Page 62 of When the Smoke Clears

Aside from their vests, they wear an array of clothing. Dark jeans, light jeans, button ups, tees. Some wear caps or bandanas.

Like outside, the inside of the building is a mix of sharp, dark metals, next to unblemished, well-cut wood. On the back wall is a set of French doors, cased in charred wood. The style is beautifully distressed. It’s more stylish than I would expect for a bunch of guys who ride motorcycles.

Near the French doors is a staircase which leads up to the next level. It’s fully exposed along the front except for a narrow railing. My eyes catch on a pair of riding boots and legs descending from above. James comes into view, and a smile automatically spreads across my face.

His eyes light upon landing on me. “Gracie, I’m glad you’re here.” He tips his chin down at Hawk in acknowledgment. It’s a gesture that’s becoming familiar for him. “Thank you.”

“You bet, Prez.”

“Thanks.” I give Hawk a sideways glance and make my way across the floor to where James reaches the bottom of the stairs.

He opens his arms subtly for me and I lean in for a short hug. Physical affection doesn’t always come naturally to me, but James’ arms encase me in a comforting way, even if I’m a little stiff at the newness of it all. When I step back, his hands rest on my shoulders and he looks me over. “You look good, lass.”

I don’t have to come up with a polite remark as he releases me and opens one side of the French doors. He gestures inside and waits for me to enter before following and closing the door behind us.

Truthfully, I’m not sure what I’m expecting from this visit, but a part of me hopes to learn something about James by visiting a place he frequents.

“How are you?” My question comes out more abrupt than I’d like.

He turns to me with a knowing look and sits at the head of a long table. The top is a full slab of wood, charred and glazed like the other pieces I’ve seen. A gavel sits near his chair, a combination of dark leather and styled wood, matching the surroundings.

“Do you have an interior designer?”

He smiles. “Only me.”

My eyes widen. “You designed all this?”

How are the men in my life so creative, design-wise? I think of Sutton’s massive cedar post bedframe with its footboard of entangled branches. Maybe it’s fitting, since I’m a photographer.

“Don’t sound so surprised. It’s my home; it should feel as such.” He motions for me to sit in a chair at the right of the table.

A new cloud of anxiety swirls around me. It feels both formal and familial to take a seat here. Whose chair is this normally?

I sit anyway. “You live here?”

“Aye.” He pauses, studying my face. “After Stephanie left, I didn’t want to be in the house we shared. It didn’t matter that it was mine before her. It didn’t feel like home without the two of you in it. So, I started on this place.”

I’m surprised at his emotional admission. “It’s beautiful.”

He dips his chin in thanks. “That’s not why you came, though.” He holds my gaze.

“I don’t know why I came. I know that probably sounds awful.” He makes a dismissive face at my comment. “Everything in my life feels new, up in the air, in limbo. I’m not really sure. I know we don’t have memories—well, I don’t have memories—but…” My voice trails off. I have no clue what I’m trying to say or why, so how can I possibly explain that to him?

“You don’t need a reason to be here, Gracie.” I warm again at his nickname for me. “If you need to get away and come here, you’ll always be welcome. If you want answers on something, I can only provide limited information, but I’ll try. And if you need help, consider it done.”

I swallow thickly. It feels so odd that a man I barely know has embraced me so willingly and openly, has invited me into his home and offered me sanctuary, when the mother who raised me struggles to let me in or be emotionally available. The person who stole me away in the night to protect me is more distant than the man she was trying to protect me from.

“Stephanie will be in town for a while,” I blurt. One of his eyebrows lifts in response. “I let her know what happened with Colt. She’s leaving Alan, her husband.” Adrenaline surges through me. “It turns out he’s Colt’s father.”

James shifts casually in his chair and lays his hands in his lap. “That’s a hard situation.”

I don’t dwell. “She’s going to be moving into Nana’s house temporarily.”

“And how will that affect you?” His voice turns harder. Was that intentional?

“Me? Well, I have plans for the house. Business plans. A bed and breakfast and a photography studio. But Stephanie and I don’t really see eye to eye on much. I’ll probably lay low until she’s settled somewhere.” I chew my cheek in contemplation.

He crosses his arms and narrows his gaze. “Is she aware of your plans for the house?” There’s a pleasing cadence to his phrasing.

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