He’s concerned. His expression of worry isn’t unlike the one he wore on my wedding day. My nonwedding day.
“I’m thirsty, Vince.” So not the issue. “What is it?”
“Are you sure you want to see her?”
Through the window, I watch as Grace slides past a coworker. She pulls a draft beer and offers a tight smile to a customer.
I’m not sure about anything except that I refuse to let her rule my decisions any longer. Without a word to Vince, I pull open the glass door and step inside.
Grace
For the second time in recent history, the door to McGreevy’s swings open and deposits an unexpected male visitor into my bar. Only it’s not my dad this time. It’s Davis.
Davis Price, in his tall, lean, muscular glory. He’s clad in a charcoal suit, sharp red tie, and pressed white shirt. His hair is in disarray. His eyes are tired.
He’s too beautiful for words.
My heart stops beating as he moves toward me, but his eyes are on the man behind him. Vince Carson. I blink a few times to jar my brain. I didn’t notice Vince at first. At least he has the decency to wave rather than ignore me.
Vince points out one of the few open tables at the far end of the room—one that Lars is wiping down. Davis shakes his head. I can’t hear him but his head shake is clear. He doesn’t want to sit there. He gestures to my bar instead.
We’re packed to the walls tonight, but the couple in front of me just paid. Their glasses are empty. They move to vacate the stools—ironically the woman’s seat is Davis’s usual one—and I panic, my mind racing for a ploy to keep them here. Before I can offer them refills on the house, the man nods and offers a thank-you. The moment he and his lady friend start walking for the door, Davis slides into his seat.
Vince has the good sense to look apologetic as he climbs onto a stool and sits next to his friend.
“Hey, Gracie Lou.” Davis’s greeting is casual, but his words are coated in steel. “The usual for me. Vince?”
After a second of hesitation, Vince orders his usual draft.
I move like I’m running underwater. Every step feels bloated and sluggish. But then I’ve felt like that since I broke up with Davis. I thought I’d be over it by now—though being face to face with him makes me realize how foolish it was to believe I’d bounce back from what we had.
It was real. I know that now.
I’ve been thinking of that old adage lately. The one about how you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. I had Davis.
I had his attention, his presence, and his love. And then I threw it all away.
I didn’t expect him to ever set foot in here again. Of the two of us, I was clearly the winner of McGreevy’s in the breakup. I figured I’d see Vince and Jackie eventually, and I readied myself with a few canned answers in case they asked how I was doing. I had a plan for randomly running into Davis at the park or in passing on the street. I truly never imagined he’d have the balls to show up here.
Every day since we split, I’ve come into work and been confronted by his empty seat. I’ve considered texting him. Imagined smoothing things over between us. I pulled out my phone several times to do just that, but I chickened out. I didn’t know what to say then. I definitely don’t know what to say now.
How stupid of me to believe he’d forgive my betrayal. I lied to myself when I thought it wasn’t as big as leaving him at the altar. It was different, but every bit as big. I took his trust, his love, and threw it in his face.
I wouldn’t forgive me if I were him.
I deliver the beers to Vince and Davis. I can do this. I can do my job. I open my mouth to ask if they need menus. The words turn sour on my tongue.
I’m overcome with the urge to ask Davis if he’s been eating. If he’s been sleeping. If he’s okay and if I can have another chance. Followed by Please, please, give me another chance.
Up until thirty seconds ago, I didn’t believe that was a possibility. Confusion reigned supreme whenever I thought of us and what our future looked like. Then things fell apart and I tried to accept what was. Now, looking at him, I’m no longer confused. My heart overflows with longing.
I know what I want. Is it too late?
“Carson ditched his girl for the night,” Davis tells me, his tone casual. He turns to punch Vince in the arm. “The cats will play!”
Vince emits an uncomfortable laugh, and his presence is literally the only thing keeping me from bursting into tears.
