Chapter 18 "That's probably the last book I've read," Gray says, stepping on the gas pedal and passing the slow-moving tractor we've followed for more than a couple of miles. "What about you?" I gaze out the passenger side window, taking in the beauty of rural Tennessee. I've always loved getting out of the city. Gianna's family would visit Kentucky every summer, and I tagged along a few times. Even as a child, I appreciated the peace and quiet, probably because my home life had neither. Today has been a lot easier than I expected. I spent the morning ordering supplies for Blakely's party and communicating with Wayside about Gray's deliverables for the sports drink campaign scheduled to run this fall. It was just enough to keep me from stressing over Gray picking me up at one thirty for our trip to Sugar Creek. "The last book I read was probably Romeo and Juliet or The Great Gatsby in high school," I say. Gray makes a face, looking offended. "What?" I ask, laughing. "I just ... expected more from you. That's all." "Don't judge me." I shake my head, amused. "I haven't had a lot of free time since high school. Some of us weren't rugby stars with leisure time." "Oh yeah. Right. Should've seen all the leisure time that I've had to play with." He looks at me over the top of his sunglasses. "What kind of overachieving bullshit were you up to after high school, anyway?" I chuckle, wrapping my arms around my middle, and shrug. "Let's see. I graduated at seventeen and took on my second job. Worked both of those for a full year until I started community college." I glance over at him. "Then I added a third job for shits and giggles." He flinches. "Third job? What are you? Wonder Woman?" "That sounds better than saying that I refuse to die." His brows pull together atop his sunglasses. "What's that mean?" The sun is warm on my face as I watch the greenery slide past my window. I've already said more to him than I usually tell people-and verbalized it in a more genuine way, to boot. For some reason, I don't feel the squish of my stomach, warning me to stop talking, though. It's probably because I don't care what he thinks of me. It's actually nice just talking without hyperfocusing on every single word leaving my lips. "I mean that I moved out of my father's house at seventeen," I say, sagging into the seat. "Found a studio apartment that I could afford in the Pliny Building and finished the last couple of months of high school." "Your dad let you move out at seventeen?" "Let me is a creative way to say it. Hey," I say, sitting up, "is that a covered bridge?" I lean forward as we approach the red structure with a black roof. It's wide enough for two lanes of traffic to pass each other and not much more. Beneath the bridge is a slow-moving creek bubbling and meandering through the landscape. "Yeah," Gray says, slowing the truck. "Welcome to Sugar Creek." The tires rumble across the wooden boards of the bridge as we travel over it, the sound echoing, bouncing off the graffiti-stained walls on either side. Black birds line the rafters and watch us like little silent inspectors deciding whether we're worthy to visit the town or not. "This is like a movie," I say, squinting against the sun as we pull out of the tunnel. "Or a book for those of us with imaginations." I smack his shoulder playfully. He chuckles, his dimples dotting his cheeks. Those little dents trigger a wave of warmth throughout my body, and I look away before he can see the heat in my face. We pull into the village with neat homes and manicured lawns spaced out perfectly from one another. Some of them have white fences, others have window boxes filled with beautiful flowers. Nearly every house that we pass has a porch swing, and all of them are adorable. Gray rolls down our windows, stretching his arm out of his to wave at a middle-aged woman sweeping the sidewalk. The fresh air filling the cab is sweetly scented. It's a balm to my perpetually overstimulated nervous system. "That was Amanda LaRoche," Gray says, pulling his arm back inside the truck. "I went to school with her daughter." He points at a small brick building with black shutters. "That's Doc Buckley's office. He's delivered most of the people in Sugar County at this point. He used to come to the elementary school every winter dressed up like Santa Claus." Gray starts laughing, looking at me with a sparkle in his eye. "My buddy, Brooks, ended that when we were in fifth grade. He fished his keys out of his pocket. Then when the staff was looking for them later, he held them up and said, 'I found these, but they can't be Santa's because they have a tag on it for Doc's office.'" "What a little shit," I say, laughing, too. He turns the truck down a road to our right, and I can't help but notice how relaxed Gray seems. The pinch that usually lives between his eyes has magically disappeared, and the muscle connecting his neck to his shoulders isn't flexed. His lips press together as if he's holding back a grin. He's less devil, more devilishly handsome. I can't decide whether I like it or hate it. "What is that?" I scoot to the edge of my seat and try to focus on a blur racing from the post office to the fire department. "Is that ..." I narrow my eyes. "A cat with three legs?" "Yup. That's Blooper. He had an unfortunate accident with Biscuit Jones's lawnmower probably twenty or thirty years ago." "Um, I don't think cats live that long." "Maybe not average cats, but Blooper isn't average." "Oh, of course not," I say, giggling. "I mean it." He stops at a sign and then turns left. "Half of the houses in Sugar Creek have a cat house outside for him in case he stays the night. Everyone keeps food and water out for the little guy. When the weather is bad, he holes up with the firefighters." "Why