“Stop it,” he said. “I’m not going to let you do anything you might regret.”

“The only thing I regret,” I retorted, “is meeting you.”

CHAPTER 8

Grayson

“Let me make dinner,” I said, trying for some way to get a hold of the situation. I felt off balance, knocked off my game, and I never felt that way. “You always liked my spaghetti and meatballs.”

“Make whatever you like,” she said. “I guess I don’t have a choice, since the FBI is foisting you on me again.”

It wasn’t like I thought Clementine was really going to rob a bank.

But the spike of anxiety I felt as she looked at the door, like she was deliberately taunting me, felt like a muscle I hadn’t used in a while was getting unfurled.

This was how I had been when we were married, even though back then she would never have dreamed of testing me or taunting me.

We weren’t really married, I reminded myself.

It didn’t help. The fucking muscle memory of being her husband had returned and I did not like the thought of Clementine endangering herself, even though she was clearly just trying to goad me.

Her kitchen was well-stocked and, although it was hard to drag my eyes away from her, how her hip jutted out in annoyance, her form-fitting shirt hiking up a little bit further to show more smooth, lightly tanned skin, I forced myself to look away and find pasta and start collecting the spices I’d need for the sauce.

With a loud huff, she moved into the living room and I could see out of the corner of my eye that she had sat down at her sewing machine. Since it was an open floor plan, I could glance over at her as I worked on dinner.

“What are you working on?” I asked as I opened the cans of crushed tomatoes.

She ignored my question. “Just make dinner,” she said. “We’ll see if I feel like eating it.”

I felt a strange pain in my gut. Clementine had always loved my grandma’s homemade spaghetti recipe.

I had been a good husband, I told myself defensively.

Wait, fuck. I hadn’t really been her husband.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I said into the silence.

She ignored me.

“Do you really want to spend the next two weeks saying nothing to each other?” I asked, surprised to hear a thread of irritation in my voice.

It was not like me to let any emotion through.

“Yes, please,” was all she said, refusing to look at me as she threaded something that looked like a sparkly blue gown with hanging stars, moons, and comets.

For some reason, I absolutely refused to let this go, even though I was normally a taciturn person and preferred not to speak. At least, I thought that’s how I was.

“I see you’re still doing costuming,” I said, aware that it was slightly desperate of me to keep trying to get her to talk to me.

“Congratulations,” she said. “I see the eyes haven’t gone yet.”

“Can I see some of your designs?” I asked. “You always did really nice work.”

Clementine glared at me.

“No. This isn’t a chance to reconnect, Grayson. Just do your fucking job and don’t talk to me.”