by Leigh, Ember
GrayWorks, LLC is a legal entity by the end of August.
And one of the most interesting things about my business plan?
I can finance the whole business myself. I run the numbers as a thought experiment. If I keep the house and ditch the investment in the west coast start-up, I have enough in my savings to cushion my first two years.
And as I finish out yet another ninety-hour work week at the bank I loathe to call home, I swing an idea past my boss.
A one-year sabbatical.
He can’t guarantee me anything when I come back to work, but I’m eligible. And at this point, I don’t fucking care if the entire company goes under while I’m gone.
The ink is dry before Labor Day.
Chapter 29
HAZEL
Weeks trudge by without Gray. I can only hope that it’ll get better, though I don’t necessarily believe it.
See, he has a way of tainting everything. It started on the day we were born: September ninth. We have a pretty auspicious birthday, if you ask me. But this year, our birthday is going to be a little harder than usual. I always think of him on our shared day, but this Saturday? We’re turning twenty-nine, and a few weeks ago we were still fucking, and goddammit why am I still considering showing up to his apartment in Brooklyn on the daily?
Everyone is relieved that I’m not moving. I gently informed my family friend that she couldn’t buy my house. Hazel is staying in Bayshore.
At least until the grief drives me back to New York.
The other stupid thing about our birthday this year is that it falls on the same day as the Bicentennial Ball. So I can celebrate my birthday in style, drowning my sorrow in an evening gown while nursing martinis instead of cooped up in my house, alone and sad, in yoga pants.
Great.
The days leading up to our birthday turn into a sort of fever dream. I’m thinking about the double heart emoji he sent me three weeks ago like it’s an epic love poem. He’s sent one other emoji since—an owl. Which might as well be a new stanza in the texted love saga, because he knows how much I love owls.
One day at The Daily Shop, when I’m on the hunt for feta cheese, I swear I see him cross the end of the aisle. But it’s got to be my broken heart, wanting him so badly that I’ll conjure the sight of him anywhere.
I even fake-see him heading toward the lake the night before the Ball. But it can’t be him, because he hates Bayshore, and he lives in Brooklyn and is happily engaged to his soul-draining job. Apparently my broken heart knows no bounds in imagining him literally everywhere.
The day of the ball arrives. Happy birthday to me. London shows up at my house after driving in from Columbus. We have brunch and mimosas planned, with a quick dip in the lake before we start officially preparing for the ball. I’m not taking my dad, but not for the reason you’d think. He’s actually busy tonight. But yeah—I invited him.
“You seriously didn’t get a date for the ball?” London looks genuinely disappointed as we begin laying out our makeup bags in my spacious master bath. “I thought I told you to put an ad on Craigslist.”
I snort. “Well, I did just a little worse than soliciting a stand-in boyfriend on Craigslist. I actually snagged a real boyfriend long enough for us to not attend the ball together.”
London sighs, her mouth rounding as she works on her mascara. “Men.”
“Yeah. Specifically, the Daly brothers.”
I crank up some happy pop music to guide us through our makeup process and to help me keep my mind off Grayson. But it’s useless. It always is. He’s the stain at the back of my mind that won’t lift, no matter how much baking soda or vinegar I use.
I wonder what he’s doing every day. I imagine him shirtless in his apartment, looking out the tall windows. I imagine him barking at other drivers like the road-rage psycho he has apparently become. I imagine him groggy and just waking up, morning breath and all.
And then the doubts creep in. Maybe I’m the only one still smarting from the break-up. Even though I initiated it. Maybe he’s had three girls into his apartment since I left. That thought pushes my lips into a frown, which makes me frown more. I almost mess up my eyeliner because of it.
The only way to beat back the jealousy is to tell myself he doesn’t have the time—or energy—to take a lover. With his crazy work schedule, how could he? Inside my head, I’m nervous laughing and patting my own back. Hazel, you’re fine. Everything is fine.
