9. Macy

Chapter 9

Macy

I 'm not going. It was out of the question as soon as Grayson invited me over for dinner at his house, which I'm currently standing in front of. I don't even know how I ended up here to be honest, but before I can decide to turn and go back home, the door swings open and his woodsy scent wafts around me.

"I was just coming to retrieve you." He smirks.

I roll my eyes and think better of walking away like a coward. I brush past him and pad into his house, the one I spent an entire summer playing in as a kid, but it looks completely different. The walls are a crisp white that nearly strains my eyes, contrasting his dark brown couch and minimal furniture. As I walk further in, I see a plug-in airfreshner, which explains the sweet scent I caught before that must linger on his clothes. "Is that strawberry scented?" I gesture to it.

Grayson stands a few feet behind, probably observing me as I take in his house. It doesn't feel like a home. It's pristine and clean but not cozy and warm. There isn't even a dinner table.

"It became my favorite scent ever since losing a bet," he says. I think back on the strawberry daiquiri he ordered in New York.

I notice a book laying open on the countertop. I flip it over, seeing that it's one I wrote. It's open to page three hundred and one. He's almost finished reading it.

"You're a phenomenal writer." He picks it up and inspects it closely.

"I-um, thank you."

He doesn't say much more, he just opens the fridge, and pulls out the to-go boxes. He microwaves them on plates.

I wrap my arms around myself and glance around, not sure what to do with myself.

Grayson pours two glasses of red wine, and hands one to me. "The furniture isn't for show. You can sit."

I roll my eyes and pull out a barstool, it squeaks against the hard wood floors. The air is crisper in his house than mine next door, and I realize that he has an air conditioning unit beneath his window. Where my grandparent's house is old, Grayson's is completely modernized.

I chug my wine, setting the glass down on the counter when Grayson hands me a plate. He eyes my empty glass with amusement. "Would you like some more?"

I take a bite of a fry and nod.

He sits on the stool beside me after filling my glass. We eat in silence. By the time I'm finished, I realize what a horrible guest I am for not making decent conversation, but then again, when did I start to care?

"Thought for thought?" He sits with his body facing mine, so when I turn to him, our knees brush together.

I'm not sure if it's the wine that makes me compliant, but I shrug and say, "You first."

"I didn't expect you to show up at my doorstep, but I'm glad you did. It's been…a while since I've had company."

Something about his vulnerability has me deciding to follow the rules of the game, sharing one of my thoughts. "I'm thinking…" I give him a once over. "It's sad someone like you isn't used to having company."

His gaze is on my face for so long I nearly squirm. "Someone like me?" He finally breaks the silence.

"I…I just mean you don't deserve isolation." I take a sip of wine. I remember what Sarah told me. How no one in town knows him.

He leans in a fraction, and if I wasn't watching, I wouldn't have noticed him any closer. "And you don't deserve to marry someone you're unhappy with," he says softly, in a low voice.

I grind my teeth. "I am happy."

"Then why come here?"

"I—"

"Don't answer. Just think on it." He stands and takes our plates to the sink. "Put on your shoes," he says, rinsing the dishes with water.

Is he kicking me out?

"The BARnacle has great food but horrible dessert, and the ice cream shop is too busy with sticky fingered children. The gas station has decent ice cream." He says all while putting our plates in the dishwasher. "Assuming you like ice cream."

"I'm not a total monster."

"What's your favorite flavor?" Grayson asks once we make it to the tiny convenient store. He opens the freezer of wrapped ice cream sandwiches and cones.

"Brown."

He swivels his head to raise an eyebrow at me.

"That's what I called chocolate when I was younger." I smile, remembering the way my grandma continued to call it that even after I learned the flavor's proper name.

"Chocolate ice cream..." He wrinkles his nose. "That one is a little questionable." He reaches into the case and pulls out a prepackaged cone. He turns it around so I can read the label, and I'm not surprised to see that it's strawberry.

"What's the point of getting a healthy flavor like strawberry? You might as well go eat the fruit instead."

"Once you have a taste, you will understand the appeal."

I huff out a laugh, biting my tongue so I don't make a that's what she said joke. "Doubtful." I grab a chocolate ice cream cone and make my way to the cashier, but before I can pay for it, Grayson steals it and sets it on the counter with his. He swipes his card and hands the dessert back to me.

