Chapter 21 "Did he feel bad about it?" I ask, taking a sip of my third beer. It's supposedly a fan-favorite concoction that only comes out during the spring fair. It's so popular, in fact, that it's the only alcoholic beverage served at the festival. All I can figure is that it's a local delicacy because it tastes like trash to me. Brooks snorts, telling me without telling me that my question was ill-informed. "No, sunshine. He was in the gym to prove a point." Sunshine? I lift a brow, and he winks with a cockiness that has me rolling my eyes. "I thought you were training, which by definition would mean that you were trying to help each other improve," I say. Brooks shakes his head. "Gray, get your girl." Our group of Gray's family and friends who are hanging outside of Patsy's laughs. Although I know that no one is laughing at me-because they truly are some of the nicest people I've ever met in my life-I still blush ... and refuse to sneak a glimpse at Gray. The heat of his gaze warms the side of my face. We've not spoken about our almost kiss in his bedroom, mainly because Hartley rode to the fair with us. We've not had a moment alone, but his leg did rest against mine in the truck. His palm has lain in the small of my back multiple times this evening. And he wiped cotton candy stuck to my bottom lip with his thumb, nearly killing me in the process. I'm buzzed. I'd blame it on the beer, but it started well before Hartley bought the first round at Patsy's a couple of hours ago. This is so foreign to me, and I wish I had Gianna here to explain it since she seems to know everything when it comes to attraction. Because I am attracted to Gray. God, help me. I snap a picture of the group and send it to Audrey and Gianna. It takes Gianna point-one seconds to reply. Gianna: How does it feel to be God's favorite? I giggle, sitting at an empty picnic table to the right of Gray and the guys. Me: Wish you were here. Gianna: Not as much as I do, I promise you that. Who are those people? Specifically, the three guys who are not Gray. Me: Gray's brother, Hartley, is in the flannel shirt. His best friend Brooks is in the navy T-shirt. Their friend Jasper is wearing the cowboy hat, and the girl with him is Meadow. I haven't decided whether they're dating or if she just wants to date him. Gianna: She wants to fuck him. He's not into it. Look at their body language. I lift my sights to the two of them standing next to Gray. Meadow's hand is casually placed on Jasper's shoulder, but he's leaning slightly away from her. If that means anything, then Gianna is right. Wonder what she would have to say about my body language with Gray? He catches my attention and mouths, "Are you good?" I grin and nod. The sky is an art piece as the sun dips just above the brick buildings lining Sugar Street. Vivid oranges and pinks, with flashes of electric purple, paint a spectacular background for the Sugar County Fair. Lights flash from food trucks offering grease-soaked and sprinkle-covered snacks. Children's joyous shouts ring out as they risk their lives on various rides, especially the one that tips them upside down. Chimes ring somewhere in the distance as someone wins a cheap prize that took twenty bucks to win-and it's wonderful. Blissful, even. Things hit different in this small town. Even the people. Me: Sometimes I wish I was as bold as you. Gianna: *pops collar* Thank you for that compliment. Audrey: You don't have to be bold, Astrid. Just be you. That's enough. Gianna: *gags self with spoon* Audrey: Gianna: Me: I'll keep you posted on the events of the evening. Gianna: Feel free to send pics. Nudes (not of you), preferably. I snort and darken my screen. "Here you go," Hartley says, holding a funnel cake in his hand. "Beer and funnel cake go together like beans and cornbread." "Really?" "Nope. Not even a little bit." He laughs. "But the line for lemon shakeups was outrageous, so you get what you get." "You'll hear no complaints from me," I say, taking it. "Thank you." "Yeah, of course." I rip a corner off the confection, getting powdered sugar all over my fingers, and pop it into my mouth. The dough is sweet and slightly crispy. I haven't had one of these in forever. Hartley sits beside me, watching his brother and friends trade stories. He folds his hands on the table. "I'm glad you came by with Gray today. It was nice meeting someone from his life." I take another bite. "Does that not happen often?" "Nah, Gray keeps his work life and home life separate. Always has. But once Mom and Dad died, he definitely pulled away." My throat tightens right along with my stomach. I set the funnel cake on the table and dust my hands off to the side. I knew they had passed, but I didn't expect anyone to bring it up, and I surely wasn't going to poke around about it. "How long have they been gone?" I ask carefully, unsure how alike he is to his brother. Will he flip-flop from hot to cold? Clam up? Or speak freely? I have no clue. "It'll be eight years this fall." He exhales, and the heaviness of the topic is written in the lines around his mouth and eyes. "I worry a lot about Gray, and I try to keep in contact with him as much as he'll let me. But, if you haven't recognized, he's a pain in the ass." I grin at Hartley. "I have recognized that, believe it or not." He chuckles. "He's happy with you around." I