Page 105 of Butter My Biscuit

I stand outside of the door, reading the number on the outside.

With a swipe of a key, I’ll be in there, and then what?

A part of me wants to turn around and book another flight home. Pretend like I didn’t just fly to Hawaii to talk to her. But I don’t walk away from hard conversations.

Now or never, I tell myself, pressing the key against the reader.

The door clicks open, and I walk in.

Windows fill one entire side of the room, giving the perfect view to the beach. I set my duffel down, hearing how quiet it is. I make my way through the living quarters, down a short hallway, and into the bedroom.

On the floor, I see a pair of black panties, a bra, and a dress I know she was wearing last night because I saw the picture she posted online with that lemon drop. That’s her revenge drink, the one she starts with when she’s trying to go home with someone.

The blankets are ruffled on top of the bed like she was rolling in them with a man last night. Maybe that’s where she is right now. I stare at the rumpled sheets with a clenched jaw.

“Harrison?”

I turn around to find a wet Grace with a towel wrapped around her body. Her long, wet hair is brushed back out of her face.

“Hi.” I meet her soft gaze that immediately hardens.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Yep,she’s pissed. But I don’t blame her.

She walks past me, farther into the bedroom, and then she tosses her suitcase on the bed. I can’t stop watching her as she drops the towel and proceeds to slide on a pastel-pink bra and panty set then wiggles into a flowy dress.

“What? A cat got your tongue?” She reaches behind her and tries to zip it, but struggles.

I take a few steps forward, gently placing my hand on her back, grabbing the zipper, and pulling it to the top.

“I changed my mind,” I say, my fingers still on her.

She turns around and meets my eyes. Her shampoo smells like summer flowers. “About what exactly?”

“About coming to Hawaii with you.”

“Clearly.” She presses at her temple, which tells me she drank too much last night.

I grab the unopened bottle of water on the counter, then take it back to her. “Drink up. Dehydration sucks. Bet you didn’t have a single glass yesterday.”

“That was twenty bucks,” she cries but gulps it down.

When it’s half empty, she looks up at me as I pull a twenty from my wallet and set it where the water was.

“Look, I’m here, trying. This is me offering an olive branch.”

She grabs the towel that was wrapped around her body and dries out her hair some more. “There is no trying or however that stupid saying goes.”

I chuckle at her poor attempt to quote Master Yoda. “You gotta meet me halfway, Gracie. Or we’ll never get back what we had.”

This statement nearly steals her breath away. “You’re right. But do you really think that’s a possibility?”

“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “I miss you.”

“Which version of me?” she asks, not giving any fucks with me today.

I get the sassy, volatile version of her, and while I find it fucking hot, it sucks, knowing the daggers are pointed in my direction.

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