Page 57 of Sighs By the Sea

Grayson

Unlocking Maggie’s front door with the hidden key, I step inside, immediately greeted by the familiar scent of fresh oranges. It makes me smile, but there's an underlying odor—stale food. The takeout boxes on the coffee table make me sigh. The disarray is a little unsettling; I’m not one to leave a home like this.

Maggie’s a busy woman—chasing criminals and all—so I head to the kitchen first. After putting away the groceries I brought, I start tidying up. If Maggie wants to be in a relationship with me, this is part of the deal. I pick up the trash, find the garbage bin in the garage, and then tackle the dishes. There are a few clothes in the hall, next to the second bedroom. Curious, I pick them up and reach for the door. I didn't know this place even had a second bedroom. But when I try to open it up, the door is locked.

Odd, but far be it for me to judge her place. Whatever is in that room, I'm sure she has a good reason for keeping it shut up like this.

Forgetting about it, I toss the clothes into her overflowing laundry basket. It would be too much for me to start a load, so I ignore that too. Once the place is tidied up, I move around the kitchen, getting familiar with the layout and pulling out the pans I’ll need. Just as I’m stirring the mirepoix, I hear the front door open.

When I look up, Maggie is standing there, but something’s off. Her face looks tired. “Hi,” she says, relocking the door behind her.

“Well, hello.” She comes into the kitchen and awkwardly kisses my cheek. “Everything okay?”

A hint of discomfort flickers across her features. “You cleaned, and you’re cooking.”

I go back to stirring. “Yes. When Grayson Cardenas is your man, he does those things.”

Leaning against me, her face softens. “The wolf likes a clean den. I get it.”

Secretly, I love that she calls me a wolf. It’s manly, a little badass. No one’s ever seen me that way before. Sure, I was in the mob, but if anyone saw how I was treated, they’d know the truth—I was at the bottom, always pushed to do more: more money, more businesses, more ways to avoid the police. I handled it all. Am I proud? Not of the work, but of being clever enough to solve those problems? Yes. But no one, before Maggie, has ever noticed.

So if she wants to call me her wolf, I’ll take it. “Woof,” I say, half-jokingly.

She chuckles, wrapping a hand around my waist. “Smells good. What is it?”

“Shrimp scampi, when it’s done at least.”

“Yum. I’m gonna change and put my gun away.” I watch her as she leaves, noticing something still feels off. Am I coming on too strong?

I shake the thought away. This is the woman who straddled me naked while I was half asleep. If anything, I’m not coming on strong enough. As I lower the heat, I hear her call out for me. “Yes?” When there’s no answer, I set the pan off the fire and follow her to her room.

Her bedroom is a good size, with a queen bed. The covers are shoved to the bottom, which makes sense—she’s a blanket hog. “In here,” she says from her closet.

Inside, her clothes are surprisingly well-organized, considering the rest of the place. When I step beside her, I see she’s at a safe. “This is a gun safe. Thumbprint access.”

I nod, impressed. “I, uh, thought I should program you in…” she trails off, rubbing her neck. I tug at her ponytail. “Why is this making you so nervous?”

“Well…” She types a code in, and the thumbprint scanner beeps. She gestures to it, and I place my thumb on it until it beeps. “If I wasn’t here and you needed protection, especially if George was around…”

“Oh,” I say, understanding the discomfort now. She’s thinking about George already, which says a lot about how she feels. We repeat the process with another safe, and the screen glows with “Print added.”

As we walk out of the closet, she stops and huffs out a breath. “Sorry, I’ve had this thing forever. It was a tax write-off.” She nervously laughs. “I bought it thinking that someday, with my own kids, I’d want to keep my gun locked up safely. And I know George isn’t here, but I think it’s a good—” I cut her off with a kiss. She’s thinking of my kid, and God, that does things to me.

When I pull back, she has a lazy smile. “Was I being weird?”

“Very. Can I get back to cooking now? Or do you need me to sign paperwork for co-leasing a minivan?” She pushes me away with a scoff, but I catch her arm. “It means a lot that you think of my son.”

She swallows, a flash of something—guilt, maybe—in her eyes before she nods. When I let her go, she quickly walks away. Once we’re both in the kitchen, I put the pan back on the burner and turn it on.

“Anything I can do to help?” she asks, hopping onto the counter. My brows furrow, but I don’t say anything about her sitting where food goes.

“No, ma’am.” Her feet swing back and forth, bumping the cabinets. I’ll never get the food cooked with her hovering. “Don’t let me bother you. Go do whatever you normally do, and I’ll bring you food.”

She sighs—actually sighs—at my words. I glance at her as I add in the shrimp. Her smile is muted, not quite reaching her eyes.

“Am I driving you crazy?” My grin is immediate. “Yes.”

She cackles and jumps down. “Okay, I’ll be in my room.” I don’t ask why. Maybe she’s stripping down so I can eat dinner off her. I could be on board with that.

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