Page 82 of Her Pretty Words

She squints her eyes at me like my statement was sarcasm. I’m utterly serious.

“Oh,” I say, holding up a finger. I pull open the drawer to my nightstand and carefully grab the sand dollar. “This is yours.”

She eyes the round thing in my hand, tilting her head. Then, her eyes turn to glass. “You saved it for me? After all these years?”

“I promised you I would, didn’t I?”

She runs and jumps on me, tightly hugging me around the neck and nearly killing me with her strength. I rub circles into her back for several minutes.

“Pancakes for breakfast?” she eventually asks in a sweet voice that she uncommonly uses with me.

“Sure. Pancake mix is in the cabinet by the fridge.”

She tilts her head and narrows her eyes.

“You wantmeto make the pancakes?” I surmise.

“You make themreallygood.” She shrugs.

It’s cute that she thinks she needs to persuade me. I’d do anything this woman asked me to. But I like her kissing up to me, so I drag this out. “I don’t know. You look pretty cute in that apron of yours. I can go get it from next do?—”

“Grayson,” she interrupts. “You donotwant to see me when I’m hangry.”

Is it strange that I do? I want to see Macy in every facet of her day, including when she’s miserable with hunger. I’m unafraid of the bad days. I want to be someone she can rely on. I’ll always be patient with her, and I’ll scour to the ends of this Earth to give her everything she wants and needs. I want to make her as happy as she makes me. So, I climb out of bed in nothing but my boxer briefs. I pull on sweatpants and squeeze her delicate hand on my way past her, and then I whip up breakfast for the woman I’ve known since I was a little boy.

Now I’m a man who wants to glue myself back together to be everything she needs. Everything she wants. But more importantly, everything shedeserves. And Macy Brookes, the angel that she is, deserves it all. From the tops of the stars to the burning core of this world, she deserves every bit of it.

I’m a grinning, lovesick fool, flipping pancakes and using chocolate chips to form a heart in the ones that come out perfectly round.

I’m hers. I always have been. Now I long to call her mine.

Chapter 32

Macy

“You are a brilliant woman,” Grayson says, and when I turn to him, he has the brightest grin on his face.

I wrap my arms around myself, my toes buried in the sand. A gentle wave curls over my feet. The sun beams down on my head and shoulders, but the delicate breeze chases away the burning heat. “It’s not a big deal,” I say.

“Not a big deal?” He says, shocked. “You just announced the release date of your fourth book! You’re only twenty-three. That’s pretty fucking impressive.”

I’ve never had another person to celebrate these milestones with. “I—yeah. You’re right. Itisimpressive, and I worked really hard.” I turn to him, clad in golden sunlight. “Thank you.”

“Wear something pretty tonight. I’m taking you out.” A dream. Grayson is my dream.

“Okay,” I whisper. Then, he picks me up and twirls me in his arms, my laugh picked up by the breeze and my stomach in wonderful knots.

Sometimes I wish I could fold myself into a paper story with the promise of a happy ending. From an onlooker’s perspective, we are a love story coming to the last chapter in a novel. If we were, I would proclaim my love, he would love me too, and we’d live happily ever after. But we aren’t words strung together on a page, orchestrated by a woman’s desire to fall in love a million times over through her own words.

The night begins with me curling my hair and trying on ten different outfits until I decide on an olive-green tank top with a deep neckline that shows off the little bit of cleavage I have. I pair it with black jeans and my Converse.

I nearly scream from the sight of Grayson sitting on my sofa when I come out of my bathroom. “What the hell?” I glare at him.

“You left the back door unlocked. You might want to be better about that if you don’t want uninvited visitors sitting on your couch.” His eyes rake over my body. They seem to darken when he says, “You are radiant.”

I lift my chin and act nonchalant about his compliment. “I just threw on the first thing I saw hanging in the closet.” I shrug and turn to grab my purse hanging on the wall. With my back to him, I smile.

He leads me to his car, and I take in his attire. He wears loafers, dark jeans paired with a button-down shirt, the cuffs rolled up to reveal the veins in his muscled forearms.

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