16. Macy

Chapter 16

Macy

I take the two pills and chug the glass of water sitting on my bedside table. My head is pounding, and I want to lift the covers over my face and never leave. I push away the images of Walter possibly in bed with other women when we were still together. Bile rises to my throat, but it's in this very moment that I appreciate the seven-month dry spell we had. At least I don't need to worry that he gave me an STD.

Dread tugs at me. Our house is in both of our names, and I'm certainly not living with him when I go back to Idaho. I'm packing up and leaving. Good riddance.

I hesitantly climb out of bed, my head throbbing with every step. I wince. I can't edit my manuscript in this state, so I give myself the day to rot on my couch and watch dating shows.

By the time the sun is hugging the horizon, someone knocks on the door. I groan and pull the hand-knit blanket off my body. I'm wearing a huge T-shirt, cotton shorts, and fuzzy socks. My hair is surely in disarray, and I'm certain the dark circles beneath my eyes are no better than when I glanced in the mirror this morning.

I open the door to find Grayson grinning down at me, wearing his typical dark colors and a hat. I remember being with him last night, but I can't recall anything that happened.

"Yes?" I bite.

"May I come in?" he asks in a jaunty voice.

"Why?"

"Because we're friends, and friends usually invite the other in."

"We are?" I tilt my head, studying him.

He touches his chest. "I'm wounded." He crosses his arms, then leans against the door frame. He's the image of cool indifference. "Maybe ‘friend' is too innocent of a word for us. We can come up with a better one over dinner, which I'm cooking for you, by the way."

I glance at the paper grocery bag resting beside his feet. My stomach growls in a not so nice way. I haven't had a single bite to eat today. "Okay..."

"Thank you, Grayson. You are the most thoughtful man I've ever met. And handsome, might I add," he says in a high-pitched voice that sounds nothing like mine. His scent wafts around me as he passes by. Heat curls up my spine.

"I would never say such a thing."

"No, but you certainly think it." He winks.

I decide to retire from the couch and sit on one of the chairs at the dinner table. I point it so it faces Grayson in the kitchen, who pulls ingredients from the bag and opens drawers and cabinets until he has everything he needs to cook. He finds a floral apron hanging in the pantry and holds it up. "What's this frilly little thing?"

"My grandma got it for me as a teenager. We baked a lot." I smile at the memory of her with flour dusted on her clothes. I always managed to get the powder in my hair.

The pastel colors contrast his dark gray shirt and black joggers. He grins at me and ties it around his neck and back. "How do I look?" He curtsies.

I chortle, hardly able to contain myself at the sight before me. I quickly pull out my phone and snap a picture. Between his towering height and the apron being made for my teenage body, it stops at the top of his thighs.

His expression softens into something genuine as I wipe the corners of my eyes, a smile still plastered to my face.

"I like making you laugh," he says.

"You make me scowl more than laugh."

"I might like that better."

"What are you making?" I gesture toward the pan he has out.

"An omelet, and if you aren't retching by the end of the meal, I'll make you pancakes for dessert." Of course. Because he only knows how to cook breakfast items.

I replay the events of the prior night, but most of it is hazy. I sink into my chair. "I didn't do anything embarrassing last night, did I?"

He stares at me a beat too long. "Nope." He turns his back toward me.

I have no choice but to believe him, so I move past it. Grayson cracks eggs into a bowl, some of the slimy mess gets on the countertop. It's a strange thing to smile at, but this kitchen has been clean and lifeless for years.

The counters were in a constant state of organized clutter growing up, with baked goods bought from the store and random ingredients. The sink was full of dishes since neither of my grandparents believed in using paper plates, and my entire family ate three big meals every day. I always returned home with a few extra pounds at the end of summer.

"Tell me about your family," I say as he whisks the eggs.

He stills and his shoulders tense. He doesn't say anything.

"Grayson?"

"I don't want to talk about them." His voice is thick.

Fair enough. "Okay. Tell me something else about you."

He pours the whisked eggs into the pan and then faces me. "My favorite animal is a dog."

I smile. "How many dogs have you had?"

"None." He leans against the counter with his legs crossed at the ankles and his hands gripping the edge.

I sit up straighter. "None?"

"Zero," he annunciates the word, holding up his hand to demonstrate the number. "Now you have to tell me something about you." He switches my question back onto me.

"I won't bore you with details you probably don't care for."

"Oh, I care a great deal. Go on."

I roll my eyes before pondering for a moment. "Sometimes when I finish writing and have nothing else to do, I drive to the grocery store and sit in my car."

"Why?"

"I like to people watch."