"You didn't have to do that," I say.

He grabs the door before I can, using his backside to hold it open for me to pass. "I'm happy to."

"Thank you."

He breezes past me on long legs, and I trail behind him. "Where are we going now?"

He spins around with a raised brow. "We?" he asks, feigning confusion. He faces forward again. " I am going to the beach."

He is insufferable. This is why I don't like hi?—

"Care to join?"

"Nope."

I can hear the smirk in his voice. "Still playing that game, are we?"

I scoff at his backside. "What game ?"

I follow him between our yards, onto the sand of the beach. I kick some behind me as I walk, and the tiny particles get into my flip flops. It's dark now, the only light is offered by the moon. He walks backward to face me. "The one where you pretend not to like me," he says, voice smug.

"Don't flatter yourself." I roll my eyes and open my ice cream. I'm about to put the wrapper in my pocket so I can throw it out later, but Grayson reaches out and steals it from me. He tucks it into the pocket of his pants instead.

"Don't worry, Tato. We can play a little longer." He winks.

I roll my eyes and hold up my middle finger.

He stops walking once we are about ten feet from the shoreline. He sits in the sand with his legs bent, taking the first lick of his cone.

I watch him, unsure if I am going to sit with him or go back home.

His calloused hand engulfs my ankle and yanks in a way that makes me lose balance and fall on my butt. I give him a scathing look, picturing flames in my eyes.

"I was making the decision easy for you, since I know how stubborn you can be." Before I get the chance to answer, he changes the subject. "I never sit on the beach."

Curiosity gets the best of me. "Why?"

"It's never fit into my schedule." He lifts a shoulder.

I laugh, arranging my body like his so my knees are tucked against my chest. "This is literally your backyard. Do you have time to go to the bathroom with that tight schedule of yours?"

"I guess I never thought about coming back here, honestly."

"Well, I used to sit out here all the time. My grandparents and I would lay on our backs and look for shooting stars."

Grayson turns to me. I can't explain what's happening to my body, but I instantly run ten degrees warmer. "Try it," he says, putting the dessert close enough that if I dart my tongue out, I would taste it. So, I do just that. It tastes exactly as he smells up close.

"Good?"

I take another lick, savoring the taste. "Fine," I growl. "Yes, it's good."

He smiles, showing off two dimples. "Let me taste that brown ice cream of yours then." He gestures to the cone in my hand. I hand it to him.

His eyes light up when he takes a bite. Not a lick, but a bite. How does that not hurt his teeth? "Let's trade. Yours is way better than mine."

I find myself laughing. "Have you never had chocolate ice cream before?"

"Obviously I have. But it really hits the spot."

I grab the strawberry from his hand and let him keep mine. I finish it off, licking the remains from my fingers from where it melted.

Grayson sighs as he leans all the way back so he is flat against the sand.

He turns his head; his eyes are glittering from the moonlight. "Search for shooting stars with me, Mace." The nickname rolls off his tongue as though he's said it a million times, yet I've never been called anything other than Macy before. Despite the cold ice cream I devoured, my stomach warms.

Our shoulders are feathering one another when I lay down. I should scoot over so no part of us touches, but that one connection point electrifies every inch of my body in a way I've never experienced before now.

There are millions, if not billions, of specks in the sky. Blue and yellow and white. Some seem to twinkle, and others are so faint you have to squint to see them. A flash of light shoots across the sky so fast that if I had blinked any sooner, I would've missed it. I shoot up in excitement. "Did you see that?"

His glittering eyes are glued to the sky as if he didn't hear me. Rude.

I slowly press my back against the ground, admiring the beauty above.

He clears his throat after a few moments. "I've never seen a shooting star before."

I turn my head to look at him, waiting for him to continue.

"That felt—" His mouth opens and closes, like he's decided against finishing his sentence. He shakes his head with a humorless laugh.

"Felt like what?" I press.

His gaze meets mine, and something about the softness in his expression feels wholly intimate. Just the look on his face is the most vulnerable I've ever seen him, as though he's let his mask slip for a moment. "Like I'm looking up at heaven and it's looking right back, waving hello."

