Page 39 of Letters of Faith
“Don’t ignore me,” I say, shoving his shoulder to get his attention, but he must be made of stone because he doesn’t budge. The only sign he noticed at all is the slight twitch in his eye.
Remaining silent, he returns his gaze to me, and that look freezes me in place. There’s rage in his eyes, bubbling just below the surface and on the edge of breaking free.
I’m driving the man crazy—becoming more of a handful than he is ready for, but I tried to warn him it would happen the day of the funeral.
He said he could handle it—handle me—but I see now that I’ve become too much, and soon enough, I’ll lose him too.
Narrowing my eyes, I glare at him as I step forward and poke a finger into his chest.
“If you’ve got something to say, say it,” I say, my voice low and controlled.
I’m actually surprised by how much control I have over my temper because inside, I’m a volcano—one that has been dormant for a long time and is now ready to erupt. I’ve held it all in, been the grieving widow, but now all those emotions are about to get messy.
“What were you thinking?” he asks. The timbre of his voice is dark and vibrates with the tension surrounding us. The air around us is alive, sparking with both our anger.
“Not that I have to explain myself, but I was mad—at myself, and Nate, and you. I was mad, and I needed to yell and scream and get itout, so I came here—hoping that I could make sense of things.”
He steps closer, narrowing the space between us. I fight the urge to step back, refusing to give him the upper hand.
“Make sense of what, Georgia?”
The use of my real name sets me off, causing me to explode. At this point, I hardly notice the cold, my anger running through me like lava.
“I received another letter today,” I say, reaching into my pocket and slapping the envelope against his chest. He doesn’t bother looking at it. Instead, he brings his hand up and presses it over mine, right over his heart.
“What did it say?” he asks. His face is stone, revealing nothing, but his heartbeat gives him away, beating erratically in time with mine.
I smirk, giving him his own signature look before saying, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
It’s petty, but this isn’t one of his business meetings where he can glare and get whatever he wants. If he wants to know, he’s going to wipe that irritation right off his face before he gets a word out of me.
“Yeah,” he says, gravel deep in his voice as he lifts his hand from mine and leans forward. He braces himself with his hands resting on the top of the car, bracketing me between his arms and forcing me to step back. My back hits the car. There’s nowhere for me to go—not that I want to go anywhere. Being around Grayson makes me feel normal. My breath comes in spurts as he leans his face towards mine, stopping when they are inches apart. “I do want to know, and Georgia, you’re going to tell me because I’m barely holding myself together right now. So tell me what it said before I lose control and do something we’ll both regret.”
He’s so close that his breath kisses my face with each word. Biting my lip, I close my eyes and try to gain control of the situation, but even though I can’t see him, I know I’m never getting that power back, not with him this close. When I open my eyes, he’s watching me, studyingevery inch of my face.
I open my mouth to respond, and his eyes follow the movement, never leaving as I speak. “If you want to know, you can read it yourself.”
My hand is still pressed to his chest, and I feel it rumble when he lets out a growl of frustration.
“No, Peach—not this time. Tell me what it says.”
Every one of my senses is on overdrive. It’s overwhelming, making my thoughts a jumbled mess. Not even an hour ago, there was a ball of anger rooted deep in my chest, but now all I can think about is how maybe going on a date wouldn’t be so bad—especially if it’s with this man in front of me.
“It—uh—Nate, that is, said I should go on a date. That’s my next task—a date.”
“Look at me, Georgia,” he commands. Refusing, I lift my chin and stubbornly stare past him. One of his hands leaves the car and grips my chin. His touch is soft as he tilts my face so that I’m looking at him. “Why did that make you angry?”
“Because it’s something I want to do, and I’m mad at myself for that. I promised Nate forever.” My answer is soft, a whisper against the wind, but Grayson hears it. His face softens, and I watch the muscles in his neck move as he swallows my confession.
“You gave him his forever, Georgia. Your forever just lasted longer, and that doesn’t mean you have to be lonely.”
His thumb slides across my skin, tracing my jaw, and I worry I might melt in a puddle right there.
“That—um—isn’t the whole story, though,” I say, trying to concentrate but finding it hard to focus on anything other than his skin against mine.
“What else? Lay it on me.”
“I—I don’t want to go with a stranger.”