doesn't someone just take him in?" "Someone tried once upon a time, but legend has it that Blooper fought a ghost, tore down all the family's curtains, and pissed on everything they owned. No one else has been ballsy enough to try to capture him again." I huff. "I'd try it, the poor thing." "You would, huh?" He smiles. "I'd like to see that. One feral animal against the other." "You're such a jackass," I say, turning away so he doesn't see my grin. Gray slows the truck and stops at another sign. It's more of a roll-stop since no one else is around, and we turn onto a street on a slight slope. Hanging baskets hold flowers cascading down the streetlamps with whiskey barrels sitting below. There's a flower shop, Piper's Pizza, and a small building on the end with a sign reading Brew Ha Ha. "Is that a coffee shop?" I ask, laughing. "Cheesy, huh?" "No way. It's clever." "Whatever you say," Gray says. He stops the truck in the middle of the road and throws it in reverse. His arm extends along the back of my seat with his large hand gripping my headrest. My heart thunders in my chest as he glances casually over his shoulder and pilots the truck perfectly into the center of a spot. Damn. "We're here," he says, fishing his wallet and keys out of the console. I clear my throat and gather my things while shoving away the photographs my brain snapped of Gray only moments ago. The competence. The confidence. His body language screams that he knows what he's doing, and he's damn good at it. I'm really losing my effing mind. Clutching my purse, I hop out of the truck without breaking my neck. Gray meets me on the sidewalk but avoids eye contact by dipping his head to slide a black hat low on his forehead. "Ready?" he asks. I pat my purse. "Ready as I'll ever be." Gray leads me to an oversized window with green-and-gold sign lettering on the glass. Jewell Law. He opens the door and waits for me to enter first. The room is straight out of another era-green carpet, a standing ashtray, and a giant framed map of Sugar County that I'm sure was once white and not faded yellow. There's a desk in the center, but no one's staffing it. "Hey, Joe," Gray calls out. "Come on back." Gray's hand brushes against the small of my back as he guides me forward, and the contact catches me off guard. The heat of his touch in such a vulnerable, intimate spot has me shivering. My instinct is to pull away and distance myself from him, but I appreciate knowing Gray's there as I walk into the unknown. I can't believe I just thought that. "Betty's working at the mayor's office today," a man I presume is Joe says behind a dark wooden desk as we round the corner. He's older than I imagined-probably in his late sixties, early seventies-and has shiny black hair that's slicked back. The mole on his chin somehow softens his otherwise severe persona. He smirks at Gray. "Didn't know I was gonna get to see your ugly face, too." "Consider it a bonus." Gray laughs. "Joe, this is Astrid Lawsen. Astrid, this is Joe Jewell." He leans over and whispers loud enough for Joe to hear. "He looks like a dipshit, but he's a pretty damn good lawyer." "Yeah, well, that's better than being a pretty-boy dipshit," Joe cracks back, his big belly vibrating with his chuckle. He turns his attention to me. "You're too pretty for this guy." "Oh," I say, my cheeks flushing. "We're not together. Not like that." Gray shifts at my side. Joe holds out a hand. "What do you have for me?" "I brought the letter with me," I say, digging in my purse and handing it over to the attorney. My palms are damp, and I glance at the envelope, hoping there's no sweat stains on the paper. "Hey, Gray," Joe says, opening the envelope. "My lunch is ready at Piper's. Will you go get it for me?" Gray's gaze drops to mine, and immediately, I sense his concern about leaving me. I fight the urge to reach out and touch his hand ... as that would make things awkward for sure. "I'll be here when you get back," I say, nodding. He nods, steals a look at Joe, then ducks out. When I turn back to Joe, he's reading through the letter with a sour look on his face. "What's this about?" he asks, his voice full of gravel. "Ex-boyfriend, I'm guessing." "How'd you know?" He looks at me over the top of the paper. "This isn't my first rodeo. Grab a seat." I settle into a brown pleather chair that smells faintly of cigar smoke. My jeans squeak against the material like new sneakers down a corridor. I'm not comfortable, but I don't dare move another inch lest I sound like a child. "Were you ever on this lease?" Joe asks. "No. Never. Trace already lived there when I moved in. I did pay rent a couple of times, but I never signed anything." A cold knot forms in my stomach. "And Trace kicked me out and had another woman living there for I don't know how long after I left." Joe places the paper on top of the envelope and grabs a pen. "Do you have the dates of when you moved in and out?" "Um, I moved in about six years ago in October and moved out in March four years ago. If you want exact dates, I can get them." He scribbles notes on a legal pad. "No, that's fine." He motions toward a smaller pad of paper and a pencil on the corner of his desk. "Write down your contact information there for me. Name, phone, address, and email." I take it and jot down my details. "I'll take care of this," he says, watching me as I put his things back on his desk. "You'll get a copy of all communications either by mail or email." The door opens behind me and footsteps sound through Betty's office. I lick my lips. "Before we get the ball rolling, how much do you charge? Because I might have to make payments, if you can do that. If not, I have a credit card, but I'd rather not pay that way if I can help it." "Don't worry about