Page 34 of In Every Chapter

That set Liz off on another tangent.

Stephanie leaned into me and whispered, “Hey, can I show you my favourite photo I’ve taken?”

“Sure.”

She swiped a few times on her phone, then angled the screen towards me. It was me and Greyson, looking oh so cozy. Very couple-y.

His head was bent so our foreheads touched and our noses brushed, nearly kissing. My hands were around his neck, his holding my waist. I was laughing. I was . . . happy. And Greyson? He drank me in like a man smitten.

“When was this?” I asked hoarsely.

“Seven weeks ago.” Stephanie smiled gently. “Same day as my engagement.” She reached out and squeezed my hand softly. “I know things are scary, and I can’t imagine what you must be feeling. But I know you, Pais.” Hope and love infused her voice. “And Greyson. You’ll make it. I really believe that. You told me once to be open to embracing the scary.” Her eyes were soft with understanding. “True love—the real, unselfish kind—can be terrifying when you aren’t used to it, but it’s worth it with the right man.”

“Yeah,” I whispered, and let my head lean against hers, my thoughts racing a mile a minute even as the official meet-cute between Nicholas and Mia dragged me from reality for a few hours into a simpler world.

Chapter thirteen

Greyson

Three days after the infamous library-ladder fiasco, my wife still didn’t remember me, and my nerves were fraying. How was it only three days? What even was time anymore?

Every blank look, every subtle jump when I moved near her, every awkward interaction between us took its toll. I couldn’t even wrap my head around changing brake pads without making a mistake.

I got out of the Marine Corps four years ago, and I was prepared for bombs, bullets, and deployments. But nothing readied me for stopping to pick my wife up from work, only to watch her fall from that rickety ladder. Holding her limp, bloodied body in my arms. The blood . . . There was so much of it. I wasn’t prepared for Paisley forgetting me. I knew the last almost four years of marriage weren’t a fluke—she did love me. Right now, we were just . . . in between worlds.

She looked so lost, and I was powerless to try and help her.

Prayers fell off my lips every moment of the day, and as I scrubbed the pot I used for dinner earlier, I sent another one heavenward. Juliet had taken Paisley to her house for girl time, leaving me to The Two Towers movie, garlic bread, and spaghetti. Not too unlike how I used to spend my evenings as a bachelor.

Now, I just felt a pang of loneliness. When you found your better half and soul’s companion, then lost them, the severed connection and intimacy was sharp. Paisley and I had our rhythms and routines. We used to debrief over dinner, and she’d sigh over Aragorn even if she insisted she preferred book Faramir. The movie franchise did him dirty.

She’d been my person for years, and this distance was slowly killing me.

Giving the enamel pot a final swish, I rinsed it and propped it on the drying tray. I snagged the dish towel and dried my hands, peering in the fridge. Mama had brought over more tiramisu, so I helped myself to a portion. I didn’t have the heart to use the special pottery dessert bowls we usually used.

“Pretty dishes make food taste better,” Paisley had said when we bought them in downtown Coeur d’Alene last year on our anniversary trip.

The memory cut deep, twisting my gut. So instead, I grabbed an everyday white cereal bowl with a blue heart pattern on the edges and retreated back to the living room.

Elijah Wood’s and Sean Astin’s faces were frozen on the screen in front of me. An impossible task. I could commiserate. I tapped my phone screen, half hoping for a text from Juliet. Paisley wouldn’t be the one to text me, even though I ached to send her a message. Just to check in. Just to know she was okay.

But I wasn’t idiotic enough to interrupt girls’ night. Not when I heard words like Princess Diaries and Chris Pine being thrown around. A man had his limits.

So I returned to Middle Earth and my tiramisu, almost wishing I could escape through the screen myself. When the bowl was empty, I stretched out, pillowing my head on my arm. The Battle at Helms Deep required full viewing appreciation, and the only problem with watching it alone was not having someone to share all the trivia with. Even if Paisley had heard it a hundred times, she still smiled when I dropped a tidbit of lore, then fired another little-known fact back at me.

My eyes drifted shut. That was how we met. A game of trivia when I was beat by a pretty girl. And I’d started falling for her then and there. One of the best days of my life.

A sharp pounding rattled the front door, and Rosie lifted her head from where she lay on the floor in front of me, growling softly. Maybe it’s Paisley. I knew it was wishful thinking. No doubt it was a family member or a curious neighbour. At this point I couldn’t remember who’d all come and gone. But at this hour, seriously?

I wasn’t ready for the face illuminated in the porch light.

That easy smile. Those teasing eyes, the same colour as my own, that always saw the best of the world, though they carried a weight these days.

“Cal?” I choked out, waiting for the figment in front of me to vanish.

“In the flesh, brother mine.” Cal stepped inside, and my mind whirled to catch up.

“Why are you here?” I finally asked as we stood facing each other in the living room, flanked by the still screen of Helm’s Deep. It was appropriate given we were both Tolkien lovers, though not as much as me and Paisley. But he was ten states away from where he was supposed to be after tonight’s playoff game.