London and I are legitimate bombshells by the time we’re done. Callie comes over at the tail end of our prep session, already in full regalia. She’s meeting Anthony here, and then the four of us will head to the ball together. Callie and London hug and get caught up in my living room, sipping chardonnay, while I rush around tending to the final details.
I’m wearing a teal, satin, floor-length evening gown. It’s got a V-neck that dips low enough to tease, and it’s sleeveless, so I won’t melt from the late-summer heat. The air is blasting in my house, but brief forays outside have my foundation threatening to slide off. It’s okay—I’m a professional. I used the setting spray.
Together, the three of us gals looks like any man’s wet dream. Tanned, dolled up, and voluptuous. My hair, which has been the color of dark mahogany for a few weeks now, is pulled half up with soft waves flowing down my back. Each time I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I pause.
Hot damn.
Now if only Grayson cared enough to be here.
My fingers twitch with the thought of sending him a selfie, but no. He doesn’t deserve this. Tonight, I’m a Bayshore exclusive. To be appreciated within the city limits. I’ve gotten pretty good at rationalizing my way out of texting him these past couple weeks. Even though I heavily consider doing it about three times a day.
When Anthony shows up in a black suit and shiny shoes, his hair as curly and wild as it is after an evening on the boat, he gives a low whistle. But his gaze settles—and stays—on Callie.
“Hooooly shit.” He walks over to her slowly, his hands finding her waist. I have to look away. I’m still sensitive to overt displays of happy couples, being that I’m still mourning the loss of the love that seemed fated but wasn’t.
The four of us trek to Anthony’s SUV. As the maple and oak tree-lined streets blur past us, the scent of the lake in the air, I resolve to make this the best birthday yet. I might be sad about Grayson, but my future doesn’t have to be sad. I’ve hit nearly every marker I’ve set for myself. So why not add a new love interest to the amazing possibilities of life?
I try to imagine someone else. Some other tall, dark, and handsome man. Like a birthday gift to myself. But my mind always jerks back to Grayson.
It might always be that way.
The parking lot outside the downtown convention center is packed. We hike our dresses and sweat out the walk toward the gilded double doors at the front. The building used to be a public ballroom back in the 1800s, and since 1960 it’s been the Bayshore Convention Center.
Inside, cool air sweeps around us. Everything is glossy and fancy. I don’t take three steps before someone offers me a cube of cheese with a toothpick in it. Thirty seconds later, champagne. A minute later, shrimp.
Already this is the best party ever.
Callie and London and I wander around, bright-eyed and mingling. Everyone is here. Everyone. It’s like the social volcano of Bayshore erupted right into this building. I’m stopped nearly every ten feet by someone else I know. Compliments on my dress. Questions about real estate. Even a couple single guys striking up clearly manufactured conversation.
It’s a gorgeous, gilded rosette blur. The parquet floors of the grand ballroom shine under the light of the glittering chandeliers. Elegant sconces line the walls, with the occasional white pillar shooting upward to the tall ceiling. Everyone in here is in awe and beaming.
And I’m trying to look as happy as the rest of them.
Dinner tables fill half of the ballroom. We have assigned seating, but I’ll look f
or my spot later. For now, it’s all about the hors d'oeuvres and champagne. A small stage where presentations will be made and speeches given faces the open part of the ballroom. There’s a whole slew of programming, which I would know about if I actually read the program they’d handed me upon entering.
But instead, I drift around, smiling at people. Enjoying the jazz being provided by the live trio tucked into the corner. Trying to feel as put together and satisfied with life as the rest of the world sees me.
One of the organizers comes onto the stage to formally welcome everyone. Applause fills the ballroom, and I realize then that I’ve entirely lost Callie, London, and Anthony. I spot Bryce across the room, and I don’t know whether to wave or slink away, so I just grimace and awkwardly turn toward the nearest plate of snacks. I reach for a canape, even though I’ve already had three.
A few announcements come and go. The chair of the Chamber of Commerce gives a speech, and I’m only half paying attention at this point. Mrs. Koch sweeps onto the stage a moment later, and as I’m admiring her dress, she begins talking about the work of her Bicentennial Committee. I tune in slightly, mostly concerned with getting another flute of champagne while the waiter is near. I snag one—and two panko-breaded shrimp. Score.