Davis is trying to behave as if he’s unaffected, but I know him. He’s affected. He’s also trying to get past this stage and move on with his life. That’s my fault.
One hundred million percent my fault.
“Honey, are you all right?” Candace asks when I turn toward the cash register facing the wall. I grip the counter’s edge and force myself to breathe in and out. I can’t look at Davis without knowing I made a tragic error.
“I’m fine.” I clear my throat. “Can you, um…take care of the two guys over there?”
Candace looks in the direction of my head tilt. “You mean your boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” Regret, like shards of glass, pierces my chest.
“I’m sorry, doll. Things didn’t end well, then?”
I confirm with a choked “No.”
“I got it, sweets. Don’t worry about a thing.” Candace moves away and my vision blurs, tears filling my eyes.
Shit! I’m about to cry and he’s going to see me. I can’t allow it.
I slide past Candace and out from behind the bar, but not before I hear her tell Lars to “hold down the fort.” I’m aware of her on my heels as I dash for the office. Thankfully, Dax isn’t here tonight. I unlock the door and barely make it over the threshold before a sob pushes its way out of my throat.
“Oh, sweetie.” Candace rubs my back as I sink into the task chair at the desk. I drop my face in my hands and just…bawl.
There’s no other word for it.
“I-I don’t have makeup with me,” I say on a hoarse cry.
“Don’t worry about that.” Candace is so short, she doesn’t have to bend far to meet my eyes. My tears keep coming, and her face goes wavy. “Lars and I can handle things tonight. Go on and sneak out the back.”
Gosh, that sounds heavenly.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.
I shake my head, but as another teardrop tumbles down my cheek, I open my mouth and tell Candace everything.
My mother’s warning. My vow to never get married. My blurted I love you and the offer of Davis’s house key that scared me half to death.
“Aw, hon. You were caught up, that’s all.” She strokes my hair and offers a kind smile. “He’s a beautiful man. Who could blame ya?”
“I meant it.” I whisper my confession. When I manage to stop the flash flood from my eyes, I lift my chin to face my friend. “I meant it when I said I loved him back. I let him go because I’m terrified of screwing up. I’m…I’m”—I gesture uselessly for a few beats before finishing—“I’m like a piñata, but filled with terror instead of candy.”
“A terror-filled piñata. That’s a new one.” Candace swipes a few cardboardlike paper towels from the dispenser on the wall and offers them to me.
I scrape them over my face, doing a good job of removing my makeup and the first layer of my epidermis.
“What is he doing here? Did he come to get you back?”
Devastation covers me like a thick blanket as I shake my head. “I don’t think so. I think he’s trying to go back to the way things were before we…before we…”
Fell in love and I ruined it all.
I mop at another surge of tears.
“You take all the time you need. I mean it.” Candace peeks out of the office door and down the hallway. “I’m going to go out there. Lars is getting slammed, sweetie. Are you going to be okay for a minute?”
I’m not even in the same stratosphere as “okay.”
&nbs
p; “Yep.” I give an exaggerated thumbs-up. Once she’s out the of the office and shuts the door behind her, I sniff and take a few deep breaths. I pull my purse out of the desk drawer and do some rummaging. I find a powder compact and dust on a layer, muting the red in my cheeks and around my eyes. A tube of copper lipstick serves as emergency eye makeup, and—would you look at that?—my new waterproof mascara lived up to its promise. It’s still there.
I don’t feel better about Davis being here, but I refuse to hide in here or sneak out the back. I fucked up, but I’m a big girl. I can own it.
I just need a little more time.
I rifle through the paper piles on the desk that Dax didn’t put away—and busy myself in mindless accounting for about twenty minutes. Before too long, I’m feeling human again.
I can do this. Davis startled me, that’s all. And hell, who knows? Maybe he left already.
In the hall I flip my hair over my shoulder, examining an inventory sheet as I walk. Candace shoots me a compassionate glance as she simultaneously makes three cocktails. I hold up the paper and announce, “Found it!”
