Page 74 of In Every Chapter

That’s when I saw her.

I didn’t think. Didn’t stop to assess the situation. Nothing. I just acted.

It was survival instinct, pure and simple.

Which meant grabbing Greyson’s shirt front and yanking him between two food displays of bananas and a rafter-high fruit pyramid of all things red, white, and blue. Thankfully I caught him off guard enough that he came willingly. Because there was no way I could have hauled him otherwise. The man was solid muscle, and I was . . . not.

“What—?”

I clapped a hand over his mouth. “Gulliver sighting,” I hissed. The telltale rumble of a chuckle vibrated under my fingers. Which were on his lips. I snatched my hand back and listened intently.

Mrs. Gulliver was a kind soul, but she was nosy. And a mini interrogation in the grocery store was the last item on my agenda for today.

Only once I knew she was gone did I breathe a sigh of relief. “Has she always been so . . . invested?”

Greyson laughed, a warm gravelly sound I loved. “She means well.”

I couldn’t fight the smile warring at my lips. “You’ve got a nice laugh, you know.”

His amusement faded into something more . . . just more. Even though there was hardly any space between us, I couldn’t read him. Instead, I said, “Coast is clear,” and waltzed back out.

Greyson followed, and when we trailed the aisle back towards the cashier, his hand extended behind him.

I doubt he even realized he did it because this time I did take his hand, and he jolted. I smiled, and he laced our fingers. The lines crinkled around his eyes in a real smile. I could get used to this dating stuff again.

And I’d certainly never been this giddy over holding a man’s hand before.

At the risk of sounding proud, I was doing smashingly on the cooking front. Except when I forgot things on the stove or in the oven.

But I wasn’t about to let that stop me. The strawberry timer Greyson bought me after the cookie debacle was my new best friend. So far, I was doing better remembering to set that timer than anything else. Probably because it had cute little eyes and a smile. Baby steps.

Tonight, we were having homemade pizza. How badly could I mess that up? Especially since we were having Myles and Juliet over for dinner, and I was dying to see my bestie act mushy over a man. The celebratory barbecue had been too hectic to give me a good picture, and I needed to see it. Because I never thought I’d see the day.

Once the pepperoni pizza and the half-Hawaiian and half-vegetarian monstrosities were in the oven, I started pulling produce out of the fridge. We weren’t big gardeners, but between Mama D and Juliet, who were both green-thumbed wonders, we were well supplied.

I grabbed my phone, grinning at the sunshiny yellow phone case. Something inside me warmed thinking of the day Greyson had given it to me after the accident. He took providing and protecting seriously. Opening my music-streaming app, I clicked on Michael Bublé’s “It’s a Beautiful Day” and started humming while I rinsed the fresh orange cherry tomatoes and started chopping lettuce for a small salad.

But the beat sank into my blood, and I grabbed a whisk. I was home alone for the afternoon. Well, almost. Greyson was in his woodworking shop in the backyard, having to work on a project he’d promised to finish by next week.

So, I started singing.

Rosie Cotton stood up from her spot on the living room rug and trotted into the kitchen to check on me like she was Nana from Peter Pan.

“I’m fine.” I patted her head and laughed, shaking my hips and continuing to belt out the song. I was no Celine Dion, but I could carry a tune.

With a woof, Rosie Cotton shook herself, then carefully leapt up on her haunches to offer me her front paws.

“Aww, you wanna dance!” I set the whisk down and swayed with her to the music. She barked approvingly, and I laughed. Lightness flitted through my soul. It was nice to just exist in the moment. Something I was doing a lot of these days. Because this moment was all I had.

When Rosie hopped down, I grabbed the whisk again and belted out the bridge, twirling around until I screamed when a tall, shadowed silhouette leaned against the doorframe, watching me.

Not stopping to think, I dove at the utensil drawer and tossed the first thing my fingers grabbed at the man. Don’t die. Don’t die.

He caught it easily and raised an eyebrow, holding up the tool. A potato masher. How deadly. Why hadn’t I gone for the knife drawer?

My eyes caught up with my brain, and I realized it was only Greyson. Guess it was a good call on no-knives then. I scrunched my nose in apology and shrugged, continuing to sing and daring him to join me.

Greyson shook his head, but the half smile fighting to break free was glorious. He shuffled, sock footed, across the floor and shimmied his hips in an exaggerated motion.