Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Layla

“What are you doing here?” My tone was more than a little accusatory.

“Etta asked me to come over and fix her door lock,” Gray replied.

“She wanted to talk to me about her tickets. Said it was hard for her to get around so well without driving, and asked if I could come by this afternoon.” I narrowed my eyes. “You put Etta up to this, didn’t you?”

He held up his right hand like he was taking an oath. “I had no idea you would be here. I swear.” A look of understanding crossed his face. He set down the bags he was carrying, along with a small toolbox. “Let me look at the lock.”

Gray knelt down and jiggled the door handle a few times. The bolt moved in and out. It seemed to work fine. Then he stuck a screwdriver into the strike plate on the other side of the doorjamb, and something popped out.

“What is that?” I said.

He swiped it from the floor and began to unfold it. “Looks like a folded-up empty book of matches kept it from locking properly.”

“A folded-up book of matches?”

“Yep. I think we both got played.” Gray closed his toolbox and stood, lifting the other bag he’d brought in with him. “She also asked me to bring red wine, even though she’s never liked wine. Said she had a hankering for it.”

“She asked me yesterday on the phone what kind of wine I liked. I said anything red.”

“Who’s at the door, Layla?” Etta called from upstairs.

If I had any doubt about Gray telling the truth, Etta’s tone confirmed she was indeed the orchestrator of this evening. It was a few octaves higher than normal and almost sing-songy. I knew she had on a big grin upstairs all by herself.

Gray shook his head and rolled his eyes. “It’s me, Etta. I’m checking out your door.” He lowered his voice and spoke to me. “I’m sorry. She means well.”

The impenetrable wall I’d built around my heart suffered a hairline fissure that he apologized on her behalf and stuck up for her, rather than calling Etta out for her little white lies. He wouldn’t embarrass her. It was sweet. Damn it.

“Oh, that’s great,” Etta called again. “I just made gumbo. Layla agreed to join me for dinner. You should stay, too.”

Gray’s gaze turned serious, and he kept his voice low. “You good with that?”

My insides were doing a little dance, even if my brain still hadn’t joined the party. “Yes, it’s fine.”

He lifted his toolbox and extended his hand toward the stairs. “After you.”

Etta’s face lit up when Gray walked into the kitchen. “Zippy. Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

Gray smiled and dug the folded matchbook she’d shoved into the door from his pocket. Holding it in the palm of his hand, he said, “Lock’s all fixed.” He winked at me. “Wind must’ve blown some debris in, and this got stuck in it.”

Etta turned her attention to the oven. “Great. That’s wonderful. Now we can all sit and have an early dinner. Did you know gumbo is one of Layla’s favorite dishes, too?”

Gray caught my eyes. “I did. She also likes escargot. Although that one I’m gonna have to disagree with.”

I was beginning to think he wasn’t exaggerating when he said he remembered everything about our time together.

“If I recall correctly,” I said. “Gray has SpaghettiOs with little hot dogs on his favorite food list. So I think we’ll have to agree to disagree on the best meals.”

Etta set a peach cobbler on top of the stove and took off her mitts. “He likes it best when you grill the hot dog and slice it up real thin, then add it to a can of regular SpaghettiOs. Did he ever tell you about the time he made them for his friend Percy while I was out at the grocery store?”

Gray walked over to a drawer and pulled out a wine opener. He took the wine he’d brought from the brown paper bag. “If we’re going to be sharing my childhood stories, I think I’m going to need this.”

Etta took my arm. “Come, sweetheart. Let’s go sit in the living room while Gray brings us some wine. By the way, before we get to the hot dog cooking story and I forget, let me tell you what Gray’s little speech issue had him calling his best friend Percy for years.”

Gray groaned and clunked the wine bottle down on the table as he mumbled under his breath, “Fuck.”

“Poor boy couldn’t pronounce his errr sound for a long time, so everything came out sounding more like an uhh. It was cute, except Percy became a word ladies don’t usually say—you know, a baby kitten.” She chuckled. “The funny part is, turned out he was right. That Percy grew up to be a big wimp.”

Etta and I went to sit in the living room together, and eventually Gray joined us with two glasses of wine and a drink he brought for Etta without having to ask what she wanted. She told me story after story about young Grayson, each more embarrassing than the last, until tears streamed down my face.

“Oh my God.” I laughed. “Stop. I can’t even sip my wine because I’m afraid it will come out my nose and stain your couch.”

Gray shook his head, but he wasn’t upset. I got the feeling nothing Etta could say or do would make him truly mad at her.

“I think we should stuff Etta’s face with some gumbo now to keep her quiet for a while.”

“Oh, Zippy. It’s all in good fun. I’m not embarrassing you, am I?”

