Worth the Risk(104)

So many faces are the same as last time, but the buzz is a lot bigger this go ’round. Sunnyville is anxious to make one of their own Modern Family’s Hot Dad of the Year.

There’s a live band playing. Someone from Modern Family has placed signage in optimal spots for photographs, and there are red and white balloons tied to the ends of the booths to add a splash of color.

From where I stand in the back, I’ve managed to catch a glimpse of four of the five contestants. All but the one I crave to see—Grayson.

For the first time since I stepped foot back in Sunnyville months ago, I feel completely out of place. Strangely enough, my place has kind of been beside Grayson, and to be so uncertain of how he’s going to react to seeing me again is nerve-racking.

“Look at you! It’s only been a week, and I already miss the hell out of you.” Rissa grabs me in the tightest of hugs, which makes me wants to cry.

“It does feel like forever, doesn’t it?”

“See? It’s all that clean air talking and messing up your thinking.” She laughs and squeezes my hand.

“Not hardly.”

“When you didn’t respond to any of my texts, I didn’t think you were coming.”

“You texted?” I ask. “My damn phone is acting up. I did that update, and I’m not getting any of them. It’s been frustrating as hell.”

And, of course, that says nothing about how it feels wondering if Grayson has been trying to text to me too.

I doubt he has, though. My hoping that he has, and I just haven’t been getting them, is nothing but wishful thinking.

“Have you seen him yet?” Her voice lowers, and her eyes soften as the bar buzzes around us.

I don’t trust my voice, so I just shake my head.

“Hmm. Neither have I.”

“But I saw Braden . . . and while he’s more than gifted in the looks department, he isn’t my Gray—he isn’t Grayson.” It’s easier to slip into this banter between us than to think about the nerves rattling around inside me.

“Girl, don’t be dissing my Braden. He’s fine as fuck.”

“He is, but he’s no Grayson.” I wink. “I’m sure the people of Sunnyville would agree with me.”

“Of course they would. That’s who they’re all here to see.” She looks around and gauges the crowd. “Speaking of Grayson . . .”

I follow her gaze, and everything about me freezes, melts, wants, and needs at the sight of him. I’m sure my breath catches. I know my hands tighten. I know I rise onto my toes to get a better view.

Grayson is flanked by his brothers. Both Grant and Grady have smiles on their lips that seem to widen with each and every person who greets them, but it’s Grayson who owns my attention. He’s wearing a button-up dress shirt and jeans, which makes him look impossibly more handsome, and yet the smile on his face is more cautious than anything. The look in his eyes as he scans the crowd more pensive than at ease.

And for the briefest of moments, our eyes meet. His feet falter. My breath hitches. Hurt. Longing. Need. Want. Desperation. It’s everything I tell him in the simple glance. Everything I can think to say with a look, since when I say it with words, it doesn’t seem to matter.

“Lawd have mercy. What I wouldn’t give for a man to look at me like that.”

He’s looking at me, all right. But he looked at me the exact same way the last time I saw him . . . right before I climbed into my car and drove away after Luke’s date night for us at the hangar. Looking at me that way didn’t make him chase after me, and it definitely didn’t make him fight for me.

Will he now?

“Now that he’s here, we can get this show on the road,” Rissa says and pushes my back so that I move toward the front of the room. I want to stop her and tell her that I have no business even being a part of this anymore, but she doesn’t let me.

I suddenly have the sinking feeling that my conversation with my dad was a huge mistake. Each step I take toward Grayson—toward the front of the bar—only serves to solidify it.

It isn’t as if I was envisioning that he’d walk into the bar, stride over to me, and kiss the breath out of me. Well . . . maybe I was. But he could at least make a move toward me instead of standing there, frozen in place, stoic as can be.

Before I can steer his way or catch his eye again, Rissa is pulling me with her onto the makeshift stage where the band’s gear is set up. She holds a microphone out to me, and I stare at it without taking it.

I can’t do this.

I can’t announce Grayson as the winner.

I can’t stand here and smile and congratulate him without breaking down and crying. It would make me look like a complete fool and call even more attention to our rumored relationship.

“No. You do it,” I murmur, hating the feeling of so many eyes leveled on me.

“This is your baby.”

“No, you’re the one who got the ball rolling . . . you should see it through.”

Rissa gives me a curious look and then shrugs. “Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of Modern Family, I’d like to thank you all for coming out tonight to celebrate the culmination of a joint effort between Sidney here and myself. We wanted to find a way to celebrate fathers. To give them the praise they deserve for being hard-working and good-loving. What better way than to have a contest and involve America in helping us find someone to celebrate? So Sidney thought up this contest, which I normally would have said didn’t fit our model, but when people started applying, I realized it could work. And it did. After four rounds and millions of votes, we have our top four contestants!”