Page 44 of Letters of Faith
“You’re right,” she says, patting my hand. “I don’t know you, but I do know love. I’ve been in love with the same man since I was six years old, and I know how I look at him when I think he’s not watching. Just think about what I said.”
She gives my hand one more pat before gathering up three of the cups in her hand and walking over to her daughter and husband.
When she gets to him, Brooks takes the cups out of her hands, places them on the counter, and then wraps her in his arms, pressing a kiss to her lips that leaves no question of how he feels about her.
My throat aches at the sweetness of it all, but also because it’s not Nate I’m thinking about when I wish for what Brooks and Emryn have.
Feeling like an intruder in their moment, I turn away from thescene and grab mine and Grayson’s cup. He smiles when he sees me approaching, and gosh, if that doesn’t make the conflict coursing through my veins even worse.
Sitting his hot chocolate in front of him, I pull out the bar stool on the other side of him and sit.
“Thank you,” he says, taking the cup up in his hand that isn’t being colored on.
I mumble some kind of acknowledgment, but I’m too lost in my head to notice my surroundings.
That kiss is messing with my head, making it hard to determine what’s real and what isn’t. Yes, Grayson kissed me, but he was mad—so was I, for that matter. We got caught up in our emotions, letting them win. That’s the only explanation for what happened, except it doesn’t explain how Grayson’s lips were like fire against mine, waking up a part of me that’s been sleeping since Nate’s been gone. I felt loved and cherished, but that has to be because it’s been so long since I’ve been kissed, right? Not because it was Grayson.
Avery’s voice breaks me out of my musings, pulling my attention to her.
“What’s this one?” she asks, pointing at the orchid at the base of Grayson’s wrist.
My heart slams into overdrive. He’s told her the truth of every other tattoo that he’s gotten. Will he tell her the truth about this one? Will I finally get to know the story too?
“It’s a promise to my best friend,” Grayson says after a minute of silence. His voice is low, like a rumble of thunder off in the distance.
I’m positive Brooks and Emryn can hear my heart beating in my chest from the other side of the bar.
Avery leans in and whispers conspiratorially, “Mommy says that Daddy is her best friend. Is Georgia your best friend?”
I don’t think it’s normal for a person’s heart to beat this hard. I mightbe having a stroke.
Grayson gives a sad shake of his head. “No—well, not exactly. She’s one of them, but this was my other best friend. He died last year.”
Avery scrunches her nose. “What does died mean?
Beside me, Grayson’s shoulder stiffens, but I’m too busy trying to survive my stroke to come to his rescue on this one.
Brooks runs a hand over Avery’s ponytail. “It means he went to heaven, honey.”
There’s a look of pity on Brooks and Emryn’s faces as they study Grayson, and it makes me want to claw their eyes out. I hate pity. What good does it do? It doesn’t bring Nate back.
One side of my face is going numb—nope, not a stroke, just a panic attack.
Avery gives a grave nod as if that’s settled the matter, and then she scrunches her nose again.
“What’s a promise?” she asks.
“It means that I gave him my word that I would do something, and the tattoo reminds me to keep that word.”
“What did you tell him you would do?”
Avery’s questions are innocent, the curiosity of a child, but they feel like the tip of a blade pointed straight at my heart. One wrong answer, and I’m gone.
Grayson turns to face me, keeping his eyes on mine when he answers Avery, “I promised I’d take care of his flower.”
My breath stutters, but I refuse to let the panic attack pull me under. Focusing, I start to use another technique the therapist taught me.
Five things I can see: His eyes—that’s the first thing I take note of. They’re Nordic blue today—clear crystals that let me see all of him. There’s a compass on the back of Grayson’s forearm that Avery has colored green. It’s one of my favorites. He got it when his business started to turn a profit. It was his reminder that no matter how lostyou feel, there’s always a new direction. My eyes are drawn to the sleeves of his hoodie. They’re pushed up past his elbow and reveal cords of muscle on his forearms. He works his hands in and out of fists, causing the muscles to flex, and I nearly swallow my tongue. Two more things—I need two more things. Pulling my eyes away from his arms, I continue to let them roam. A hole in his jeans’ knee is starting to fray, and I wonder how he got it. He’s meticulous about clothes. He wouldn’t have bought them with the hole in it. One more thing—just one. My eyes travel back up and land on his lips. The bottom one is full, pouting out just a little more than the top, drawing my attention to it. Biting my lip, I remember what it felt like to have his pressed against mine.
