Page 78 of Sighs By the Sea

They both give me an expectant smile. "I, uh, guess I want more time with Gray." That much is true, but not the whole truth.

Their little interrogation is broken up when a soaking wet Tilly jogs up, droplets of water glistening on her skin. "How’s it going?" she asks carefully.

"Be nice," Henrietta says under her breath. Tilly’s face softens as she looks at me. "I was going to be, Ma, I swear."

"Good. We don’t want to scare away the woman that’s fallen in love with our Gray, now do we?"

"Oh, I don’t—" All three women giggle at my attempt to deny it.

"And next you’ll tell me you don’t want him moving in."

"What?!" I cough out, my chest getting tight. I’m met with laughter. "No! I mean, it’s way too soon?"

"Are you asking or telling us?" Henrietta asks. I blink rapidly, partly because I’m afraid to answer. Henrietta pulls the paper plates out and stacks them next to the chips. "You know…" she starts, her voice practically singing. "I bet all this fuss would calm down if Gray was living with a police officer."

Fuss? Does she mean the contract? I’m not under any impression that gangs wouldn’t try to go after him just because he’s living with me. But I also know it would help. Only a few criminals are dumb enough to attack a police officer at their home. $50,000 is a lot, but maybe not enough for that risk. Say what you want about the police force, but they do take care of their own. Especially in cases like this.

The idea is both insane and thrilling. My mind races with possibilities as I continue plating sandwiches. Could it really be that easy? "I’d love to see Georgie home. He’s my one grandbaby that I don’t have wrapped around my finger yet," Henrietta adds.

And George! Maybe it would be enough. Maybe Georgie could come home. "She’s thinking about it," Miranda says, faking like she doesn’t want me to hear.

I ignore them as I continue to get the food organized. My hands are shaking as I layer meat and cheeses until I feel a cold hand on my shoulder. I peek behind me to see Tilly smiling broadly. "For what it’s worth, I think it’s a great idea."

Fuck me. Why does that give me all the hope in the world? "But his work?" I ask, nearly whispering.

"He has a laptop. He can work in LA. Gives me an excuse to come up for meetings and shopping," Miranda adds.

I whip around, my chest rising and falling too quickly. "Are you guys really trying to get him to live with me?"

"Baby, he’s so gone for you, and that man deserves it. We want to see him happy," Henrietta says. Nods follow her words all around. Eyes darting between them, I can’t believe I’m even considering it. Henrietta laughs. "You think on it. Talk to him about it. I’m going to go shoot my shot." She fluffs her hair before lifting an extra large plate with two sandwiches and two bags of chips.

I watch in stunned silence as Henrietta walks the food over to Harry, placing a hand on his bare chest when she arrives. I nudge Miranda, nodding in their direction.

Miranda grins and shouts, “Get it, Ma!"

Everyone bursts into laughter, and even Harry chuckles, shaking his head. But as the laughter fades, I find my mind still stuck on Henrietta’s suggestion. The thought of Grayson moving in lingers with me for the rest of the day, a tantalizing possibility I can’t quite shake.

Grayson

One week without Maggie felt like torture. Each text was like a band-aid on a gunshot wound, barely easing the ache. Lonely doesn’t even begin to cover it. Sleeping was at best; restless, the sheets tangling around me like a constricting cocoon, leaving me wondering if she was tossing and turning just like I was. A few times, I called her in the middle of the night just to hear her sleepy voice, her soft murmurs soothing the storm inside me.

Pathetic? Maybe. But I don’t care. Six days felt like losing a limb. Trying to stay calm, I left the news playing on the TV in my apartment, the anchor’s droning voice barely registering in my mind. Knowing she was on her way had me pacing. I even checked my GPS app, calculating the time from La Jolla to here. Twenty-two minutes in current traffic.

That was twenty-four minutes ago if my secondhand Cartier is to be believed. The clock ticks away, each second a slow drip of anticipation. Finally, there’s a knock on my door. "Come in," I call out, then almost smack myself.

I should open the door for her. Rising to my feet, I hear the click of the knob. I cover the distance in two strides as she steps into my home, her presence immediately lighting up the room. When my eyes land on her, my breath catches. "Maggie," I half-whisper to the air.

The door remains open as she smiles, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Grayson."

Desperation gnaws at me, my hands itching to grab her. I try to keep my face impassive, masking the yearning that courses through me. "How was it?" I ask, because that’s what I’m supposed to do—remain calm, ask about her day. Be normal. Maggie closes the door and leans against it, her expression coy and inviting. "Is that really what you want to do? Talk about my day?"

I swallow hard. No. I want to push that sexy little sundress up and bury myself inside her, just to prove she’s real and not a figment of my desperate imagination. She starts to fiddle with the tie at her waist, her fingers teasing the fabric. A growl rumbles up from deep in my chest until it slips from my mouth. With the bow undone, she lets the sides of the dress fall open, revealing a white and pink polka dot bikini underneath.

How is it possible that seeing her in that bikini is sexier than if she’d shown up naked? Her name is barely a breath on my lips. "Maggie…"

Reaching out, she takes both my hands and places them on her flat stomach. Her skin is warm and soft, goosebumps rippling to life under my palms. I glide my fingertips over her smooth skin, barely able to breathe. Her scent, a mix of sun and citrus, surrounds me, intoxicating and familiar. "Take me to bed, Gray," she whispers, her words shaky like mine.

Slowly, I reach for her hand, then lead us to my bedroom. Once inside, she starts to slide the cover off a shoulder, but I stop her. "Leave it on," I say, my voice a tortured groan.

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