“…which is why we’re incredibly proud to be partnering with Bayshore’s newest local business, GrayWorks!”
Applause fills the ballroom once more. I pop the shrimp into my mouth, munching happily. At the stage, a swath of dark hair catches my eyes. Broad shoulders. The build of a soccer player turned businessman.
God, he looks like Grayson. This is how head over heels I am. Now I’m imagining basically anyone could be the love of my life. Still, I can’t rip my eyes away from the back of this man as he jogs up the stairs. He takes the microphone from Mrs. Koch, squeezes her arm, and then faces the crowd.
Grayson Freakin’ Daly is smiling out at the ballroom.
I go rigid, champagne flute paused halfway to my mouth. I can only stare as his sexy bass fills the ballroom.
“Thanks, Mrs. Koch, for that lovely introduction.” He laughs a little, smoothing a palm over the side of his hair. The previously shorn sides are growing out, and the curls on top are glossy and neat. He’s wearing a jet-black tuxedo, complete with leather oxfords. My mouth parts involuntarily. I cannot believe my eyes. London appears at my side a moment later, gripping my forearm.
“Is that Grayson?” she hisses.
I nod. Somehow, he makes black tie look easygoing and impossibly sexy. Questions form a logjam inside my body. I’m not sure I’m breathing.
“I’m extremely pleased to be back in Bayshore to announce the GrayWorks initiative,” he says, a hand in his pocket as he addresses the crowd. “This is a pet project of mine that ballooned into…well…something much larger than I anticipated. But when I realized that my beloved hometown needed this service, the type of service I want to provide, I knew that I was the man for the job. I plan to renovate not only buildings, but also relationships while I’m in Bayshore.”
Beloved hometown. I miss a full fourth of his speech as I mull over these words. This cannot be Grayson Daly. Unless he was abducted and lobotomized. I blink, looking around, trying to find any other Daly family member. Just to check that Gray’s okay. That he hadn’t suffered a major brain injury that erased the last fifteen years of his life.
But I know for a fact that Annette wasn’t planning on coming, much less Weston and Maverick. Connor has been back on the west coast for weeks, and Dominic? Who knows? I’ll have to talk to Grayson myself. Which still sounds surreal. Because he’s here.
In Bayshore.
On the stage.
His speech winds down, and my palms begin to sweat. London turns to me, her glossy blonde hair shining under the lights.
“Wait. Did you know about this?”
I blink several times. My voice has completely disappeared.
“Don’t worry. That’s all the answer I need.” She tuts, shaking her head. “Damn, Grayson looks good.”
I agree with her—obviously—but still can’t force a word past my lips as I struggle to keep track of Grayson now that he’s stepped off the stage and started winding through the crowds. Announcements continue, but I don’t hear a word of them. All I can see is that one curl of dark hair on the top of Grayson’s head. It is my beacon as he gets lost in the crowd. Until—poof.
He’s gone. And judging by how magically he appeared tonight, I’m not sure I’ll see him again. I could have dreamed the whole thing and roped London into my fever sweat. I can be very persuasive while ill—I wouldn’t put it past me.
My stomach shrinks to an acorn as I move around the ballroom, searching for Gray. I lose London in the mix. Familiar faces all around me light up with recognition as I flit around the room. Once I’ve circled back toward the buffet tables, which are being discretely prepped by the catering staff, I feel like I’ve finally faced the hard truth about tonight: I imagined that speech and Grayson is actually in Brooklyn.
But when I turn, I catch the assured stride of the one man I’ve ever cared to notice. Grayson’s icy blues land on me, and my entire body feels electrified. Like I could burn to a crisp on the spot.
I stall. Like, deer-in-headlights style. Grayson stops, narrowing his eyes at me. He points at me.
“Hazel Matheson?” He tilts his head, perfecting that air of haven’t seen each other in decades. “From high school?”
