Page 66 of Holding Grace

Two hours later, Michael and I sat side-by-side on his couch, our feet resting on the coffee table, eating pot stickers and pad thai, watching a classic mystery that neither of us had seen before.

The waves of tension that had rolled off Michael earlier had subsided. Somewhere between hanging up, folding, and putting away – he hung up and folded, I put away – more clothes than I remembered I had, and laughing at my pink cheeks when he inadvertently grabbed a big handful of my panties out of the suitcase along with a couple t-shirts, Michael had relaxed.

I glanced over at him now, taking advantage of his focus on the movie to let my eyes run over his strong profile, down his toned torso and legs, to his bare feet propped on the coffee table. He was in undeniably amazing physical shape. It was going to be no small task to keep my hands to myself and my eyes where they belonged, especially if he kept being so darn considerate and helpful.

Other than my father, who had come and gone as he pleased, the only men I’d lived with before – my brother and Seth – had been lazy, demanding, thoughtless, and in Ellis’ case, deliberately rude. How different it would be to live with a man like Michael.

As if I’d said his name out loud, Michael’s attention swung from the movie to me.

“What?” he asked, the space between his eyebrows crinkling in the smallest of frowns.

“Not much,” I improvised. “Just wondering if I can talk you out of the last pot sticker, which by my count is technically yours.”

Michael nudged the container with the lone remaining pot sticker closer to me. “All yours.”

As I took it, I let myself imagine...wouldn’t it be nice if he was saying that about himself? That he was all mine?

A girl could dream, couldn’t she?

Maybe moving in with Michael wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Chapter 24

Michael

On Friday morning I walked into the kitchen to find Grace struggling to crack eggs into a bowl one-handed. She wore a baggy t-shirt along with tiny shorts and her hair was gathered haphazardly away from her face with a clip, with some of the strands coming loose.

I wanted to cross the kitchen, slip my arms around her from behind, and kiss her neck and that soft little spot behind her ear.

In the three days we’d lived together I’d quickly learned that living with Grace without being able to touch her was torture.

Sweet torture, true, but torture just the same.

I’d known it would be tough, even as I’d made the offer. What I’d underestimated was Grace’s appeal and how attracted I’d be to every last damn thing about her.

What I wanted to do was touch her. What I did do was make sure I made some noise so I wouldn’t scare her as I joined her at the counter.

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