Page 106 of In Every Chapter

Greyson, Greyson, Greyson.

Hundreds of pictures and videos flashed across the screen. I was clearly obsessed with the man. If this were a true crime show, I’d be borderline stalker level. But he seemed to be obsessed with me, too.

Everything about this strong man radiated kindness. How he held me. How he treated our sweet dog. How he interacted with our nieces and nephews.

He wasn’t Jared. He never had been.

I’d been wrong to compare them. Even if it was my body’s way of trying to protect me.

A tear trickled down my cheek into the pillow. Then another. Grey won’t hurt me. He never did. His hands had only been gentle, never rough. That gentleness, those blue eyes and half smile healed the broken fissures in my heart.

Greyson was in a league all his own. And . . . I love him.

It was time to tell him that.

After breakfast, Juliet took me home for a fresh change of clothes—Greyson was nowhere to be seen—and then dropped me off half a block down from the mechanic shop. I needed those steps to clear my head. Not that I hadn’t already been rehearsing the conversation all night.

I’d made a mistake and taken it out on the last man in the world I should have willingly hurt. A walk of shame and a hefty dose of humble pie was in order.

I paused in the open doorway of the bay, watching.

Greyson’s coveralls were tied at his waist, leaving him in a light grey tee streaked with grease. He was alone.

Be brave. Reach out and grab your second chance. I crossed the space between us, and Greyson turned at the click of my favourite camel-coloured oxford heels—which always made me feel a smidgeon braver. So did the yellow gingham sundress I loved, and from the way his gaze had lingered when I wore it before, I knew he liked it too.

“Pais.” His face betrayed his surprise, and he started wiping his hands on a rag. “What are you—?”

I didn’t let him finish, just rocked up on my tiptoes, gripped his shoulders, and yanked him into a kiss. I tried to pour every word I couldn’t say and every emotion racing through my battered heart into that kiss.

Greyson only hesitated a moment before his deliciously calloused hands gripped my waist, tugging me closer and deepening the kiss.

His kiss was all consuming, powerful yet gentle. A dance of emotions and promises. He kissed like a man who knew exactly what he wanted, and I was the object of all his desires. But there was a tethered restraint behind it, and I wanted to snap it.

“Grey.” I kissed up his jawline, loving the rasp of his stubble, to his ear. “Could we reconvene this reunion to somewhere without an audience?”

He pulled back, as breathless as I was. “What?”

I loved his dazed look and the puzzled line between his brows. I poked his forehead lightly to smooth out the frown. “We’re in your shop with the bay doors open, and I’m almost positive Mrs. Gulliver is across the street filming us for The Vine.”

Greyson whirled around, shooting daggers as he scanned the street for the woman, pivoting to put his body between me and the rest of the world.

I laughed at the surge of defensiveness. But also, swoon.

Without another word, he dragged me across the shop to his private office and shut the door. “Not that I’m complaining, but what did that mean, Pais?” he asked gruffly, running a hand through his hair.

I stepped towards him feeling calm and bold, like all the bookish heroines I adored who finally had the courage to embrace the path presented to them. Like Éowyn and Faramir. Anne and Captain Wentworth. Meg and Mr. Brooks. Anne and Gilbert. “It meant everything,” I said quietly. “I’m sorry. Thank you. I love you.” I peeked up at him. “I don’t want to run, Grey. I didn’t mean what I said. I panicked. You’re not him. I know that.”

His eyes briefly slid shut. “Thank God,” he murmured, then hauled me into his arms.

Had I mentioned how much I loved his hugs?

“I’m so sorry I scared you,” he said hoarsely into my hair. “I never want to be the man you’re afraid of, and I let my frustration with Keegan and the panic of seeing you on the ladder come out on you. I swear I don’t blame you, Pais. I never have.”

“I know. We both could have handled things better.”

“Will you forgive me?”

“If you forgive me.”