His joke breaks my spell. I laugh, cocking a hip. “The one and only.”
He saunters my way, his hands shoved into his pockets. He’s smirking like a man with secret knowledge. And boy, did he have plenty of it tonight. By the time he reaches me, my head is tipped back, and I’m gazing up at him. Still hesitant to believe that this is fully true. It could still be in a fever sweat. It could still be the best dream of my life.
“What are you doing here?” I murmur, unable to hide my smile.
“I covered all of that in my speech,” he says, looking supremely satisfied. “I take it you didn’t listen.”
“I was too distracted by this.” I wave my fingers over the expanse of his tuxedo. “And too busy thinking that this entire night has been a hallucination.”
His smile spreads wider. “Hallucination?”
“Yeah. Because you’re supposed to be in Brooklyn shouting at the shitty drivers.”
A laugh rockets out of him. “Let’s just say I needed to come back for a very special event. Happy birthday, by the way.”
“Yeah.” My fingers curl, nails biting into palm, as I fight the urge to throw my arms around him. I want him naked and mine already, but I need to play it cool. At least take him to a storage closet or something. “Same to you.”
“Twenty-nine.” He clucks his tongue, looking around. “It’s a pretty good age to shake things up. Take some leaps. Shit like that.”
I blink rapidly, feeling tears bloom where there previously were none. “Yeah?”
His grin softens as he looks down at me again. He rocks back onto his heels. When he speaks next, his voice is tender. “Hazel, can I kiss you already?”
I nod, and he surges forward, capturing my head between his hands. We kiss indecently, pure tongue and panting and repressed moans. When we pull apart, his eyes are cloudy with arousal.
“You look fucking amazing,” he whispers.
“Why did you come back?” I demand again, already feeling the sadness settling in. Emotion tightens my throat. “Gray, I can’t handle losing this again. I won’t be able to let you go now.”
“You really didn’t listen to my speech.”
I shake my head, pouting. He’s a blurry mess through the veil of tears.
“I’m not going anywhere, babe,” he whispers before he presses his lips to mine. I clutch the lapel of his coat, needing him infinitely closer. Needing to hear those words a thousand more times before I’ll believe them. “I started the business you said I should invest in. Because if Brooklyn doesn’t work for you, t
hen maybe Bayshore will work for me.”
The tears spill out, inglorious and plentiful. My bottom lip is quivering like a newborn puppy. I don’t have words. He’s robbed me of my faculties, for the billionth time in my life.
“Are you serious?” I finally ask.
He nods, running his thumb over the line of my collarbone. Goosebumps flare under his touch. I want to sob into his chest and fuck him until sunrise. I could also throw in one good tennis match for good measure.
And whatever I get from him, I need more of it. I can’t handle one night of it, or one week. I need Gray for a lifetime. Until the end of my days. That much is certain, as I hook my arms around his neck. His big hands push over my hips, fingers dancing at the top of my ass. My breath hitches, and then a sob escapes me, unbidden.
“I love you, Hazel Mae,” he whispers hotly into my ear. “Will you be my girlfriend?”
I dissolve into laughter. The question is absurd.
“I already am, you doofus.” I swat at his chest, and then dab at my eye. “I’ve been your girlfriend since the day we were born.”
The smile that blooms on his lips is pure joy and warmth. “And I need you until the day we die.”
I laugh again. Applause swells around us as another speaker comes or goes, but it sort of feels like they’re clapping for us. I have no idea what’s going on anymore. Just that Grayson is here, and he’s all I need. Life is fine. Life is perfect.
“So you’ve already planned for us to die on the same day?” I tease.
“I know that’s how it’ll work.” He’s started swaying slightly. “I won’t let you win. You’ll try to make me lose. So we’ll end up going on the same day. And that’s all right. Because I’m not planning on spending a single day without you, babe.”
More tears arrive. They’re streaming down my face now, prompted mostly by the emotional onslaught but also a little by the early champagne.
Because he’s right.
That’s how we’ve always been.
