Page 97 of Every Chance After

“No felonies necessary,” she mutters tearfully.

Marina wilts with a sigh, mumbling, “Cora,” under her breath. She straightens and says, “It’s my fault. I hired you at Sunny’s. I should’ve taken you with me when I left. That place is too small for us. We need more character.” She waves her arm around before slipping it onto Wren’s shoulders. “Come work for the G&G.”

She glances at the others, unsurely. Wade looks ready to protest, but Wren’s tears soften him like Marina’s words earlier.

Marina continues, “We need someone already trained in customer service and register operations. Part-time. Oh, and once we get this place cleaned up, it’ll need a spiritual cleansing, too. Can you help?”

Her teary eyes widen. “I’ll stock up on sage. We’ll need a lot of sage. And green tealight candles, for abundance.”

“Perfect.”

Once again, I stand in awe of her. That is, until Uncle Wade gives me a pointed look, reminding me of our deal.How am I going to pay for all this?

I decide to worry about that later. Christie engages Wren in collecting furnishings for the smoker’s porch while Roy and Wade test its stability. Marigold and Peter discuss the best options for her first project.

And Marina takes my arm and guides me to the pier.

CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN

Marnie

The swamp is surprisingly lovely.The morning light hits the still water, reflecting the perfect blue sky. Dragonflies skitter over the surface likeHungry Hungry Hippos, snatching up bugs. Cattails and overgrown grasses line the banks, lazily waving hello to the Spanish moss high in the trees overhead. A white heron regally prances along the opposite bank while algae-covered turtles sun on a broken log perched in the shallow water.

I take another breath, deciding this could bemyspot. The boys have their little place to get away. Why shouldn’t I?

Who knew a swamp could be so beautiful?

“I’m sorry about the other night,” I say. “At my door… I’m sorry for being insensitive. With my appearance and especially my thoughtless jokes. I selfishly forgot howthatday was traumatic for you, too.”

He shuts his eyes tightly like he’s trying to block the image. “What did we say about apologies?”

Warmth spreads from head to toe at the sound of his low, raspy voice—thisafter I promised myself no more naughty thoughts about Grady Tripp.

No frowns. No fears. No tears. No imaginary sexcapades with Grady Tripp.

Tacking on that last rule felt necessary after the other night. I hide a breathy shudder, remembering his intense gaze, that sexy voice telling me never to open the door like that again, and his obvious frustration, seeing me so bare. The what-ifs kept me awake for hours. What if he’d come in? What if he’d lightened up and extended our banter to includewhyI shouldn’t open the door that way? What if he’d just kissed me out of my robe like I suspected he wanted to?He did want to, right?

It’s nice to still have that effect on someone, nice that I haven’t been rendered completely sexless and unattractive over this. Nicer still that it’s him, slowly restoring my scarred ego, piece by broken piece, with every intense stare.

Still, Ineedthe rule. Fantasizing about Grady could easily lead to falling for him, and that’s a risk my heart can’t afford to take. Moving on to someone else is frightening enough without preexisting obstacles to claw over. His guilt, for one thing. My situation, for another.

Thisone thingwill make loving me a challenge, as if it’s not hard enough to find someone to love me in the first place. Every chance after, for me, comes with a caveat, a disclosure, and an inevitable question.Am I enough?

Easier and less painful than dealing with the inevitable rejection, never asking again. I’m okay being single. Alone has been my vibe for so long that it seems natural. Joining Ashe’s family always felt impossible, even when the walk down the aisle was all that stood between me and having a family. Maybe that’s my story—Marnie Strange, friend to all, family to none.

Eeesh.

Grady stares me down, waiting.

“Yes, I know what we said. But that was then. This is now. And I need to say I’m sorry.”

His veiny, tattooed arms unfurl from his chest and hang limply at his sides. God, when did arms get so sexy?

“Ineveranswer my door that way,” I go on. “I thought it’d be Marigold, but it wasyou, and something about you and what we went through together makes me, I don’t know, feel like we’rebeyondthat now. Beyond pleasantries and decorum and normal stuff.”

I scoff and wince, knowing I’m not explaining this well. “I’m too comfortable with you, I guess. But more than how I answered, I regret joking aboutthatday. In some ways, what you went through was worse. You had to think and act and wait…”

My voice trails off like I’ve expended my oxygen with the memory. I wonder what that was like for him—the waiting. “…and I’m sorry for making light of what must’ve been terrifying for you.”

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