Arm Candy (Real Love #2)(60)

God. She’s my favorite habit.

I kiss her forehead and cuddle her warm, cotton-clad body closer. “You don’t have to leave, Gracie. You won’t bother me.”

“How do you know? I can be obnoxious.” Her hands find my suit jacket sleeves, and the contrast between me dressed to the hilt and her barely dressed is nothing short of charming.

“I like you obnoxious.” I deliver another kiss, this one to her mouth, and walk to my office. “It’s your best quality.” At the doorway I turn. “I’ll break for lunch. If you leave before then, don’t you dare do it without saying goodbye.”

“Okay.”

I nod and duck into my office, log on, and crack my knuckles. It’s go time.

By lunchtime I’m ready to call it a day, which…never happens. I’m aware of Grace in my house. She’s quiet, but every time I hear the ripple of the newspaper or the clink of a spoon on the edge of a coffee mug, I want to go to her.

I send a quick email and give myself permission to stop for thirty minutes.

Grace is in the living room, spraying a plant with a mister. She’s standing on her toes to reach it, which has the added effect of raising her red long-sleeved shirt a few inches and showing off her lower back. The jeans cup her round bottom and her hair is down, her waves chaotic.

“I go away for a few hours and come back to you more beautiful. What gives?”

Her smile bursts onto her face, the sun streaming through the window catching the diamond stud in her nose.

“I was going to leave, but I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye, and I didn’t want to interrupt you. Plus, I make amazing grilled cheese sandwiches. Want one?” She relinquishes my mister to the plant stand and walks by me en route to the kitchen.

“I can’t turn down grilled cheese.”

She chatters about various cheese types and mayo, then tomato and pickles and the preference of one over the other. Each has its merits, we decide.

While she talks, I remember the Grilled Cheese of Doom on the anniversary of my equally doomed wedding day. I can’t call up the loneliness, though. Especially with Grace here. It’s great to have her here.

Here, in my bed, in my kitchen—in my life, is…Well. She makes everything full instead of empty.

I could get used to it.

I think I’m already used to it.

When Hanna left me at the altar, Grandma Rose was the first person I saw when I flew home. I had to sober up for a few days first before breaking the news to her. She took the news well. With a head shake and a cluck of the tongue. Then she gave me a piece of advice I didn’t believe at the time.

There’ll be a woman, Davis, who will come along and make you rethink love and marriage.

At the time, I swore I’d never succumb to either of those plagues again.

Now, watching Grace carefully cut my sandwich into triangles, I know I was remiss to disregard the advice of the wisest senior citizen I know.

“Voilà,” Grace announces with flair. She slices her own sandwich before settling at the kitchen table, her plate next to mine. Our two sandwiches, plates, and glasses of water, side by side.

I take my seat. I take a bite. I reward her with an ecstasy-infused moan and exaggerated eye roll. “Best sandwich of my life.”

She playfully shoves my shoulder.

I polish off the first half and wipe my buttery fingers on a paper napkin. “You’re welcome to leave a few things here, you know.”

Grace, sandwich in hand, blinks at me.

“You wouldn’t have to pack a bag every time you wanted to stay if you kept a change of clothes and a toothbrush here.”

“You have to work.” She puts her sandwich down and brushes her fingers together.

“So do you. But in between you’re welcome here. Hell, I come to your work all the time and hang around.”

This earns me a brittle smile.

“What would that look like?” she asks. “Would I call first? Swing by unannounced? Are you going to give me a key?”

I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but…“Sure. You can have a key.”

“Davis.” Her tone is exasperated. She bites the corner of her lip like she’s deciding whether or not she should say what’s on her mind. Then she does. “Are you saying you want me to move in?”

“Gracie, no. I’m trying to be pragmatic.” Moving in is an extreme step, even for me. But just as I’m about to tell her I’m not remotely interested in her living here, I realize I kind of am. I sure as hell can’t tell her that. “All I know is that I want more.”

An expression akin to panic contorts her features.

“Whatever that looks like to you,” I clarify.

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t look at me.

“Think about it,” I say easily. I hope I’m broadcasting calm I don’t feel. “Thanks for the sammie.”

She’s still not looking at me.

“Gracie?”

“I’ll think about it,” she promises.

My desk phone purrs one ring, then two. I leave her at my kitchen table and jog to my office to answer. Fifteen minutes later, call complete, I stick my head out of the door to find Grace, but she’s gone.





Chapter 22


Davis