He's focused intently, like that's the most interesting thing he's ever heard.

"It's your turn again."

He grins. "You're quite eager to get to know me, Mace. If I didn't know any better, I would call this the beginning of a friendship."

"I don't truly care to know the boring details about yourself, but your voice is distracting me from the hangover," I lie.

"So, my voice soothes you?" He grins. "Then I'll do you favor and keep rambling on about myself." He waits for me to protest, and smirks when I don't. "Once, I told a couple of vacationers on the beach that it's tradition to leave a cheeseburger by the front door of my house. I said it was abandoned and that it would keep a ghost from following them home and haunting them."

My eyes widen. "Why?"

"Look who's suddenly interested in my ‘boring details.'"

"Don't flatter yourself."

"I don't have to. You do it for me, and it was because I wanted a cheeseburger." He shrugs.

"That's…a little fucked up."

"No," he says matter of factly. "They thought they were participating in a fun island tradition, and I had a delicious lunch." He turns and adds ham, cheese, and some vegetables to the omelet.

My turn. "I dreamed of how I would get engaged since I was a little girl. It was supposed to be something special that I spent my life anticipating. Well, Walter put a jewelry box on the dashboard of his car while we were sitting at a gas station parking lot. He didn't even open the box or put the ring on me. I had to do it myself. So, that night, I made him a milkshake with expired oat milk and he spent the night vomiting."

Graysons jaw is unhinged, and then he tilts his head back and laughs loudly. The frequency of it touches my entire body. "How did you want to get engaged?" He plates the first omelet, then does the same thing to prepare the other.

My heart aches at the shattered dream. "Fireworks always felt magical to me. I wanted to be cuddled up on the beach watching them light up the sky on the Fourth of July or New Year's Eve." Grayson's eyes never leave mine. "Right when the finale would start, the man of my dreams would present me with a ring and whisper his proposal in my ear." I look out the window, my eyes sting. "I never wanted a huge grand gesture, just something intimate. Something that showed he knew me."

"That sounds perfect," he says kindly. "Don't lose hope on that dream."

Our gazes catch and twirl between us like a dance. He's the first to break it.

He balances two dishes in his hands. His biceps flex and I take notice of the veins in his arms. Once he sets mine on the table before me, my mouth fills with water. Steam is rolling off the top. "If you're as good at making omelets as you are at driving me insane, then this seems pretty promising."

He gives me a sarcastic smile and sits beside me, apron still on. He probably forgot he was wearing it, and I wonder if I could get him to go out in public with it on.

I cut into my eggs, the cheese stretches and pulls until I rip it with my fingers. I take a bite and feel my eyes widen. This is the best omelet I've ever had. I feel his stare and shoot him a look.

"Good?" he surmises.

I'd rather not add to his inflated ego. "It's…decent."

"Lies."

I shrug.

"Your eyebrows raise."

I tilt my head.

"Just noting the tells of when you lie."

"Okay, weirdo." I take another bite. So does he. We eat in comfortable silence, like two people who have known each other forever.

Once we are finished, he rests his chin in the palm of his hand and watches me for a moment. "I don't have your number."

"Okay..."

He chuckles. "I'd like to have it. Should I ever find myself needing sugar, I could send you a text rather than walk all the way to your front door."

I roll my eyes and bite back a smile that threatens to overtake my face. I look at him pointedly with my hand out. Once I have his phone, I input my information and he takes it from me quickly, like I might change my mind and erase it.

"I'll need a contact photo, so I know which Macy Brookes this is."

"Because you just so happen to know another?" This time I do smile, and so does he.

"Perhaps." He points his phone at me, and I flip him off right as he snaps the photo. His lips curve as he stares at the picture of me. "Lovely." He sets down his phone and then claps his hands together. "Pancakes?"

I stand and take our empty plates to the sink, feeling his gaze on my back as I peek inside the bag he brought. "No chocolate chips?" I turn to him with a frown.

He shakes his head.

I trace his masculine frame. His long legs sprawl out, and as if he can feel my stare, he crosses them at the ankle. I ask, "Maybe we can go to the store and get some?" I don't care if we have chocolate chips or not, I just want him to go out wearing my apron.

His eyes narrow on me. "Sure," he says.

I bite back my smile and pad to my bedroom to change. I comb my hair and tie it into a ponytail, then splash some water on my face. Back in Grayson's presence, who waits patiently by the front door, like a dog waiting to be walked, I step into a pair of flip flops. I feel him behind me, his woodsy fragrance far too potent. I lean my head back a hair and it meets his hard chest. Warmth touches the shell of my ear as he whispers, "Do you want to walk or drive there?"

