Page 99 of Every Chance After

“What’s yours?” he asks.

“No frowns. No fears. No tears.” I decide not to tack on the recent addition ofNo Grady sexcapadesfor obvious reasons.

He nods lightly, seeming to absorb it. “Those are natural human necessities, Marina. You can’t fight them.”

“Oh, I can. I do, mostly,” I say, heavy with assurance.

“Well, that’s dysfunctional, not that it surprises me. You hide behind that charming smile of yours?—”

“You think my smile’s charming?” I ask, cooing and smiling wider.

He chuckles. “I also called you dysfunctional.”

“Well, I try to focus on the positives, Grady,” I smirk.

“Seriously, Marina. Frowns, fears, and tears are okay. Necessary, even.”

“Not for me.” I huff. It’s rare for me to feel annoyed, but the niggling sensation grows the longer he dissects me with his ice-cutting eyes. It’s like he wants me to fall apart. Would that bring him some strange satisfaction? What good would falling apart do, anyway?

“When you’re ready,” he says, many heartbeats later. “I promise. Iwillcatch you.”

“Oh, Grady Tripp, one accident doesn’t mean a lifelong commitment.”

“Iwantto be here,” he shrugs. He steps closer again. “So, forget no frowns, fears, or tears. The next time you’re pushing yourself through a mess, just think… Whatever I am, Grady’s got me.”

I break free of his intense stare, fixating on the water where the green algae and lily pads mix with blue sky reflections. Tears well in my ducts again, like they, too, are begging to satisfy Grady Tripp.Not today, tears. Not today.

“Hmm,” I chuckle, “mine was catchier. Besides, if that’s true, stop asking tohelpout and ask me tohangout instead. Marigold had fun with me. You might, too.”

The idea transforms him into Grouchy Tripp in a flash. His grimace snuffs out all our earlier sparks like a bucket of ice-cold water.Ouch.

“Um, I don’t know if?—”

“Nevermind. Dumb idea,” I say, waving my hand between us. “Now, you’ve got fish to catch, and I have worker bees to wrangle?—”

“No, wait. The other night, you said something about your next place having a peephole. What did you mean? Yournextplace?”

My head tilts in a silent sigh. Since my conversation with Peter Pike about my future tenancy, I’ve busily pushed that problem out of my mind. I can’t think about moving now. I can’t.

Smiling, always smiling, I bring a hand to Grady’s shoulders, squeezing gently. “There are those impressive shoulders again, trying to carry everything. Relax, Grady.”

He shadows me as I leave the pier, stepping over worn boards and dodging mud patches along the swamp bank. Near the store’s side, Christie and Roy argue about hanging a pin-up calendar of scantily clad women inside the smoker’s porch—a nice diversion from Grady’s rejection. I’m officially bothered—he wants to be there for me, but draws the line at hanging out? That’s fine—I won’t make the mistake of asking again.

Grady veers toward the parking lot without a goodbye, and it’s a relief watching him go.

CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT

Grady

A month passes in a blink.Indecisive March, caught between winter cold and hints of spring, finally gives way to April, with hot days and rain storms. My bad mood settles around me like the growing humidity. Even fishing with the dogs fails to satisfy me.

I wish I’d said yes to hanging out with Marina. I wanted to, but she caught me off guard.Everythingabout her catches me off guard. I caused the impact that started us, but she’s crashed into me ever since. Barreling through my walls. Softening my rough edges. Bringing me out of the shadows.

Still, I fumbled the chance, too stuck in my mantra and my fears over spending time with her.Alone.The uneasy truth is that Iachefor her. Feeling this way not only takes me off guard but also unnerves me. Making her think I don’t want to hang out was probably for the best—she’s fine, and, given her slight tone after it happened, she won’t ask again. Perhaps it’s my punishment for what happened, an insatiable yearning for a woman I’ll never deserve—that’s okay, however much it worsens my mood.

Nothing affects her, though. She’s been in excellent spirits, as always. The G&G’s transformation has been astounding. She posts photos and reels, archiving the before and afters and highlighting unique finds around the store, like the antique Budweiser sign she’s since fixed up and displayed. Roy and Christie looked like proud parents, standing in front of it with Buds in their hands. She’s also shared the store’s history whenever Wade divulges it. Stories about him and Maureen, my grandparents, and even my great-grandparents, the original owners, who traded ten cows for the “worthless swamp” and started the G&G as a produce stand for local farmers—a vibe Marina has vowed to recreate. Marina is rewriting public opinion of the place, humanizing it through stories. I created an Instagram account to follow her daily updates and keep tabs on her without physically lurking, hoping she doesn’t figure outPianoManis me. How could she? My avatar is my piano, which she’s never seen, and I have zero posts or followers. Her followers keep growing, up by a few hundred since I started paying attention.

She doesn’t post the negatives, like finding a den of ‘water bugs’ under the ice cream freezer or the horrifically dirty bathroom—Marigold tells me about what she calls the unpostables. Marina took care of a dead rat found outside the dumpster and a questionable can of Spam, cracked at the bottom and oozing a bluish mold. The horrors have become a cautionary amusement between them, not to be shared withotherpeople.

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