I take in the sparkling sky, thinking of my grandparents. Another shooting star winks at me. I laugh through a tear that escapes, turning to him once more. "That's such a beautiful perspective." I feel my face stretching into a genuine smile and his eyes seem to widen. In this brief moment everything between us fades away. Like the stars falling over us have stolen a paragraph from the rest of the story and placed it into the pages of a more beautiful one.

There's a calmness in his gaze. Something resembling peace, and I find myself wondering who waved hello to him from heaven, and how long he's been waiting for it.

We aim our gaze back toward the sky. The soft sand beneath me and the sound of waves rolling over shore whisks me to sleep until I wake up sometime later, cuddled up to Grayson's chest with his heavy arm draped over my middle.

"Grayson," I say, moving his arm and sitting up.

His eyes blink open. They are red from sleep, making his irises appear bluer. He sits up and takes in our surroundings. "We fell asleep?"

"I have to go." I stand, wiping the sand off my body as I back away, toward my house.

My eyes glaze over as I stare at my fiancés face on my laptop. "Are you frozen or just choosing to ignore me?" Those cruel, uncaring lips say.

I blink back into reality, remembering the way a conversation works. "Sorry, bad connection here," I lie.

"I still don't get why you're there. You hate Sanibel."

" You hate Sanibel." I'm about to bite my tongue but think better of it. I deserve to speak freely to the man I'm marrying without fearing he'll shoot down my hopes and dreams. "I wanted to live here as a little girl. I still do."

He laughs in an unamused way. "Like you'd ever leave your hometown."

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"Which I still don't get." He shakes his head. "You always do this."

"Do what ?"

"This." He gestures toward the device he's using to video chat. "I look away from you for two seconds and suddenly you're across the country. If you want my attention so bad, then go…" he waves his hand around. "Get a boob job or something."

An incredulous laugh fills the room and there's no color in the world except my red-hot rage. "You think I'm here because I want your attention ? If I had stayed in that house with you for another second, you'd be fishing your engagement ring out of the toile?—"

"See? This is what I'm talking about. You're self-destructive." He shakes his head like he pities me. "Right when things get too good, you ruin them for yourself."

" Good ?"

"Yes, Macy. Good. You're engaged to me." He pauses like that sentence is supposed to drive home his point. "We have a nice house, and you get to plan a girly wedding and buy a fancy dress. You stay home all day while I go out and work. Maybe you should go to therapy."

My anger goes from candy apple red to crimson. "Is that what you think I do? Just sit around at home all day waiting for you?"

He smiles, like that's exactly what he thinks.

I say slowly, so each word hits its mark, "While you're ‘out working' I've mastered the art of creating a perfect fictional man. Every detestable trait you possess gets written down solely so I can ensure the men in my books are nothing like you. Every love interest I've ever created is so carefully opposite to you that they don't even share the same eye color." I slam my laptop shut and pull out my phone.

I hesitate, my thumb hovering over my mom in my contact list. I want to tell her I'm calling off the wedding, but for some reason I can't. Maybe Walter is right. Maybe I do self-sabotage. Just not in the way he thinks.

I hate myself for staying with him, but what will I do if I leave? Both of our names are on the house I paid for. I've put all the deposits down on the wedding and sent invitations to everyone in town. Worst of all, my parents think he's perfect.

I clench my fists in and out and decide I can't sit still in this anger. I'm afraid I'll explode, so I do something I've never done recreationally. I put on a pair of sneakers and run.

The sun has barely made it over the horizon, meaning it's around three in the morning in Idaho. Walter decided to video call me—for the first time since I've left—at three in the fucking morning. As if I was the afterthought that finally caught up to him before going to bed.

I don't focus on anything as I take off into a full-blown sprint in the middle of the street. I'll run all the way to the other end of Florida if that's what it takes to feel slightly better about my life's circumstances. But I'm winded by the time I make it to the stop sign at the end of my street. I clutch at my knees to keep myself from falling over.

" Now it's a good morning," a husky male's voice says from behind me.

I glare over my shoulder at a chipper Grayson, who's sporting loose black joggers and sneakers. No shirt. His hair looks like he just ran his fingers through it, except for one strand that falls onto his forehead.