flinch, pulling away from him to get a better look at his face. Surely, he's joking. "I think he's just happy to be home." "No, I think it's you." He smiles at me. "You're good for him. And you must have the patience of a saint to put up with his shit, so thank you for that." "He's not that bad." Now that we've stopped fighting all the time, anyway. The thought makes me curious, and I take a swallow of beer to help make me bold. "Can I ask you something, Hartley?" "Sure." "Before Gray came to Nashville, he had a reputation for being ... difficult. I'm sure you've seen some of the headlines written about him." He nods, staring off into the distance. "I'm having a hard time making sense of the fact that the Gray in those reports is the Gray I see in Nashville, who is the same Gray that's here tonight. So what gives?" Hartley leans back, stretching his legs out in front of him. His palms scratch down his thighs like I've seen Gray do a million times. All the while, I pray silently that I haven't overstepped my bounds and put my nose where it doesn't belong. "My dad always said two things when it came to other people," Hartley says, drawing his attention back to me. "The first was to always give people the benefit of the doubt. Think the best of them, if at all possible. The second was that the way someone treats you is who they are. You judge them based on what you see and not what you hear." There's a depth to his gaze, drawing me into the moment, making me contemplate his words. It's a steady, gentle look that still holds a magnificent amount of weight. He thinks what he's said is important and clearly wants me to understand that. Point received. The band begins to play on the stage, which is just the bed of a semi-truck with a few plants and advertisements from local businesses hanging from it. The song they start with is an oldie but a goodie. I recall it playing at my grandma's house when I was a little girl. I sigh, swaying softly to the music and contemplating Hartley's words. There's more to it than meets the eye, but I can't sort through the beer-induced fog well enough to get to the nugget of truth. "Astrid, do you want another beer? Bottle of water? Anything?" Gray asks, suddenly appearing at my side. I smile up at him. "The ground is already a little wobbly, so I think I've had enough." "I'm going to go grab another one. Be right back." Hartley stands. "I'll go with you." Couples begin to dance on the closed road in front of the stage, their arms draped around each other. Everyone in Sugar Creek seems so ... happy. No one is rushed or busy. Even the children who speed by-all hyped up on candy-seem to be living their best life. It's a relief-better than I could've imagined. A long, deep breath fills my lungs, going deeper than any breath has managed in a long time. It slows my heartbeat in a way that yoga, medication, and a caffeine-free lifestyle all failed to accomplish. How is that possible? "You." Brooks's smile is full of mischief as he sets his sights on me. "Come on." "Excuse me?" "Dance with me." Dance with him? I glance over my shoulder and spot Gray watching us. "I think I'll wait here." Brooks leans closer, giving me a wicked grin. "Look, as Gray's best friend and the only person who probably knows him better than he knows himself, you need to dance with me. Sometimes it takes a little competition to spur men into action." I laugh, leaning forward on my elbows. "You see, Brooks, for that to be true, you must assume that Gray hasn't already sprung into action or that I want him to." "You see, Astrid, I know he hasn't sprung into action because I've been talking to you for three minutes and I can still chew my food properly." He chuckles. "And I know damn good and well you want him to because if there's anyone that I can read better than Gray, it's women." "Oh, please," I say, laughing. "You don't have a confidence problem, do you?" He leans back and holds out his hand. "What's not to be confident about? Now, are you going to dance with me or not?" I glance at Gray again. He has a marker in his hand, signing a shirt for a little boy. An older woman is standing entirely too close to Gray to be comfortable, and Gray's clearly not happy about it-the tension in his body proves that-but he's occupied. "Fine," I say, getting to my feet. "I hope you know what you're doing." "Honestly? I never know what I'm doing, but it always works out." "I love that for me," I say, not sure what I'm doing either, but here we are. Brooks leads me through the small groups of people to the street. He slides an arm around my waist, careful not to grip me too tightly or make too much contact, and I nod at him in appreciation. "So what do you do for a living?" I ask. He scoffs. "Not a fight fan, huh?" "When you look at me, do you see fight fan? Do I give off that impression?" "I'm not sure what impression you make. You're quite an enigma." I snort-laugh. "An enigma? Really?" "Yeah. If I had to put it into words, I'd say you're a lady in the streets, although you're currently wearing Gray's high school rugby shirt, and possibly a freak in the sheets." He thinks I fit that vibe? Whether he means that or not, I don't know. His smirk makes me think he's just screwing with me, but that doesn't take away from the heat scorching my face as I try not to die in embarrassment. "So