Her use of his nickname made me realize I still didn’t know the origin. I took a drink of my wine, which was my second glass and nearly empty already, before asking. “Where does your nickname for Gray come from, Etta? Why do you call him Zippy?”

Gray’s shoulders slouched, and his head hung. “Shit,” he muttered.

He seemed to have given up on trying to keep Etta quiet by saying her name in a warning tone and dishing out subtle glances. Instead, he braced for it.

Etta’s eyes danced with amusement. “It was the summer between kindergarten and first grade. A real hot one, but Gray wasn’t one to stay inside and play in the air conditioning, even when it was ninety-five. So he’d gotten prickly heat.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “On his testicles.”

I covered my mouth and tried not to laugh. “Oh my God.”

“So that summer became known as commando summer. Gray said it was cooler without underwear on, and God knew he was itchy enough down there, so I didn’t force the issue. It was all well and good until the zipper incident.”

The snort I had been attempting to contain snuck out, and then Etta burst out laughing right along with me. She had to tell the rest of the story through fits of laughter.

“He was pulling on a pair of jeans and got the tiniest piece of the skin of his third leg caught.” Etta shook her head and cackled. “I put a Band-Aid on it. Didn’t bleed too much. Luckily, at that age the blood isn’t always rushing south. Think that was the end of commando summer.”

Gray was a damn good sport. He looked at the two of us laughing at his expense and leaned forward to fill my wine glass.

“Keep drinking. Maybe you won’t remember any of this tomorrow.”

I wiped tears from my eyes. “Not a chance, Zippy.”

He stood, lifting the now-empty bottle of wine, and stared down at me as he spoke to Etta. “This isn’t something I ever really wanted to hear you repeat, Etta, but I’ve heard you tell this story before, and you’re missing a part that I think is essential to restoring my manhood after the last half hour.”

Etta’s brows drew together and then she grinned. Leaning forward, she whispered. “He probably has a little scar, but by George, the boy had a big cannon for being such a little thing.”

I looked up at Gray, who wore a wicked smile on his face. Feeling flushed, I averted my eyes, and since he was standing, they landed face to face with the topic of our conversation. He had on a pair of jeans with a zipper, but it was the bulge that caught my attention.

I stood abruptly and took the empty wine bottle from his hand. “I’ll throw this out.”

Needing a minute, I stood looking out the kitchen window over Etta’s sink. I was so lost in thought that I hadn’t heard footsteps entering the kitchen. But I definitely felt the body standing close behind me.

I didn’t turn around when Gray started to speak. His voice was low. “When I was in Otisville, I had to eat when I was told, shower at an assigned time, and I couldn’t leave the same old gray building for three years. Yet the thing that made me feel imprisoned, more than anything else, was not being able to touch you the way I wanted to when you were near me. And I don’t even mean feel you up or anything sexual. I just wanted to put my hand over yours when you fidgeted every week when the guard told you it was time to go, rub my thumb along your arm to get your attention when you’d looked away from me after I said something that hit home, brush the hair off your face when you laughed and a piece got stuck on your long eyelashes.” He paused. “I’m free now, but a big part of me still feels like I’m in prison.”

I closed my eyes. I remembered wanting nothing more than to have him touch me during all those months when I lived for Saturdays. The truth was, I wanted nothing more than to have him touch me right now. I couldn’t deny the attraction was still there. The rise in my temperature when he stood behind me was more than just radiating body heat.

I finally turned around. Gray made no attempt to back up, staying firmly planted in my private space and staring down at me intently. When I chanced looking up, our eyes met, and I allowed myself to get lost for a minute. Out of nowhere, I found myself asking something that had been bothering me since he pushed his way back into my life.

“On the last day I came to visit, I signed in on your sign-in sheet and saw a signature above mine. I couldn’t make out the handwriting of the name, but the word written in the relationship-to-inmate column was clear as day: wife. That’s how I found out. I was friendly with all the guards by then, so when I asked if it was a mistake, they confirmed it wasn’t and said she hadn’t been to visit in a while.”

I paused, remembering how I’d felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach that day. “Why did Max come to visit if you were already divorced…or annulled?”

Gray looked into my eyes. “My father had passed out at the office. The next day, they made the diagnosis of an inoperable brain aneurysm. One of his friends reached out to Max to try to get a message to me. He had no idea what had gone down between the two of us. She showed up. It was the first time I’d seen her since I’d told her I knew what she had done and was having our sham marriage annulled. I was curious to see what the hell would make her show her face. She walked into the visitor room. I told her not to bother sitting down and to say whatever she came to say. She smiled at me and said, ‘Your asshole father has a brain aneurysm. He’ll be dead before you get out.’ Then she turned around and strutted back out the door she came in. Haven’t seen her since.”

