Page 72 of Please, Stay

A sharp wind snapped down the street, swirling through Juliana’s hair and causing the tinsel decorations clinging to the light poles to sway. She huddled deeper into her leather jacket and scarf. At some point, she’d developed a sense of style that made it easy to jump on the back of his motorcycle and ride off.

“Hey,” Grayson called from behind her. He wore a black sock hat with a deep navy sweater and dark jeans.

“Hi,” she said as he walked closer, stopping a few inches away. She slid her hand up his side, resting it over his chest, where she knew the lion tattoo imprinted his skin.

He took a deep breath through his nose, peeling her hand off his chest. His eyes closed as he pressed his lips to her palm.

“Are you sure you want to do this? I don’t know how bad it might get after I leave. The press will do just about anything to try and get a picture of me, and now of you.”

She stroked her nails lightly along his cheek, his short beard scratching her fingertips. “I won’t lie and say I would love the attention and the feeling like I’m under a microscope, but I want you to experience this.” She motioned to the crowd of about two hundred people across the street. “I want you with me for at least this one Christmas.” He deserved it.

He needed to know what this was like. To see how much he shouldn’t push away the thought of having a family.

“But your dad—”

“I’m done worrying about him. Besides, Ms. Iris put him to work handing out the small pamphlets with the Christmas carols we’ll sing later.” She poked him in the side, finding nothing but hard muscle. “You can sing, right?”

“Nope. Not a note. They don’t pay me to sing.”

“A singing assassin probably wouldn’t sell.” She laced her fingers with his and tugged him out from the shadows. “I bet most of the reporters have left. It is Christmas Eve.”

“Some of them don’t care about that. Chasing after anyone famous is higher on their list.” He held up their linked hands. “I know I’ve ‘dated’ before, models, actresses—”

“You’re going somewhere good with this, right?”

He didn’t smile but kissed the back of her hand. “This means more, Juliana. Much more than anything I ever had with them. You need to know that.”

She took a deep breath, willing her lungs to expand in the cold air. “I do.”

After grabbing two cups of hot cider from Mrs. Roberts and introducing Grayson as Grayson to a half dozen people from her small town, they walked across the street, together.

“I wish people would stop staring so you could have a normal night.” She blew on her drink before taking a sip of the spiced cider, just as delicious as it was every year.

“You learn to ignore it.” He tapped his cup to hers. “Thanks for bringing me.” He leaned down, a few of the worries from before leaving his expression. “I’d try to find some mistletoe, but that would make your life hell after I left.”

Probably from the photographersandher dad, who stood on the sidewalk, a complete Scrooge expression on his face. He used to like Christmas before her mom died.

“Hey?” Grayson rubbed his hand between her shoulder blades. “I didn’t mean to ruin your good mood.”

“No. You didn’t.”

A series of clicks brought a shadow over Grayson’s expression. Juliana twisted around, looking for the source. There. A man stood about fifty yards away, with some mega camera lens, taking dozens and dozens of pictures non-stop.

“I understand they want a picture of you, and maybe me since we’re together, but why take so many?” She stared at the man, giving him an annoyed look. “Shouldn’t one be enough?”

Grayson draped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her tight to his side and leading them in the opposite direction. “No. They can sell them to a variety of publications this way. Make as much money as possible.”

A van sat parked in the parking lot beside the fire truck. A woman had a microphone and stomped her foot as a man with a video camera took too long to get ready.

“Hell. Jules, are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes, I do, and stop asking me that.” She slipped an arm around his waist. It’d be nice to have Grayson without the spotlight. She never craved the attention. Loathed it, really. She wasn’t the type of journalist that wanted to stand in front of a camera. But she’d do this for Grayson. He deserved a family Christmas.

“C’mon,” she said, tugging him toward the diner. “We can hide out in here for a few minutes. Ms. Iris announced that no cameras were allowed in her diner for tonight.”

“For me?” His lips quirked to the side. “That was nice of her.”

“You seem shocked.”

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