It's a simple sentence, but I'm suddenly breathless. In my silence, he trails the very tips of his fingers down my arm. The hairs on the back of my neck raise and I can hardly remember what he asked. His lips are so close to my neck, sending memories of his mouth someplace far less innocent. He sounds amused when he says, "Did I lose you there, Mace?"

I quickly turn around, so we are facing. "You can drive."

He smirks and leans down so his face is in front of mine. My quick inhale turns his grin into a full-fledged smile. My eyes touch every line and dip of his face like a paint brush to canvas. The corners of his eyes are creasing in a way that makes them look gentler. His pearly white teeth are close to perfect, but there's a hardly noticeable chip in the corner of his front tooth. My fingertips tingle at the sight of his stubble, imagining how it would feel to touch it. Being this close to him makes me feel like I'm sky diving.

I've spent my life in a constant state of desire. Longing to live someplace else, looking forward to summer in the dead of winter, and outright aching for more .

Within my very bones is the feeling I've been devoid of. I've chased it in every romance novel I've ever read and in every dream of something greater. It's right here in this very moment with Grayson. It has been since the moment I crashed into him at the airport.

He lights me on fire. I thought I hated him. But no, I don't hate Grayson. Not one bit. I hate that everything I've ever wanted to feel is right in front of me, yet I'll never be able to hold it. Like water slipping through your fingers.

My life isn't here. My house is in Walter and I's name. And the man who embodies every want I've ever had is a mystery I can't seem to solve.

Grayson and I are as everlasting as this vacation, and when I'm thousands of miles away, I know that my heart will be beating right here in Sanibel, like it always has. But I won't just be dreaming of the sun on my skin, now his hands will be there too.

He looks down at me, still grinning, unaware of everything going through my mind. I follow him to his car. He opens the door for me and it's something I'm not used to. We peel out of his driveway, and I look out the window, staring at the overgrown foliage that makes up the island. I like that it hasn't been touched. Aside from some houses, businesses, and streets, the island's essence remains intact.

The grocery store isn't bustling, but as soon as we enter through the automatic doors, I catch a few workers' lingering stares. Grayson is mindless to it, standing proud and still wearing my floral apron that is ten sizes too small. He leads me to the section with chocolate chips. We are the only two people in the isle, and suddenly, both of his arms are caging me in against the shelves. "You think you're clever, don't you?"

I tilt my head and his eyes narrow at me, then he glances down at himself. "Very cute, Mace."

I can't help it. I laugh.

His eyes glimmer, staring down at me. "Did you think this would embarrass me?"

I shrug. "I thought it would be funny, which it is."

His eyes darken when they flit between mine, then he pushes off the shelves and grabs a bag of chocolate chips, seeming indifferent toward the whole thing.

He doesn't remove it, and when we checkout, the girl behind the cashier blushes as if his face is too much of a distraction to notice the ridiculous apron. He shoots me a smug smile and I roll my eyes, thanking the girl and walking ahead of Grayson. He's quick to catch up, thanks to his long legs.

I kick off my shoes once we are back at my house, the cold tile beneath my bare feet does nothing to cool the way I'm burning from within. Phantom sensations touch my body, and I'm reminded yet again of the other night.

Grayson puts the chocolate chips on the counter, and I pull out a big bowl from one of the cabinets. As I reach for it, my arm grazes him. I shiver.

Something about the way he's watching me makes me feel bold. I step into his personal space until we are pressed together. My palms drag up his chest, around his neck, and then I untie the apron. His gaze is intense, watching me with the care one would a captivating page in a book. I do the same for the part tied around his back, and once it's in my hands, I turn around.

My breath catches at the feel of him so close behind me. Electricity shoots through my body. I tilt my head back until it rests against his chest. "Will you help me put this on?"

He blows out a steady breath. His arms come around me to take the apron from my hand. He's careful tying it behind my neck, knuckles softly brushing my skin. My pulse beats rapidly as if calling to him, and he answers with a kiss to the spot.

His hand moves up my stomach, and softly runs over the column of my neck until his thumb swipes across my bottom lip. I kiss the pad of his finger and he lets out a breath. He gently pushes me forward, so we are an arm's length apart.

I face him and it seems to take him a moment to find his voice. "Another second of that, Macy, and I wouldn't stay true to my word of making you chocolate chip pancakes."

As if nothing happened a moment ago, we make pancakes together. I manage to get flour in my hair, and Grayson's cheek is dusted in it. Each one I flip is a different shape, and Grayson's are annoyingly perfect. He insists on eating mine, leaving me with the masterpieces he made.