Page 173 of The Sweetest Obsession

Things feel a little more normal when I start the usual routine of wrangling Nell into settling down for bed, making sure she brushes her teeth, then sending her off with another story.

It’sThe Velveteen Rabbittonight.

Once she’s out, I kiss her forehead, slip out, and find Grant waiting in the hall.

He leans around the doorframe, peering in at the sleeping little heap of mischief with that slow, fond smile he only ever has for the ones he cherishes.

“She falls asleep faster for you,” he says with mock irritation. “Think she wants you to like her so much that she’s on her best behavior. Enjoy it while it lasts. When her little mask finally slips, you’ll meet the real four-foot monster.”

I laugh.

I can’t bear to think that I might not be here by the time Nell gets tired of suppressing her inner brat. But Grant seems to realize what he said.

He backs away a few steps, giving me an uncertain look in the dark hall.

My heart sputters.

It’s so hard to look at that powerful body gleaming faintly in the moonlight spilling in from a window. He’s extra mountainous when he’s tense, bare shoulders and the brute strength in his corded arms and massive hands.

Not so long ago I was pressed hot against that body, writhing in his bed, in his arms.

Now, we’re only a couple of feet away, but it might as well be a nautical mile. Close enough to catch the faint spicy scent of the oil he grooms his beard with.

But it feels like we’re looking at each other over a gulf.

The longing in those mocha eyes might kill me before anything else.

Grant looks away first, ducking his head and rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

“’Night, Ophelia,” he mutters gruffly.

“Yeah,” I answer, my voice hurt and hollow. “Good night, Grant.”

We stand there for another awkward second before he turns away with one last lingering look and slips into his room.

I linger alone in the pale moonlight, wondering if tonight was just a bad dream.

Wishful thinking.

God, this sucks.

Nell’s mask might be holding up, but mine’s falling apart like cheap plaster.

The tears come hot, heavy, and brimming with so much guilt.

For a few chilling seconds, I can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t think.

There’s nothing more I’d love than to slip into his bed and feel those massive arms around me, except I can’t, and it’s my own dumb fault.

Eventually, I trudge down the hall to the guest room and throw back a few sleep aid pills from my purse just to knock myself out.

I will myself into a dreamless sleep, hoping I’ll wake up with my heart intact.

* * *

Grant is goneby the time I wake up early the next morning.

Nell’s already up, parked in front of her cartoons with a bowl of cereal and bouncing on the couch as she yells along with theBen 10theme song.

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