Page 92 of In Every Chapter

I love the man for his personality and the way he makes me safe and how he’s so thoughtful. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit he is also incredibly hot.

Like, so ridiculously handsome it should be illegal.

And he’s all mine. My husband. Wow, I like that word. We belong together, to each other. It’s the nicest feeling in the world having a place for my heart to call home.

As for those muscles—

I slammed the diary closed, face flaming. We were newlyweds then. But this . . . Why am I jealous of the version of myself that had the privilege of witnessing that? Nope, nope, nope.

It’s the nicest feeling in the world having a place for my heart to call home.

That’s all I’d ever wanted in life. And I’d found it.

Jumping up, I fanned my face and studied the rest of the closet.

What I was assuming was my side was now mostly empty. (As opposed to the guest room closet, which was bursting at the seams.) But a white garment bag hung in the back corner. Curious, I tugged the zipper. And gasped.

I quickly moved the bag from the closet to the bed and slipped the most stunning wedding dress I’d ever seen from beneath the protective cover. It was classy. Elegant. With a wide, high square neckline and sheer long sleeves cuffing at the wrist. A pearl-beaded belt at the waist and satin buttons running down the back. It was . . . my dream.

Too late I noticed the tears dripping down my nose. I had worn this? When I married Jared, his mother’s wedding dress, an ’80s satin monstrosity with beading and puffed sleeves, had dwarfed my small frame. It never felt like me.

But this dress spoke to me, and I was powerless to ignore the call. So I ducked into the bathroom and stepped into the silky fabric. It settled over my skin and my curves—few that I had—like a glove. The bedroom had a full mirror so I stood in front, staring at my reflection, scarcely recognizing the woman blinking back at me. She wasn’t twenty-one anymore. She had a few more grey hairs and lines around her eyes. She had glasses that fit her personality instead of the cheapest pair she could find at the department store. She had a few more years of living.

She . . . was me.

And I looked like a bride. Loved. Cherished. Honoured.

I stared at my feet, twisting the wedding ring on my finger, trying to quell the stemming tears. Trying to remember.

Cool air brushed at the open back an instant before careful, calloused fingers grazed my spine.

I jumped, gaze yanking from the floor to the mirror. “Sorry, I—”

“Shh,” Greyson murmured softly, his fingers again at my back.

“I . . . I couldn’t reach the buttons,” I confessed. Like my playing dress up on a Saturday afternoon while snooping made perfect sense. How long had I been standing here anyway? “Could . . . could you help me?”

He glanced over my shoulder into the reflection, eyes meeting mine, his smirk a little devious. “I’d rather help you out of the dress, but—”

“Grey!” I choked in shock, blood rushing to my cheeks.

He ducked his head and chuckled, his fingers teasing my skin. Ever so slowly, he fastened the satin-covered buttons. He was in no hurry.

I held my breath, my lungs burning and my heart racing. Would it even fit? I was a string bean now, but I’d been tinier in college.

His breath tickled my neck. This was new for us. It was intimate and tender. Familiar and yet wholly new.

“What was your favourite part about that day?” I whispered, eyes fluttering shut as he brushed my neck with the final fastener.

Greyson paused, still hovering behind me. His presence was large and comfortable, though his hands had fallen away. I waited for a teasing comment about a wedding night or a honeymoon and tried not to blush. But his serious tone surprised me.

“The moment you walked down the aisle. Seeing you for the first time . . . knowing you were choosing me. Saying our vows.” He smiled softly, lost in thought. “Dancing in the kitchen when we came home from my parents’ place at midnight.”

I filtered through the words, trying to wake up my memories and thread them back into my timeline. My history. Trying to make the story mine again. But like all good authors knew, some things couldn’t be forced.

Greyson pressed a sweet kiss to the nape of my neck. “You’re beautiful, Paisley. You always have been to me. But that’s nothing compared to your mind and your heart.”

And when I peeked in the mirror, my knees nearly buckled at the fervent heat and dead earnestness in his ocean-blue eyes. Eyes that could draw me out to sea and bring me home again. “You make it sound like I’m the most alluring woman on earth,” I scoffed.