"If you're this breathless now, I can only imagine what would happen if I ever got my hands on you." He smirks. "Perhaps I'll buy you an inhaler for such an occasion."

I have no words.

He bends at the waist and easily touches his toes for several seconds. He does a range of stretches, never saying another word to me. I just watch, trying to catch my breath and think of a clever comeback to put him in his place, but words don't come to me at this moment.

"Kidding. That would be a very unneighborly thing to say." He grins. "And you're gasping for air because you didn't pace yourself. Running isn't always about speed, and if you start off going as fast as you can, well—" He gestures to me and the state I'm in. I straighten self-consciously.

"I always start off slow. At first, it feels like I'm doing nothing, and I want to increase my speed. But after a few minutes I'm dripping in sweat." He continues to stretch by going up and down on the tips of his toes.

The picture he paints is unwelcomely vivid in my mind, with sweat gleaming on his skin, highlighting every unfair inch of his impressive body.

"Want to run with me?"

"No."

"Let me rephrase that. I would like it if you ran with me." He gives me a look I can only describe as puppy dog eyes. "Please?"

" No ."

"Why? You were going to run anyway."

"You're going to point out everything I'm doing wrong."

He stares at me for a moment, his typical grin is absent, like my honesty caught him by surprise. "I'll let you know if your posture is going to cause shin splints or if you're about to trip from a pothole in our poorly paved road, but I would never judge you or be a know-it-all prick." He smirks. "If you want me to get down on my knees and beg, it's not above me."

I give him a pointed look, to which he slowly kneels down so his knees are on the asphalt. "Macy Brookes, will you make me the happiest man in the world…" He grins, and I fight back my own at how ridiculous this is. "And run with me on this lovely morning?"

Instead of responding to that, I touch my toes like he did. After about ten seconds I straighten to go into the next stretch I saw him do. There's a smile etched on his face.

We don't say anything else to one another. He's starting into a slow jog that matches the speed of a brisk walk. I match his pace beside him. It's only a short amount of time before sweat starts beading on my forehead and my lungs beg me to catch my breath.

"Once you push through the initial desire to stop it'll get easier. Stay with me, Mace." There he goes again with the nickname that seems to roll off his tongue with ease.

I find a glimpse of will power and push myself to keep running, even though every instinct is telling me to stop. I mark a palm tree in the near distance and decide that I'll finish once I reach it, but before I even come close, that willpower slips, and I stop. The muscles in my legs are on fire and all my huffing and puffing could blow down that Little Pig's brick house.

"You made it way farther than I did my first time running," Grayson says easily, not even slightly winded.

I don't have the lung capacity to answer.

"You can walk to keep your heartrate up. It'll help with your stamina." He ambles back to our houses. I continue beside him, trying to pull enough air into my lungs. "Not that you don't look great in those pjs, but I think next time athletic clothes would suffice."

I look down at myself. In my elegant fit of rage, I didn't change out of what I slept in. I'm wearing cotton shorts, which is nothing short of a miracle given that I never sleep in anything besides underwear and a T-shirt.

Since I don't have the breath to express it vocally, I shoot him my middle finger. He playfully tosses it away with his hand, but I don't miss the surge of electricity shooting through my body from the brief contact.

If you're this breathless now, I can only imagine what would happen if I ever got my hands on you.

My cheeks heat.

Coming into view of our houses, he says, "Come inside, I'll make you breakfast."

"That's okay." I turn toward him. "I normally just have coffee."

His right eyebrow shoots up. "Yeah, that's not going to work. You'll pass out in that house all by yourself, and I'd feel sort of guilty I hadn't insisted you ate after running."

"Fine. But only because your house is closer to me, and my legs are about to give out."

He chuckles. "I'll take it."

Once we're inside, I toe off my shoes since everything is so pristine. He gestures for me to make myself at home on his couch but I'm sweaty and gross, so I sit on the barstool.

Grayson moves with a certain type of grace, bouncing back and forth between scrambling eggs, cooking bacon on another pan, and toasting two bagels.

He pulls a matte black mug from the cabinet and places it beneath his coffee maker, which is far from simple. He has one of those expensive espresso machines you'd find in a café. I have no idea how it works, but he's moving swiftly, like he uses the appliance every morning. His ability to mindlessly multitask is an elegance in itself.

