Page 128 of Mess With Me

That’s supposed to make him laugh, but instead, Chester screws up his face. “Adoption records?”

“Oh, uh…” I want to get him sitting down, but he looks so curious, I tell him about the Eleanor project. “It’s an old legend at Griffin’s family hotel. Supposedly the ghost of someone murdered there used to haunt the east wing. You’ve heard of it, right?”

“I have not.”

“Well, a real woman was murdered there, over a hundred years ago.” I can’t help the note of impassioned energy that gets into my voice as I speak. Then I remember I’m supposed to be taking care of him.

“Is that so?” he asks, leaning his hand on the counter.

“Chester—”

“What were their names?”

I sigh. Stubborn man. “Come on. Sit down and I’ll tell you.”

Once I’ve got him seated at the table in the dining room, which is covered with what looks like three puzzles in progress, I explain more, sticking to the very high highlights—Eleanor and James had a lovechild in Switzerland. We’re trying to find out what happened to the baby and James, and, most of all, who really murdered Eleanor.

As he listens, Chester’s expression turns contemplative.

Or maybe he’s just exhausted.

“Anyway,” I say, wishing I hadn’t brought it up. “What did the doctor say? Any tips for sleeping better?”

He blinks, as if remembering where he is. “Doctor? Oh. Well, not much the doctor can do about gettin’ old, is there, sweetheart?”

“Maybe—”

“Listen, Sasha. I’m fine. I am hungry, though. I’m feeling energetic enough to holler at your husband to go get me some eggs, so why don’t I do that while you pop a piece of bread in the toaster for me? I got some loaves in the freezer I made up last week.”

I frown, inspecting him, but he does appear to look a little more energized. And if he was making loaves of bread last week, he has to be okay, right? I realize he’s actually letting me help him, so I smile. “Okay, Ches. You go make Griff get some eggs and I’ll take care of the rest.”

The minute he’s gone, I pull open the cupboard under the sink, wincing as the smell of the overstuffed garbage hits me square in the face. I find a pair of gloves down there, and after putting them on, get to work cleaning up. Chester’s gone a long time—I was counting on him getting distracted, and sure enough, when I peek out the kitchen doorway, I see him sitting outside on the stack of wood by the back door, gabbing with Griffin.

Griffin, who’s straightening out a long board on the frame, laughs at something Chester says, and my chest swells. He looks gorgeous, with his pen behind his ear and his plaid jacket, smiling wide, thinking no one but Chester can see him.

I think back to the men I dated before Griffin. None of them were particularly kind, unless they were talking to people they considered peers. None of them were outright mean like my father, but they never went out of their way to talk to any of the people who served them coffee or trimmed the hedges at their parents’ estates, either.

I realize right then that up until this moment, I’d been worried that the reason I feel so much for Griffin is because he saved me from Vincent Creelman. But that’s not really what he did, is it? He saved me from a boring, soulless future. One where I never would have met Chester Brown.

And where I don’t think I’d ever feel about a man the way I do about him.

But it’s not permanent, is it?

I pull back into the kitchen, busying myself with opening a new trash bag and stuffing items from the counter into it. My heart suddenly aches at the thought of going our separate ways after all this is over. Because even with trash in my hand in an old man’s kitchen, this life Griffin’s given me is a thousand times better than the life I had before.

My life without Griffin.

An hour later, after Chester’s stuffed full of scrambled eggs, toast, and a glass of grapefruit juice I found from a jug that passed the sniff test, I tell him I’m going to walk him down the hall to his bedroom.

He yawns, and for once, he doesn’t argue.

“Gotta make a pit stop, though,” he says, taking a sharp left into the bathroom as we move slowly down the hall.

“I’ll wait right out here.”

“If you insist,” he says, rolling his eyes.

At least he still has the energy to be sassy.

---