it." "But-" "Piper said if it's cold, it's your fault," Gray says, plopping a bag on Joe's desktop. "You were supposed to pick it up an hour ago." Joe rolls his eyes. "Piper can settle the hell down. I paid for it, so what's it to her?" He peers into the bag with chunky fingers. "Looks like they got it right, for once." Gray winks at me. "I'm gonna eat," Joe says. "You two get the hell out of here. It was nice to meet you, Astrid." "But we didn't get a chance to discuss payments," I say, my heart pattering. Joe looks at Gray. "Get her outta here, will ya?" "Let's go," Gray says, motioning with his head to follow him. "But ..." "Come on." Gray's tone has a warning embedded in the notes. "See ya, Joe." "Goodbye." I stand, feeling an urgency to settle the payment terms, because I'm not sure what Joe expects. It complicates it more that he's Gray's friend. So if I can't pay, that could hurt my relationship with Gray, which, in turn, could hurt my relationship with Renn. Before I can start a protest, Joe takes a bite of his sandwich and turns his attention to his computer. "Thank you, Joe," I say, my voice wobbling. If he hears me, he doesn't show it. What the hell? I run various scenarios through my head as we walk back to the truck. The taillights blink as Gray unlocks the door, and I climb into the cab, having decided that I'll send a couple of hundred dollars to Joe when I get home. At least that'll be something, and we can go from there. "I grabbed us lunch," Gray says as we get our buckles fastened. "Didn't know what you wanted, but you got a ham and cheese. Piper's daughter is also allergic to nuts, so they're safe for you to eat." My throat is thick with emotion as I look at his expressive brown eyes. It's hard to accept that this Gray exists in the same body as the Gray that I met at the gas station. I never would've thought that asshole could be this considerate-about my allergy, Joe, and bringing me to Sugar Creek. I keep looking for the catch but come up empty. The engine roars to life, and we start back the way we came. "Ready to head to my brother's for a little bit?" Gray asks. I smirk. "Do you mean the ranch?" He fires me a playful, dirty look. "Don't start." I laugh. "Of course, I don't mind. You brought me here, after all. Thank you again." "Thank me by getting my sandwich out, please." "Oh. Sure." I pull out two sandwiches and decide they're the same. So I unwrap one of them, leaving the wrapper gathered at the bottom, and offer it to Gray. He reaches for it, his knuckles grazing mine as he takes it from me. My eyes dart away from his. Think of something to say. "Joe and I didn't discuss the price of his services, and I'm worried about it." Gray chews slowly. "Well, don't." "That's easy for you to say." "Joe had a daughter my mom's age," he says after swallowing. "Her name was Grace, I think, and she was friends with Mom. Grace had a boyfriend who ... hurt her." He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. "Let's put it like that. So you could say that Joe has a soft spot for women who are getting fucked over by men." I frown, imagining Joe as a father to a young girl. He's hard and brusque, but something tells me he's a great father. One who heals rather than destroys young souls. "It's his way of helping settle the score or something," Gray says. "If you feel like you must do something, just write him a note. Nothing too mushy. That'll be all he needs." Gray stops at a sign and takes a deep breath, then he turns to me. Our gazes connect. When I look at him this time, it doesn't quite feel like we're just coworkers. It doesn't seem like we're two people who secretly hate each other anymore, either. Maybe it's the start of a tolerance or an understanding. Either way, I like this much better than wanting to suffocate him in his sleep. He gives me a half grin and takes off again. "Can I ask you a question?" "Sure." "The ex-the one who that letter was over-is he the reason you love chess?" The question is simple, but I hear the layers in it. He's not just asking about Trace, nor is he asking about chess. The words I used at his apartment when I told him about my driveway chess habit echo through my head. "Because the habit started when I was avoiding going in the house." This isn't the first time he's remembered something I've said-something important. Things that matter. It's slightly terrifying to know that he paid attention because he could use the information against me. But, so far, he's only used it to get to know me better. And if I'm being honest, it's been so long since anyone outside of Gianna and Audrey gave a shit about me that it feels nice. Especially while I'm in the middle of this Trace crap. I give him a small smile and a shrug. "I guess one good thing came out of my relationship with Trace, huh?" I can't read the look he gives me, but my heart swells, anyway. I'm thankful when my phone buzzes in my lap and gives me a reason to look away. Audrey: Just checking in. Are you okay, Astrid? I sneak a peek at Gray again. He's chewing on his bottom lip, and the wind coming in from his partially lowered window feathers his hair. He's not relaxed like before, but he's not angry like usual, either. And I must wonder ... why? He looks over his shoulder at me, and we exchange the softest smile. Not once did I ever expect to be so grateful to Gray Adler. He intervened and set this up with Joe-which just might result in a no-pay situation-and let me tag along on his trip. I hate to admit it but having him with me today did make it a smidgen easier. I'll never tell him that, though. Me: I'm pretty good, actually. Gianna: Ride that fine-ass man like a horse. Oh, Gianna. I laugh and settle into my seat. What a mindfuck of a day this has been. At least the hard part is over.