Candace and Lars frown in confusion. That’s okay; I was only pretending to find a paper so Davis wouldn’t think I ran away from him.
Which I totally did.
But when I turn to meet his eyes across the bar, one look at him proves he’s not paying attention to me at all. Vince is talking with his hands, and Davis’s attention is all on him.
Until it’s not.
I’ve tossed the paper in the trash can and am moving to help my fellow barkeeps when Davis glances over, catches my eye, and holds me hostage.
Chapter 24
Davis
She’s been crying. Her eyes are red rimmed and her face is pale from too much makeup.
This is why I came in here. I wanted a reaction—even confirmation that she meant what she said to me a week and a half ago. I was looking for closure. I was willing to have her lash out at me so we could have it out in one final verbal brawl and I could soundly shut the door on what we had.
Grace’s jade green irises were welling with tears when she darted into that hallway. What she didn’t know was that she took my heart with her. I have my confirmation, but it’s the opposite of what I expected. She’s hurting.
She breaks eye contact first, asking the guy next to me what she can get him to drink.
“The promotion was unexpected,” Vince is saying. He’s taken on the mission of talking about anything and everything except Grace. A challenge, since she’s right fucking in front of me. “Unexpected, but nice. Who can turn down free money, right?”
“Thanks, man,” I mumble, because he’s a good friend.
Vince takes my out-of-the-blue gratitude in stride. “Anytime.”
“Go home to her.”
“Jackie’s fine.” He gives me an exaggerated shrug. “I’m your wingman, Davis. I can’t leave until I know you’re okay.”
I’m not going to be okay until I get Grace back. I know that. Hell, I’ve known that. She’s in as much pain as I am—regretting ending things and afraid that if she admits it, I’ll reject her in turn.
“I’m almost done here anyway.” A heaping helping of sadness creeps into my voice. I’m not confident I can get her back. Not tonight. Not ever. But I have to try. “I have an early-ass morning tomorrow. The twelve-hour days are killing me.”
“I thought you looked sleep deprived.” Grace stands in front of me, her jaw set stubbornly. Look who else is pretending to be fine. I wonder if I look half as unconvincing as her. “Can I get you another beer?”
“Give him another. On me.” Vince climbs off his seat and tosses a twenty on the bar. “I’m heading home.”
“Tell Jackie I said hello.” Grace’s smile is wistful.
Because she misses the way things were?
“I will, Gracie.” With that, Vince leaves.
Grace swipes the money off the bar, sets me up with another beer, and goes back to ignoring me.
I take my time nursing the beer. The next mouthful I take is disgustingly warm. The crowd has thinned considerably, which makes sense. Nine o’clock on a weekday isn’t the busiest time for a pub in a business district.
A few more patrons slide from their seats to take their leave as a woman sits next to me, her flowery perfume scenting the air.
“Been awhile since I’ve seen you in here,” the blonde says. I look not at her but at her reflection in the mirror in front of us.
I take another swallow of my warm beer. “How have you been?”
I wish I didn’t know her, but I do.
Biblically.
Her name’s Kara. We spent a few nights together a while back. My eyes flick to Grace as she pours drinks in the background. She hasn’t looked over here yet.
“What are you up to these days?” Kara holds a five-dollar bill in her hand.
“Working,” I answer, unable to be unkind.
Grace appears in front of us a moment later. “What do you need?”
“Change for the jukebox.” Kara hands Grace the bill. Grace turns to the cash register and then Kara turns to me. “I’m interested in a package this weekend if you’re available.”
If that offer’s not poorly timed enough, Kara runs her finger over my sleeve as Grace returns with five ones.
“The platinum,” Kara says.
Fuck. There’s no way Grace didn’t hear that. There’s also no way she doesn’t know what Kara’s referring to.
Grace’s face goes blank before she walks over to the older woman she works with.
“I don’t know if you remember, but we had some fun….” Kara is saying.
