Road to Grace

by Piper Davenport

  “Why does it scare you?”

  I didn’t have to answer because our server arrived with our food, so I busied myself with my chopsticks and focused on my plate.

  “Grace?”

  “Hmm?” I muttered to my plate.

  “Baby, look at me.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  He reached over and gently pushed my chopsticks down. “Why do I scare you?”

  “You don’t scare me.” I met his eyes with a sigh. “Me telling you my deep, dark secrets scares me.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “No one knows, Flea,” I whispered. “Not even Poppy.”

  His eyes got soft and he smiled gently. “Okay, Grace. I hear ya.”

  We focused back on our food and Flea changed the subject, giving me my privacy, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t last for long. This man was worming his way into my soul and I was doing my best to stop it, but I had a feeling any walls I might erect, or emotions I would stuff down deep, would prove futile.

  * * *

  One week later, I was on my own for the first time and I actually felt pretty confident about it. For about an hour. Then I was sure I was screwing absolutely everything up.

  “Grace?” Flea called as he walked into the back office. “Got folks up front.”

  “I know. Sorry.” I handed him the receipt of the last customer. “I think I’ve fucked something up.”

  “You go help them and I’ll look at this,” he said, taking the paperwork.

  Hatch was off delivering parts, so I was glad Flea hung around in case I needed help. He’d worked a ten-hour day, so he should have been gone by now.

  But he’d stayed. Because he was sweet.

  And I liked him.

  Which was a problem.

  I helped the final customer of the afternoon and locked up after they’d left, heading back to the office. Flea was on the phone, so I waited for him to hang up before stepping to the desk.

  “How bad did I screw it up?”

  He smiled, standing and slipping the receipt in the tray. “You charged her about a hundred bucks more than she should have paid.”

  “Oh, crap,” I said, covering my mouth with my hands. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all good. I called her and let her know we’d be refunding the difference and I sent her an updated receipt.”

  “What did I do?”

  He walked me through how I’d added a zero to the labor and I made notes, so I wouldn’t do it again. “Was she pissed?”

  Flea chuckled. “Actually, I think she was surprised we called to rectify the situation, and that gave us brownie points.”

  I bit my lip. “I feel like an idiot.”

  “Don’t, babe. This was your first mistake. Hatch thinks you’re perfect.”

  “He does?”

  Flea nodded. “Yep. I think he’s gonna lose his mind when you get the call from the ballet place.”

  Before I could respond, my phone rang, and I excused myself to answer it. “This is Grace.”

  “Miss Lundy?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is Luna from PBC.”

  “Hi, Luna.”

  Ohmigod, my heart started racing and I suddenly felt sick to my stomach.

  “I will be sending you a letter later this week, but I’m calling to offer you a spot as an apprentice dancer for the spring season.”

  I couldn’t stop my disappointment from sitting low in my belly. “Oh, wow. Thank you.”

  Although, I didn’t feel very thankful. I felt cheated.

  “Your letter will include expectations and pay, along with a schedule. If you can sign the contract and send it back as soon as possible, we can put you on the roster and have you join our team.”

  “Okay, thank you so much.”

  She confirmed my mailing address and we hung up, and I forced myself not to kick something.

  “You okay?” Flea asked, and I nodded.

  “Golden.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yep.”

  “Why do you look like someone just kicked your puppy, then?”

  “It’s not important,” I grumbled, dropping my phone into my purse.

  “Don’t do that, Grace.” He crossed his arms. “Who was on the phone?”

  “PBC.”

  “Yeah? Did they offer you a spot?”

  “Not really.”

  He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

  I sighed. “I am being offered an apprentice position. Which means I only dance when someone is sick or there’s need of a large cast.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “Yes, Flea. It’s a bad thing,” I snapped. “It means they think I sucked.”

  “I highly doubt that.”

  “Forget it. They’re mailing me everything and I can make a decision when I see the terms.”

  “Grace?”

  “What, Flea?” I snapped again. “I have no backup plan. I have a BA in Arts & Humanities and a minor in psychology. People with a BA in Arts & Humanities are usually unemployed.”

  “You’re not unemployed.”

  “No, but I’m supposed to be a principal dancer for a prestigious ballet company. It’s why I didn’t give myself room to fail.” I threw my hands in the air. “But, fail I did.”

  “Grace. You haven’t failed.”

  “I was offered a full-time position at the San Francisco Ballet, I guess I just figured PBC would offer me the same.”

  “Why didn’t you take the one in California, then?”

  “Because I can’t live by myself, but if I have a roommate, they’ll be subjected to my night terrors, and that’s not something I’m willing to saddle someone with.” I gasped and threw my hand over my mouth. “Why the hell did I just tell you that?”

  He frowned. “You still have night terrors?”

  “Forget I said anything.”

  He closed the distance between us and laid his hands on my shoulders. “Grace, do you have night terrors every night?”

  “It’s not your problem.”

  “Hey, don’t do that,” he said. “I’m your friend. I’m allowed to worry about my friend.”

  I shook my head. “No, Mr. Nosy Pants, I don’t have them every night.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Nosy Pants?”