you're a fighter," I say, firmly redirecting this conversation to more neutral territory. "My friend's brother is a fighter." "Oh, really? What gym does he fight out of?" I wince. "Boston?" "That's not a gym. It's a city." "It's the best I can do." Brooks opens his mouth, but before anything can come out, a set of large hands perch on his shoulders, and he's yanked backward. He twists, raring back with a fist-ready to pound someone into the asphalt. Once he realizes it's Gray, he drops his arm and bursts out laughing. "You about met your maker, buddy," Brooks says as Gray stands him upright. "And, no, you may not cut in." Gray wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me into his side. I gasp, going wide-eyed at the contact, but melting into him all the same. Gray lifts a brow at Brooks. "It's a good thing I didn't fucking ask, then, isn't it?" My God. Brooks smirks, walking backward and pointing at me. "You are very welcome. I take thank-you gifts in the form of gift cards and cash." "You are trouble!" I call after him, giggling. Gray's fingertips press into my side as he guides me in front of him. My skin sizzles beneath his touch, responding to him well before my brain can catch up. His gaze is rich and warm as he bites his lip to keep from smiling. "Your friend is a character," I say, trying to keep my words even as Gray connects his hands in the small of my back. "Oh, he's the main character in his own mind." Gray grins. "What did that fool have to say, anyway?" My palms skim his chest and over his shoulders, committing every layer of muscle to memory. "Nothing much. He was offended that I didn't know who he was. Speaking of that, I saw you giving an autograph up there." "It's no big deal." "I think his mom wanted a different kind of signature, if you know what I mean." He snorts. "That wasn't his mom. His mom was my third-grade teacher. That woman runs the farmers' market just outside of town." "She's very ... hands-on." "That's what Brooks tells me," Gray says. "Oh really?" He chuckles. "It's obvious that you don't know Brooks. Nothing is surprising about that guy. However, he's fucked half ... or more, of Sugar County." The band shifts gears, starting a popular nineties country ballad. More couples join us on the street. I notice many eyes, mostly women but some men, too, checking out Gray. But his? They're solely on me. I toy with the hairs on the back of his neck, enjoying the ease I feel in his arms. I'm aware that putting my guard down is probably a major mistake-lowering it has never not bitten me in the ass. But the beer and possibly the town's tranquil, unhurried vibe have chipped away at some of my restraint, and lowering the shield-if only for a moment-is incredible. "So nothing's surprising about Brooks," I say. "Tell me something that would surprise me about you." "What do you want to know?" "What are my parameters?" The corner of his lips pulls to the sky. "Are you going to stay within them?" "It depends on what they are," I say, giggling. He adjusts his hands, pulling me even closer to him. "What do you want to know?" Gray has never been this open with me or this willing to talk. He's never had me in his arms in the middle of a fair either, but that's not the point. The point is that he's trying to let me get to know him better-and I appreciate that. More than he'll ever know. I force a swallow, knowing that asking the one question I've wondered about a hundred times could shatter our newfound peace. But I do it, anyway. "Who was the woman in the picture in your apartment?" He takes a deep breath, averting his eyes to something over my head. My heart pounds, wishing I could take the question back. I shouldn't have asked it. It was the beer talking. "I-" "Caroline," he says. I cup the back of his neck with my palm. "Thank you for answering that." "She's no longer in the picture, if you're curious. No pun intended." "May I ask why not?" He looks briefly at the sky and sighs. "I have this way of ... that is, my life's complicated." He settles his gaze on me. His eyes are clear and unguarded, and it takes my breath away. "I make a lot of shitty choices sometimes, Astrid." "So Caroline is out of your life by your choice or hers?" "Mine." The shirt I'm wearing bunches up in the back, and his fingers dust against the sensitive skin just above my ass as we turn in a half circle. Our gazes lock on contact, and he touches me again, slowly, seeking approval. I hitch a breath. My body doesn't ask, it demands to be touched by him again. I lace my fingers through the back of his hair, bringing our bodies so close that even a raindrop couldn't come between us. "What about you?" he asks, his voice rougher than before. "Is there a man out there who thinks he's your guy?" Does Caroline still believe she's your girl? The question is on the tip of my tongue, but I don't ask it. It matters, but maybe not enough for this conversation. Or perhaps I'm scared to know the answer. "I think the idea of being my guy would strike fear in most men's hearts," I joke. His brows pinch together. "No," I say, hyperaware of the small designs he's drawing on my back. My throat is as dry as a bone, so I swallow to wet it again. "There's not been a man in the picture since Trace." "The guy the letter was over, right?" I nod. His eyes narrow, and he laughs softly. "How in