.
Crossing her arms over the steering wheel, she allowed herself a good, shoulder-shaking cry. God, she missed Grady. But she missed her little boy more. Missed every little thing about him. And that was one reason being around Grady was so difficult. Cody had been the spitting image of his daddy. So when Grady smiled, she saw Cody’s smile. When she looked into Grady’s eyes, she saw her son’s eyes. Even their laughs were the same. The resemblance between father and son kicked her in the gut every time she laid eyes on Grady.
It didn’t matter that the love she felt for her husband was as real today as it was on the day they married. It didn’t matter how often she woke in the middle of the night and reached for him, only to find herself alone. And it didn’t matter that her entire life felt emptier without him. Because as bad as all those things were, they didn’t compare to losing her child.
Grady thought she blamed him for the death of their son. Nothing could be further from the truth, not that he believed her. It would be easier if she did blame Grady, she admitted. She’d be able to forgive him. Forgiving herself, though, seemed impossible. It was her fault that her husband and son were in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was her fault that they were driving on ice-slicked roads instead of where they should have been: safe and sound at home. She was the one who put off taking Cody to see Santa for weeks, and she was the one who put the bug in Cody’s ear about Daddy taking him to see Santa instead. And when Grady came to her and suggested they go together, as a family, she’d pushed the whole father-and-son-outing idea until he agreed.
Her selfish want to have a few hours to herself, to relax from all of the shopping, wrapping, baking and decorating had resulted in the loss of everything that meant anything.
So no, she couldn’t be with Grady. It was too hard. He brought too many memories, too many emotions, to the surface for her to find any type of peace.
Forty-five minutes later, Grady strode through the cemetery, not stopping until he reached his son’s gravestone. Nearly three years since he’d heard Cody’s laugh, since he’d seen the boy’s brown eyes light up in humor, since his arms had held his child to his chest in a hug. How was that possible? The pain ignited inside as if the loss had occurred yesterday.
Usually, Grady could set the hollow ache aside and move forward, do whatever needed to be done, and portray a man who lived and breathed and loved. It was only during these moments—when he came to visit Cody’s resting place—that he gave up the charade. There was no reason to pretend here. Not when it was just them.
He shivered, partly from the memories and partly from the dusting of snow that had fallen earlier all throughout the city. It seemed every recent winter brought more snow than the residents of Portland, Oregon, were accustomed to, but this was the earliest snowfall that Grady could recall. Silly and sentimental, maybe, but it was almost as if Cody were reaching out to him. His son had loved everything about winter.
Bending at the knees, Grady brushed the light layer of snow covering the etched letters that spelled out his son’s name. Losing Cody wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair, either. But hell, what in life was fair? Things happened. Some of the things were good, some of them were bad, and some of them were so bad that you didn’t think you’d ever recover. Grady almost hadn’t. But you played the hand you were dealt. You found a way to get through, to get a grip, and you carried on.
Not that carrying on without his son had been an easy task. Far from it. Never had he experienced such a profound loss, and he prayed to whatever God existed that he would never face anything so excruciating again.
“Hey, kiddo. I’ve been thinking a lot about you today. Every day, really. You’re never far from my thoughts.” Grady’s throat seemed to shrink as he spoke, but he continued to talk, knowing from past experience that as hard as these visits were, they also helped him feel close to Cody. “I saw your mom tonight. You should’ve seen her, son. She looked beautiful.”
Olivia had worn her dark brown hair loose and long, framing her face, showing off her gorgeous wide-set blue eyes. The second he saw her, he was lost all over again. God, what a fool he was. When Olivia had asked him to dinner, he’d been sure that tonight would be the night he’d been waiting for: the night they’d finally begin to clear the air and move toward reconciliation.
“I don’t want to give up on her,” Grady murmured into the cold night air. “I promise I’ll keep trying, Cody. Though, I’ll have to give her a few days to calm down. I upset her tonight, son. I didn’t mean to.”
When Olivia had left Grady alone at the restaurant, it was all he could do not to jump up and follow. He hated not knowing if she was okay. He hated knowing that there were some things he couldn’t shield her from. But he forced himself to stay put. He’d dealt her a low blow by bringing Cody into the conversation. He probably shouldn’t have, but he yearned to talk to Olivia about Cody, to revel in the life of their son together. But the facts were plain. She wasn’t ready. After tonight, he wondered if she ever would be.
He’d believed that given enough distance—since that seemed to be what Olivia needed—they’d find their way together again. So he’d held his tongue, waited for her to come to him, to say all the words she never had, and hoped that once that happened, they might have a chance at repairing their marriage. But now she’d asked for a divorce. Something that she’d hinted at often enough but had never before said straight-out.
“I wish…” Grady swallowed the rest of his statement away. He’d like to turn back time, just as Olivia had said, and return to that snowy, blustery day nearly three years earlier. With Christmas only two days away, five-year-old Cody had wanted to visit Santa before the big day. To be honest, Grady hadn’t been in the mood for a trip to the mall. Dealing with mobs of people didn’t sound nearly as much fun as playing in the snow with his son.
