Page 87 of In Every Chapter

I kicked the door shut. “Where were we?” I asked, arms slipping around Paisley’s waist.

“You were going to have a shower.”

My nose skirted over her neck where her pulse moved a little faster. “I’d rather pick up where we left off.”

“Then hurry up and kiss me before someone else interrupts,” she teased, going up on her tiptoes.

“Don’t even joke about that. Gabe is supposed to call, and I have every intention of ignoring him if he does in the next fifteen minutes.”

“Less talking.” She tugged my face up, and I obliged, her lips warm and soft under mine as I pulled her closer.

There really was no place like home.

Chapter thirty-seven

Paisley

Several kisses later, Greyson went upstairs, leaving me to my sourdough starter. Once upon a time, I’d been proficient, and slowly the nuances were coming back. It was a science. And an arm workout.

Greyson’s phone chimed on the counter, and I leaned over to catch a glimpse of the name. If it was Gabe like he was expecting, I’d risk running it up to him despite his being in the shower.

But it wasn’t Gabe Carson. It was someone named Keegan.

KEEGAN:

Hey, man. How’s the wife? I still have a job opening for you in Tennessee that would be perfect. Gotta keep the options open.

The muscles in my neck tensed, strangling my breath. Tennessee? Job? What?

I heard the telltale fifth-step creak and took a moment to compose myself, taking deep calming breaths. Greyson didn’t come into the kitchen, though. From the sounds of it, he was heading to the laundry room.

That worked for me. I marched from the hall and found him exactly where I expected. Or almost. He was measuring out the liquid detergent for a load of towels. And he was shirtless. He was my husband, so it wasn’t wrong of me to admire the tanned expanse of muscles corded down his spine, the broadness of his shoulders, or the trim taper of his waist. Nope, not at all.

The machine beeped as he turned it on, and his eyebrows flew up when he saw me. “Pais, everything okay?”

It wasn’t. But I couldn’t tell him that. Not when he turned and gave me another eyeful of muscles. And a jagged mosaic of scars across his abdomen.

Oh, Grey. I swallowed hard and stepped closer, tracing a finger over the raised, puckered skin.

Greyson shuddered, and I yanked my hand back. “Sorry, did that hurt? I wasn’t—”

“It didn’t hurt,” he said roughly, intensity swirling in his eyes.

Oh.

I cleared my throat, and the charged energy of the moment vibrated between us. “Is that from the military?” I whispered.

“Yeah.” Greyson quickly grabbed the T-shirt sitting on the dryer and tugged it over his head. Like he was ashamed or trying to hide. “What’s up?”

I really wanted the story behind the scars, but I sensed he wasn’t ready for that conversation yet. “Who’s Keegan?” I asked bluntly.

Greyson stiffened. “Did he call?”

“Texted. Said something about Tennessee. I wasn’t snooping,” I added a little defensively.

Greyson rubbed the back of his neck, closing his eyes. “Can we talk?”

Were there any words more terrifying in the English language than “can we talk?” I think not. But I pasted on a brittle smile. “Sure.”