  I sighed. “At the risk of pissing you off, yes.”

  He laughed. “God damn, you’re fuckin’ adorable.”

  Oh, god, he thinks I’m adorable. This isn’t good. I need to shut him down.

  “Stop, Flea. Please. This is silly.” I shrugged out from his touch and headed back to the office.

  “Night terrors are silly to you?” he asked, following.

  “What’s it to you?” I ground out.

  “You won’t win this, Grace.”

  “Win what?”

  He smiled. It was Cheshire in nature and made my stomach flutter with nerves.

  “Stop looking at me like that,” I rasped.

  Keeping his irritating smile intact, he nodded. “Okay, babe. Let’s get out of here, huh?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What are you doing?”

  “Well… not that it’s any of your business, Miss Nosy Pants, but I’m gonna head to the compound for a couple of hours before I go home.”

  I forced myself not to smile. Him turning my words back on me was both funny and endearing.

  “I guess we’re a pair, huh?” I mused. He cocked his head and I studied him. “A couple of nosy pants.”

  “I guess so.” He smirked. “I’m gonna lock up, then I’ll walk you out.”

  I knew he was purposely letting me escape, but I also knew he wouldn’t always. He had a way of delving into my soul that both scared and comforted me at the same time. It was weird.

  I shut down the computers, secured the cash in the safe, and grabbed my purse just as Flea peeked into the office. “You ready?”

  I nodded and followed him out, fishing my keys out of my bag as we walked.
Flea said nothing else as he waited for me to climb into the car, then he stood sentry until I’d backed out of the parking space and headed toward the exit.

  Grace

  I LET MYSELF into Merrick’s place and dropped my keys in the dish by the door. “Mer?”

  “Back here!” he called, then walked out into the living room, shrugging on his cut.

  “You going out?”

  “Compound,” he said. “If that counts as ‘out,’ then, yeah.”

  “Okay, so I’m cooking for one, then?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You’re cooking?”

  I dropped my purse on the sofa and nodded. “Was thinking about it.”

  He hummed, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Random pussy or my sister’s cooking. That’s a tough decision.”

  I punched his arm. “Ohmigod, Merrick. You’re disgusting. Forget it, I’m not cooking for you now.”

  He laughed, rubbing the place where my fist connected. “Where did you learn to hit so hard?”

  “Devon,” I said, walking into the kitchen to see what I could find to cook.

  “I think I’ll have a conversation with old Sparky tonight.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Good luck with that.”

  “I’m gonna head out. You good?”

  “Yep. Have fun.”

  He walked out the door, locking it behind him, and I tried to figure out if I could make something healthy out of our meager choices.

  * * *

  An hour after I’d opened my refrigerator, I was stretched out on the sofa, open bag of crinkled chips in my lap, licking my fingers in an attempt to clean away the evidence of my ‘dinner.’ I ended up wiping my hands on my jeans before pushing myself up from the sofa just as my phone rang on the side table.

  “Hello?”

  “I heard you’re cooking,” Flea said.

  “You heard wrong. I thought about it, but this family sized bag of Wavy Lays jumped out at me, and I tried really hard to wrestle it back into the cabinet, but the fucker’s strong. He won.”

  He chuckled. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yep. Karma’s a bitch, though. Half of him is now in my belly.”

  “Okay, so you’ve filled yourself with shit… you want some protein?”

  “I don’t have any protein. Hence the chips finding their way down my gullet.”

  “Want me to pick up protein for you to cook and bring it over?” he asked. “Or I could swing by and take you out.”

  “Or… you could hit Burgerville on the way over?”

  “Yeah, I could do that.”

  “Ohmigod, seriously?”

  “Yeah, what do you want?”

  “Tillamook cheeseburger, fries, chocolate milkshake.”

  “Shit, that was fast,” he said with a chuckle.

  “I’m starving,” I complained.

  “Okay, babe, I’ll see you in a bit.”

  “Okay, Flea. Thanks.”

  I hung up and did my best to clean up the chip crumbs before rushing to the bathroom and brushing out my hair. I wasn’t sure why Flea was coming over, but I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth… and I was going to try and look cute for said gift horse.

  He arrived about twenty minutes after I brushed a little lip-gloss on, and I rushed to pull the door open. “Hi.”

  “Hey, babe,” he said, stepping inside. “You got beer?”

  “Merrick’s got beer,” I said. “Yes.”

  He grinned. “That works.”

  He grabbed himself a beer while I unpacked the food and then we sat at the dinette and chowed down on the best burgers in the world.

  “Shit, you were hungry,” he observed.

  I nodded, swallowing the huge bite I’d just taken. “Does it surprise you?”

  “That you were hungry?”

  “No, that I can eat my weight in meat.”

  Flea laughed. “Yeah, I guess it does a little.”

  I wiped my mouth and grinned. “I dance; therefore, I eat.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “So, um, why are you here?” I asked, rushing to add, “Not that I’m complaining, I just figured if you and Mer were both at the club tonight, you were busy.”

  “Nah. It was a regular night. I guess I wasn’t feelin’ it.”

  I smiled. “Well, anytime you feel like you’re not ‘feelin’ it’ and want to bring me food, I’m all for it.”