But Cody had looked at him with those big, brown eyes and pleaded in the way that only a five-year-old can. So off they went on a father-and-son outing. Grady would never, for as long as he lived, forget the look of pure joy on Cody’s face when he sat on Santa’s knee. That smile made the crowded mall, the long lines and the grumpy shoppers worthwhile.
The snow was falling fast and furious when they left, and Grady had a minute—one freaking minute—where he considered hanging out in the food court to give the storm a little more time to work its way through. But he’d worried that it would get worse with night approaching, so he made the decision to get them home. Where it was safe. Where Olivia waited.
So yes, he’d give anything and everything to revisit that day and spend the hours building snowmen with his son instead of going to the mall. Or left an hour earlier—later—hell, fifteen minutes in either direction might have made the world of a difference, might have put his car somewhere other than in the path of a driver who’d consumed far too many drinks.
“Stop. It’s done. Nothing to do about that now.” True, that. But knowing something couldn’t be changed didn’t stop a man from wishing it could. He brushed his fingers over his son’s name again, recalling the joy their lives had been together. They were, in nearly all ways, the perfect family. Or, at least, the way a family should be.
Yep, he’d had it all. The American dream. And now… “Your mom blames me, Cody. She swears that she doesn’t, but I know she does. If she’d just scream at me and quit trying to shield both of us from her feelings, we might stand a chance.”
Grady even understood why Olivia felt the way she did. He’d likely have had the same demons to fight if their roles were reversed, if Olivia had been at the wheel that day. He understood her blame completely. Hell, he’d yet to stop blaming himself.
Olivia stood motionless, her eyes glued to the scene in front of her. She wasn’t close enough to hear Grady’s words, but the sight of him kneeling at their son’s gravesite softened everything inside. They hadn’t been here together since that horrible, exhausting day they buried their son.
She swallowed, trying to ease the pressure in her chest, trying to find a way to feel normal. Even if only for a second. A choked-sounding sob escaped. She barely remembered what normal was. The tenor of Grady’s voice whisked along the November wind, wrapping around her, bringing a strange sort of anonymous comfort.
How odd that being with him brought her pain, but this—just listening to his voice—eased the panicky, twisty feeling that had existed within her for so long. The safety of distance, perhaps. Or the simple fact that he didn’t know she lurked nearby. Or maybe because she’d finally, after all of this time, made a decision about their marriage.
None of that mattered at the moment, because all she wanted was to feel normal again. So she didn’t think. She didn’t give herself a second to consider the ramifications, to wonder if she should or if she shouldn’t. She just stepped forward, her eyes resting on the one man—the only man—she’d ever loved. Her shoes crunched in the snow, the sound echoing in the silent night like tiny bursts of fireworks, but Grady didn’t turn his head.
She kept moving forward, expecting him to hear her, expecting him to stop talking and face her, at any minute. He didn’t. She stopped a few feet from where he knelt, close enough to make out his words, close enough to recognize the husky, emotional quality in her husband’s voice.
“It’s almost Christmas again, son. Soon, people will be putting up their Christmas trees, decorating their houses with lights. Kids will visit Santa.” Grady’s tone deepened. “I try not to be envious. I try not to think about what we would be doing if you were still with us. But it’s hard.”
Oh, God. No. She didn’t want to hear this. No, no, no. She took one silent step backward, and then another. But Grady kept talking, each syllable slicing into her like a blade.
“I saw this train set the other day, and I immediately thought how much you would love it. I had the box in my hands before I remembered…before I realized—”
She blinked and one tear, and then another, fell. How often had the same thing happened to her? Too often. “Stop,” she whispered. “Please stop.”
Grady rose to his feet lightning-fast. His arms crushed around her and his mouth pressed against the top of her head. “I didn’t know you were here. I’m sorry, Olly. I’m so sorry you heard…?.”
She burrowed her head into his chest, knowing she should pull away but unable to find the strength to do so. His arms felt so good around her. She closed her eyes and breathed in his familiar scent, allowing herself a few minutes of comfort.
He tightened his hold and kissed her hair softly. Gently. She sighed and nestled in deeper, wanting more, wanting everything she’d lost, wanting to be—even if only for one more night—normal. Again, the thought that she should pull back—leave and go home—processed, but her body refused to listen. So she hung on, curled her fingers into the back of Grady’s coat and tugged him closer.
The twisting sensation in her stomach gave way to warmth. Tendrils of heat teased through her muscles, winding through her body like a vine. Grady’s hands pressed against her back, offering her comfort, reminding her of everything they’d once been, of the passion they’d once shared, of the life they’d once had. It was a lot. It was too much to take in, too much to handle with her raw emotions, so she forced her arms to drop and her legs to retreat.
“I’m sorry I interrupted you,” she mumbled. “I should leave.”
“No, you shouldn’t.” He held out a hand. “Come here, Olly. Let me hold you.”
Her logical brain insisted she needed to hightail it out of there, but her body moved forward. She placed her hand in his, and he pulled her toward him. She looked up into Grady’s eyes, and before she knew what was happening, his lips were on hers.
And everything else disappeared.