the hell is that even possible?" "What do you mean?" He starts to speak but sighs instead. The song comes to an end, and I expect him to let me go, but he doesn't even loosen his grip on me in the slightest. Our dance fades into the next tune chosen by the band, and our gentle, lazy side-to-side sway never ceases. "I'm going to say something," Gray says. "And I hope it doesn't ... make things weird." I grin despite my heart palpitations. "Astrid, you're fucking gorgeous." What? My hands move to his chest to push away, but he stops me with the sweetest smile. "You're brilliant. Talented. Strong as hell." He chuckles as if he's remembering our disagreements. "How do you not have a line of men fighting for you?" "Probably because I'd fight them back." It's a joke designed to segue the conversation elsewhere, but one look at Gray and I know that's not going to happen. Resigned, I dangle my arms over his shoulders again. "I don't have men fighting for me, as you say, because I don't want one." "Why not?" "I don't know," I say with a shrug. But that's a lie. I do know. Although I could leave it there, Gray was honest with me, so the least I can do is be honest with him, too. "I have trust issues. I guess that's probably the crux of it. Every time I'm in a relationship, I have to defend myself." "Defend yourself from what?" "Lies. Unreliability. For daring to breathe." I've never put this into words before, so getting it out in the open is so freeing. Sure, there's a chance that Gray will feed this back to me at some point and make me feel small over it, but most men never share anything real with me, yet Gray has tonight. So maybe it'll be okay. "For the record," he says, a tease in his tone. "I like it when you breathe." My shoulders sag, and I giggle. "Thank you. I appreciate that." "Do you know what else?" "What's that?" He pulls back and looks me in the eye. "That shirt you're wearing? It has my last name on the back in big, bold letters." "I know." "And everyone here who sees us together with you wearing my shirt will think we're together." Oh God. My cheeks flush. "I'm sorry. I didn't think about⁠-" "I think that's so sexy." He bends forward, his breath hot against my skin. "I've never been prouder for a woman to wear my name." "Really?" "Are you kidding me? Look at you. If you're with me, I'm batting way outta my league." My knees wobble. I clutch his shoulders to steady myself, gasping a quick breath. Whatever's happening is happening out of left field and at full throttle ... and I desperately don't want it to stop. No one has ever said anything like that to me. I'm not sure that anyone aside from Audrey has said they were proud of me for anything. So for Gray Adler to say he's proud to have me wear his shirt with his name in big, block letters on it in his hometown? That's so, so wild. His eyes sparkle as he peers into mine. "There's only one part of today that I'll always remember as a mistake." "Which one?" "The moment I didn't kiss you." I don't know where the courage comes from, or if the years of Gianna's stories have sunk in, but I find an ounce of bravery and use it. "You could fix that, you know," I say, sounding far more confident than I really am. Because, on the inside, my brain is screaming that this is a bad idea. You don't do vulnerable, Astrid. There's a reason you're cautious. Hell, you're here because you were vulnerable with the wrong man-Trace. But my body? It's entirely on board. Gray has shown enough kindness and protectiveness today to sway it to the dark side. I'm always so controlled, so particular that I don't have fun, and consequently, I never truly enjoy myself. If I'm going to dive into the fun puddle, what better way than to do it here? With him? Gianna will be so proud. We stop swaying to the music, and every voice, body, and sound fades into the background. At this moment, only two people exist: Gray and me. He releases me from his grasp. But, before any distance is put between us, he cups my cheeks with both palms and studies me with a soft intensity that makes me whimper. A fire blazes in my core, spilling out and flooding my veins with piercing-hot flames. I lick my lips as my hands find his waist, and I feel his carved obliques. I could overthink this. I could find a million reasons to stop this in its tracks and walk away with my head held high. But I don't want to. I really don't want to, and for once in my life, I'm just going to do what feels good. If it hurts later, hopefully the ecstasy was worth it. His hardened cock presses against my stomach. I hold my breath, awaiting his next move. His grin is salacious, and I choke back a moan. "Fuck it," he whispers, dipping his lips to mine. Yes! I lift on my toes to meet him in the middle, when I'm bumped from the side. Oof. "Sorry about that," Brooks says, but I can tell he's not sorry at all. "I'm going to fucking kill you," Gray says through gritted teeth. He takes my hand and laces our fingers together. Blood pours past my eardrums as adrenaline washes through me. I'm too worked up to fully understand what just happened, but I'm annoyed enough to attempt to fight Brooks myself. "Let's go, Astrid," Gray says, tugging my hand. Brooks leans toward me as I'm being led away. "Steakhouses are good choices for the gift card." I roll my eyes and turn, trying to keep up with Gray.