  “Good to know.” He tipped his beer toward me. “Your brother needs to buy better beer.”

  “I don’t think he was expecting you to drink it all.”

  “Won’t drink it all,” he countered. “It’s dog piss.”

  I chuckled. “You could always bring your own.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

  I busied myself with scrunching up my wrappers in an effort to hide how happy I was that there’d be a next time. Chucking everything into the trash, I sat back down at the table.

  “You good if I hang out a bit?” Flea asked.

  “Yes, if you want to.”

  “Don’t want to assume you’re free,” he said.

  “If it was tomorrow, I wouldn’t be.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’s tomorrow.”

  “Class. I have a private one with Cassidy.”

  “You still take classes?”

  I nodded. “I probably always will. Otherwise, I’ll get soft.”

  “It’s cool you got that kinda work ethic.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yeah, babe, it is.”

  I settled my chin in my hand, elbow to the table, and studied him. “What’s your deal?”

  “My deal?”

  “Yeah. I can’t figure out why you’re being so nice to me.”

  “I’m a nice guy.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Is that what it is?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Hmm.”

  “Hmm, what?”

  I was suddenly feeling really insecure.

  Drop it, Grace. Just go with it. Don’t overthink things.

  “Just don’t want to be the pity friend,” I admitted, not dropping it.

  He frowned. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  I rose to my feet and headed into the kitchen, busying myself with the dirty dishes. “Forget it. Just ignore me.”

  I heard the scrape of a chair and then he was standing between me and my only way out of the kitchen. “Fill me in on what you mean, Grace.”

  I faced him. “I’m being insecure. It’s a thing. I’m not proud of it, but it’s the truth. In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have friends.”

  “Oh, yeah? Poppy’s not your friend?” he challenged.

  I sighed. “Poppy’s family. Poppy doesn’t count.”

  “Fair enough, but just so we’re clear, I’m not friends with people I don’t genuinely like, so no more bullshit talk that I’m doin’ anything out of pity. Clear?”

  I nodded, focusing back on the sink.

  “Grace. Need you to hear me on that.”

  “Got it.”

  “Look at me when you lie to me.”

  I gasped, meeting his eyes. “I’m not lying.”

  He leaned forward. “Never want you to say that again. Don’t want you to think it, either.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “I’ll know, Grace.”

  I scoffed. “You can’t read my mind, Flea.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “Oh, I know so,” I said.

  He crossed his arms. “You’re thinking that for the first time in years, you feel safe and comfortable and it freaks you the fuck out.”

  I found myself fully enthralled with a dot on the counter, grabbing a paper towel to add some friction.

  Flea chuckled. “I think that’s part of the granite, Grace.”

  I leaned down to study the dot. “Is it?”

  “Grace,” he said, slowly, quietly. “Look at me, honey.”

  I swallowed. God. Honey.

&
nbsp; Baby and babe, I could handle, because he called all women babe or baby, but honey?

  I straightened, turning my eyes away from the counter and up to him.

  “You freaked?” he asked.

  “Yes.” There was no point in lying. I was freaked. And I was freaked because I wanted to bury myself in the essence that was Flea… and let him bury his dick inside of me.

  God, I wanted his dick inside of me.

  “You need to quit lookin’ at me like that, Grace,” Flea warned.

  I wrinkled my nose. “How am I looking at you?”

  Before he could explain, my doorbell pealed, and Flea frowned. “You expectin’ someone?”

  “No. But if Devon’s at the club, it’s probably Poppy,” I said, heading for the door.

  “Wait, babe,” he countered, and slid past me, pulling open the door.

  It wasn’t Poppy.

  It was my dad.

  “Merrick’s not here,” I said, freezing in place.

  “You gonna introduce me to your friend, Grace?” he asked.

  “No. I’ll let Mer know you stopped by.”

  He moved like he was going to walk in, but Flea shifted so he couldn’t. My dad looked him up and down and then frowned at me. “Need to talk to you, sweetpea. Can’t do that if I’m being blocked.”

  “You can call me,” I said from my position in the living room.

  “You don’t answer the phone.”

  “Oops,” I deadpanned, crossing my arms.

  He sighed, rubbing his forehead with his hand. “Gracie, I’m tryin’ here.”

  I squared my shoulders. “Too little, too late.”

  Direct hit.

  “Grace,” he whispered as his eyes clouded with sadness and regret and devastation, and I felt the ping of guilt. I was being cruel. On purpose. But this was our dance and I didn’t know how to get off the floor.

  Dad frowned at Flea. “You gonna move aside, so I can talk to my daughter?”

  Flea shook his head. “If Grace doesn’t want you in, I’m not lettin’ you in.”

  He sighed again. “I’ve met someone, Gracie. It’s serious, and I’d like you to meet her.”

  “No, thank you,” I said as cheerily as I could.

  “Goddammit.” Before I knew what was happening, Dad had shoved past Flea and closed the distance between us. I let out a squeak of fright, and that’s when Flea moved.

  He rushed for my father, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and wrestling him toward the door. The problem was, my dad was a cop, he was in shape, and he had several inches on Flea.