Page 48 of Peaches & Pistols

I tense with unease, dreading people popping out, singing, hugging me, and overall making a spectacle. Mia steps back and leans in to the kitchen, retrieving…a beer.

“The guys said this kind is your favorite,” she says as she hands me the ice-cold can.

“Now, before you try to fight this, let me tell you what’s on the agenda.”

Agenda. There it is. This isn’t going to be anything I enjoy, and I’m already worn down from a long day. My teeth grind, and I try to take deep breaths through my nose to stay calm.

She gives me a small grin, immune to me being a grumpy asshole.

“I’ve made an ungodly amount of chicken parmesan, and for dessert, I didn’t think you’d be keen on blowing out candles, so instead I made you peach cobbler.”

My rage-spiral stops on a dime.

“Everyone is here to celebrate you but have all agreed to not act like fools and have a low-key evening. I wanted everyone to enjoy a movie night, the girls included, and James said your favorite childhood movie was Flubber. So, I bought it on the TV in the den and it’s cued up and ready to go whenever you want.”

My chest tightens with grief. My dad took me to see Flubber. I haven’t watched it since he died.

Mia’s blue eyes search mine for any reaction to her plan. I’m dumbstruck by the effort she put in to making my birthday special in ways I’d appreciate. I’m overwhelmed with memories of my dad, torn between wanting to run away from them, or share them with my daughter. I feel cherished, just like she said everyone should on their birthday. I’ve taken care of myself for the past twenty-six years, never putting myself first, and it feels…nice.

This woman is remarkable. She’s been unknowingly chiseling away at my expertly erected walls for months and just broke through with a gesture more profound than she’ll ever know.

“Lead the way,” is the best I can manage when my heart’s stuck in my throat.

The smile that lights her face will be written on my soul in indelible ink. She reaches out and takes my hand, interlacing our fingers, pulling me into the kitchen. Electricity zaps up my arm, this being the first time she’s initiated any form of affection with me, and the depth of her offering isn’t lost on me.

I’m such a goner.

16

It happens faster than I can control.

One second I’m making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, the next I’m on the floor with my hands shielding my head.

He moved too quickly. All I saw in my periphery was a hand coming at my face and instinct took over to protect me.

Blood’s pounding in my ears, I can’t get enough oxygen, and the rational portion of my brain is telling me Greyson would never hurt me, leaving me burning with embarrassment.

Shadow casts over me as he hovers, frozen in place.

We exist in a bubble of deafening silence as my muscles uncoil and my arms drop, heavy from the adrenaline.

“Mia.”

I shake my head violently, not wanting to have this discussion.

“I was reaching for the plates to help you with lunch.” His voice is distant and sad.

A bobblehead nod is all I can muster.

Greyson stretches out his hands from the fists they’ve been curled in, fidgeting, like he doesn’t know how to be around me.

“What did he do to you?” His voice is tight with restrained rage, but he doesn’t scare me because his anger comes from wanting to protect me.

“It’s nothing,” I deflect, slowly rising to my feet, dusting my hands on my pants. I retrieve the plates Greyson had been reaching for and resume building the sandwiches.

He gets to his feet and leans against the counter a couple of feet away from me, either intentionally or subconsciously giving me breathing room.

“It’s not nothing,” he grits out.