He's careful with the steaming mug, holding the handle and securing the bottom with his other hand. It's filled to the brim, and when he places it on the counter before me, brown liquid spills over the top. I lean over and sip it with a loud slurp, nearly burning my tongue in the process. A delightful flavor coats my tastebuds. This is the best coffee I've had, and that's saying a lot, considering I've been to every café within the vicinity of my house to write.

"This is delicious," I say with foam on my top lip. I swear his eyes drop as I lick it away.

"Careful, Mace, I think you accidentally complimented me."

"I was merely noting the excellent taste your fancy machine created." I stick my nose higher in the air.

He vibrates with a soft chuckle, plating the meal he prepared. After setting the dish before me, he grabs another from the cabinet, and I note it's the only other plate he owns. When it's filled with food, he sets it beside me. The ceramic is chipped on his plate, but mine is perfectly whole, and I realize he gave me the better one.

He ambles around the counter. The stool's legs squeak against the floor and his body heat is touching the entirety of my left once he's seated.

I can hear Walter's hateful words ricocheting inside my head as I eat. My heart is pumping faster, and frustrated tears prick my eyes. I can't let them fall in front of the man beside me. Knowing him, he will ask me what's wrong and somehow figure it out without me saying a word. But my emotions are running wild in this place of comfortability. And not this house. I mean Grayson sitting beside me. Despite how irritating he is, he makes me feel safe .

I urge the shine from my eyes and once I'm successful I clear my throat. "You cook?" I ask. I take the last bite and set my fork on the empty plate, causing it to clatter.

He watches me through thick eyelashes. "Only breakfast items and peanut butter and jelly."

"Is that why you order takeout so often?"

He raises a brow. "Only a stalker would know something like that, Mace."

I bite my cheeks. The only reason I know is because Sarah told me, but if I tell him that, he'd learn I was talking about him. I don't say anything. Instead, I reach for his empty dish to take to the sink. He grips my forearm, his touch surprisingly gentle. "I'll take care of that," he says.

Like once before, this page seems to get ripped from our story and folded into a different one. One where he's not removing his hand and I'm not asking him to. His thumb gently swipes across my skin, making me shiver with goosebumps. Our gazes catch for a moment, then my eyes drop to his adams apple that bobs as if he's just swallowed.

Instinctively, I tuck in my bottom lip to wet it. His eyes track the movement, and when they flit to mine, they seem to have darkened.

"Stop looking at me like that, Mace, because I'm two seconds away from forgetting you're engaged to another man and hauling you on top of this counter."

I should react to his words as if they were a threat, but instead my breath catches. Everything else falls away. It's only Grayson, his hand on my arm, and my imagination running wild.

"You're self-destructive." Walter's voice chastises me from the comfort of my own mind.

I blink my intrusive thoughts away, and then pull my arm from him, his fingertips brushing the length of it. "Looking at you how?" I ask as though I'm clueless. Like whatever fell over us was something innocent.

Before he can bring his guard of steel back up, something that looks like disappointment flickers across his features. His smile isn't touching his eyes when he carries our plates to the sink.

"I'll see you later," he says without looking up from soaping a sponge.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment then nod. I walk myself out, and as soon as I'm inside my grandparent's house, my emotions catch up to me, regardless of how fast I ran.

I don't want to marry a man who pushes my dreams to the side like they're something worthless. A person whose heinous words attempt to belittle me. Nobody deserves to be treated the way I've allowed him to.

A picture on the wall snags my attention. My grandpa looks at his wife like she's the most special sight he's ever beheld. The small, individual memories I have of them this way could be compiled into several movies. Their love was endless, and it was real. The moment lives on forever in the photo.

If my grandma was here, she would see right through the fa?ade Walter and I put on. One look and she'd tell me to call it off. I can almost hear her voice. "Forget about the deposit and what everyone thinks. The memories you make are all that matter in the end. Don't waste your life on someone who doesn't deserve to share it with you."

I can't help but feel like a coward, knowing that if my heroine were in my predicament, she would love herself enough to go out and get the happiness she deserves.

I slide down the wall, and my knees touch my chest as sobs break free. With shaky hands I reach for my phone that somehow ended up on the floor beside me. Before I lose the nerve, I send a text to Walter.