The older bartender, Candace shoots daggers at me over her shoulder.
Grace takes to the same hallway again, her steps accelerated.
“…thought you might be up for an encore.”
I leap off my barstool and leave Kara talking to herself.
“You can’t go back there!” Candace warns in a husky voice that, I admit, holds enough authority that I almost stop.
“Two minutes,” I call as I traipse down the hallway. “Then you can kick me out.”
I enter the mouth of the hallway as Grace exits the office door, purse and keys in hand, coat on, and—God help me—tears running down her cheeks.
“Gracie,” I say. It’s a plea.
“Don’t.” She huffs in an uneven breath.
“Come on, Gracie.”
She starts toward the red-lit exit sign, calling back to me, “I don’t want to talk to you. You’re only back here because you saw me cry.”
“So?”
She pivots—which means she’s stopped. I’ll take it. I’ll take whatever delay I can get. She swipes the tears from her face and none take their place. Which is a relief.
“Who’s the girl?” she asks.
I’ve never lied to Grace. I’m not starting now.
“Kara,” I admit, and it’s like chewing thumbtacks. “We…dated, for lack of a better word. She just asked me out.”
A bitter laugh escapes Grace’s throat and she looks at the ceiling—for strength? For patience? Hard to say. She probably wants to brain me with her handbag right about now. I would deserve it. I’ve been a selfish ass.
“And what did you tell her?” Grace asks.
“I didn’t answer her. I ran after you. Which is an answer in itself.”
The purse in her hand drops a few inches as she straightens her arm. She’s no longer darting for the door.
So.
I guess we’re doing this right here.
Right now.
I don’t have a speech planned, but one tumbles from my lips anyway.
“Here’s the thing, Gracie. You hurt me. And when it happened, it felt very similar to the way Hanna hurt me.”
Grace flinches.
“I took your rejection like a man. I stood firm while you peppered me with buckshot. While you delivered a waking nightmare at my feet. I loved you, but you didn’t
love me back.”
She swallows but says nothing. I feel like I’m dangling from a cliff face by a thread, but I’m not done yet.
“After I walked out of your house, I vowed to get over you. I got over Hanna. And we weren’t just dating. We were engaged.”
Grace feels guilty. She feels like our splitting up is her fault. I can see it in the lines creasing her forehead—she worries she broke me. But she’s the one who’s broken.
I love this woman. Still.
Forever.
I take a step closer to her and keep explaining.
“For a while after the wedding, every time I pictured Hanna, I ached. Every time I saw something that was hers in my house that she’d left behind, it hurt. I once found a plastic spatula from our gift registry and put a hole in the wall. But the anger eventually faded. The pain. The ache. It all subsided. Soon she didn’t take up as much headspace as she used to. She became less and less a part of my day, then less and less a part of my week, until finally, her image blurred completely. Even now, if I try to picture her, I can’t quite fill in the gaps.”
Grace nods, still looking miserable. And I haven’t yet delivered the news she really doesn’t want to hear.
“Given enough time,” I tell her, “I imagine you’ll fade from my memory in the same way.”
Her shoulders roll forward with the blow, telling me everything I need to know.
Everything I knew already.
Grace is terrified of loving me. But she may still love me.
God, I hope she loves me.
“Gracie Lou, I need you to hear me.” I want to touch her so badly I have to ball my fists at my sides to keep from doing it. She stands rigidly before me, afraid of what she thinks I’m going to say.
My girl bravely meets my eyes like she’s facing a firing squad. But she’s got it all wrong.
“I don’t want you to fade. I never want to forget the exact way you look when you say my name.”
Her expression softens.
“I don’t want any part of you to blur in my memory—not your beautiful face or when you wear your hair curly. I never want to forget what you feel like against me when we dance.” I swallow around a thick lump of anxiety and add, “I never want to forget the way it felt when you told me you loved me.”
Arm Candy Page 20