I looked down at my feet. “So the day after the woman who stole three years from your life showed up and told you your father was dying, I told you to go fuck yourself and walked away.”

When I looked up, a wisp of hair fell into my face. Gray reached out to push it away and stopped, pulling his hand back. “It’s not your fault. I should have been upfront with you about Max from the beginning. Then you would have given me the chance to explain her visit that day.”

I nodded, but his trying to take ownership didn’t make me feel any better about what he must’ve gone through. “I’m sorry, Gray. I really am.”

Etta came into the kitchen. I’d almost forgotten she was here. Gray took a step back.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but if I don’t turn the heat down on the gumbo, we’ll be eating out.” She walked over to the stovetop and took the large Dutch oven from the heat.

“What can I do to help, Etta?”

“You’re a guest. You go take a seat, and Gray will set the table.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He reached into the cabinet and pulled down the plates before taking out utensils. Clearly, he knew his way around the kitchen, and that warmed my heart a little. A grown man who still listened and quite obviously loved his childhood caretaker was a loyal one. And that meant more to me than all of the chemistry that still sparked between us.

***

I couldn’t remember the last meal I’d enjoyed so much. Yes, the food was phenomenal, but the company was even better. During dinner, Etta continued to tell embarrassing childhood stories about Gray, and Gray seemed to relax more than I’d ever seen him. He smiled with his full face, flashing his dimples, and laughed from a place down deep that was reserved for true happiness. Our eyes met a few times, and I didn’t tear mine away. Instead, I allowed the evening to just happen and had a better time than I cared to admit.

When Etta started to nod off in her chair while Gray and I shared cleaning up, I realized how long I’d stayed. “I should get going. I’ve been here eight hours, and Etta’s tired.”

Gray’s face fell. “I’ll walk you out.”

Etta’s eyes fluttered open when I went to get my purse. I leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Thank you for an amazing meal and wonderful company, Etta. I’ll reach out to my friend at the traffic violations court to see if we can take care of your ticket without you having to appear.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. I hope you’ll come see me again soon.”

“I’d love that.”

***

Gray stopped me on the front porch. “Thank you for being so kind to Etta.”

“It’s my pleasure. She’s really great.”

“She is. Best thing I had in my life growing up. Even as an adult, I think she might’ve been the only one who never believed I’d done the shit I was accused of. Pretty sure my own father thought I’d done it. One of the worst parts of taking the deal was feeling like I let her down.”

I shook my head. “There’s no way you could ever let that woman down.”

Gray nodded, but I could tell he didn’t believe me.

We walked to the street where my car was parked. I unlocked the door, and Gray opened it for me, but I lingered before getting in. How was I supposed to say goodbye? A hug? A kiss on the cheek? A handshake felt awkward.

“Layla…” He stopped me before I’d sorted it out in my head.

“Yes?”

“Have lunch with me?”

“You mean like a date?”

“Or a non-date. Call it whatever you want. Just spend time with me.”

I looked down.

I shouldn’t. But that didn’t mean I didn’t want to.

Screw it.

No. Think with your head, Layla!

But it’s just lunch.

There was no such thing as just anything with this man.

Yes.

No.

Yes. Why not? He deserves a second chance.

No. You’ll only wind up hurt.

What about Oliver?

Gray’s hand at my chin stopped my internal debate. I wasn’t used to his touch, nor was I used to the way my body reacted to such a simple gesture from him. My breaths increased, and I became aware of my rapid heartbeat. He gently tilted my head up, forcing our eyes to meet.

“You want what we had to be over, that’s fine. But give me a chance. Let’s start something new.”

I wanted to…I really wanted to.

“Just lunch…?”

“If that’s what you want, just lunch.”

I knew without a shadow of a doubt that the dumbest thing I could do was say yes. Which of course, didn’t stop me. “Fine. Just lunch.”

His face lit up like a kid seeing presents under the tree on Christmas morning. “I’ll pick you up at eleven tomorrow.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

He smirked. “You don’t even know where we’re going.”

“Text me an address.” I started to get into my car, but Gray grabbed my wrist, stopping me.

He looked into my eyes. “I promise you’re not making a mistake.”

I wasn’t sure that was true, but I nodded anyway.

Getting into my car, I somehow managed to maneuver down the block without hitting anything. But once I was out of view of Gray Westbrook, I had to pull over to catch my breath. Putting my car into park, I leaned my head on the steering wheel. I’d just said yes thirty seconds ago, and already I had no idea what had possessed me to do it. Where had my common sense gone? Oh wait, I knew. It had been silenced by my blinding desire for the man, the same thing that had made me do stupid things a little more than a year ago, even under the watchful eyes of cameras.

Only this time…he was a free man, and there were no cameras…and nothing stopping us from doing all the things we had wanted to do to each other back then.