She noticed the pink apron was gone but there was glitter on his shirt and jeans. As she looked him over, a strange sensation hit the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t define the feeling. It wasn’t simply a reaction to his good looks. After all, she’d known good-looking men before. He ex-husband had been as handsome as anything. But Grady was different. He was confident but not cocky. He was also immensely likable even though it always seemed as though they were at odds with one another. Back in high school they’d been friendly, but not friends. She’d always been a little on edge around him, always conscious of the awareness that thrummed through her whenever he was near. Once he’d started dating Liz, though, she pushed those feelings aside, never willing to admit that her heart had broken just a little. But she’d loved Liz and would never had said or done anything that might have hurt her best friend. And she’d gotten over her harmless crush.
Or so she thought...
Because in that moment, he looked so good in low-riding jeans and a navy polo shirt, Marissa was forced to admit that she did find him attractive. Very much so.
“Coffee?” she asked, aware that it sounded more like a squeak than a question.
“Sure,” he said and came around the kitchen counter. “But I’ll make it. Do you want to read the girls a story before they go to sleep?”
Her eyes widened. “Really? I’d love to.”
He nodded. “Go ahead.”
She disappeared quickly—anything to get away from him in that moment. The kitchen had suddenly grown smaller, the air thicker. Panic set alight across her skin and she lingered in the bedroom with the girls, determined to get her foolish thoughts from her mind. She read them a story about castles and princesses and tucked them in tightly when she was done.
When she returned to the kitchen, he was sitting at the big round table, coffee mug between his hands, and he looked up when she entered. “Are they asleep?”
“Dozing,” she replied. “I said you’d be in a little later to say good-night.” Marissa took a breath and straightened her back. “Well, I guess I should probably get going. It’s a school night and—”
“Not for me,” he said and raised a brow and motioned to the other mug on the table. “Or you.”
She nodded slowly and sat down. The room was quiet, except for a clock ticking methodically on the wall and the infrequent sound of insects outside. It was a simple moment that suddenly seemed as complicated as anything ever had in her life. And she didn’t know why. She wasn’t sure what the intense tension between them was all about. In the past she’d been able to ignore it. But not now.
“Grady, I—”
“Why’d you get divorced?”
It wasn’t a question she’d been expecting. Grady had never asked her personal questions, not in all the years they’d known one another. Liz had been her confidante. Her friend. In some ways very much her soul mate. It was a friendship she deeply missed.
“He was...unfaithful.”
There. It was out. For the first time. Without Liz to confide in, Marissa had felt very much alone since she’d discovered Simon had been with another woman. With several, in fact, pretty much from the onset of their marriage. Saying the words felt good.
Grady raised his mug and stared at her over the rim. “Unworthy bastard.”
Emotion clogged her throat. “Yes...that’s a good way of putting it.”
“You’re well rid of him, then?”
She nodded. “I guess I am.”
His gaze narrowed. “Do you still love him?”
“No.”
He looked surprised by her quick response. “Do you miss being married?”
It was another question she hadn’t expected. “Sometimes,” she admitted and took a sip from the mug in her hands. “I miss having someone to talk to. I miss...intimacy.”
“Sex?”
Marissa let out a brittle laugh to hide the discomfort climbing across her skin. “Now, that’s a typically male response to the idea of intimacy.”
“We’re not very complex creatures,” he said and smiled. “But I do know the difference between emotional and physical intimacy.”
“Glad to hear it.”
She meant to sound flippant, humorous. But once her words were out they sounded altogether different. Almost like a flirtation...or an invitation. His eyes darkened and he placed the mug on the table. Marissa held his gaze, even though her heart was pounding and all she wanted to do was run for her life.
“You know,” he said quietly, his deep voice the only sound she heard, “you really are incredibly beautiful.”
Her breath sharpened. “Don’t.”
His brows rose. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t flirt with me.”
Grady’s eyes were suddenly even a more brilliant blue. “Is that what I’m doing?”
“I don’t know what you’re doing.”
He laughed softly. “Frankly, neither do I, Marissa. But there’s something about you that’s impossible to ignore.”
“You mean the fact we’ve always disliked one another?”
“I’ve never disliked you.”
Her insides folded like origami paper. “But you hardly ever talk to me.”
“We’re talking now,” he reminded her.
“I mean before,” she said quickly. “When Liz was alive. I thought you only ever put up with me because I was Liz’s friend.”
He shrugged loosely, as if she’d made a point he didn’t quite want to admit. “I...like you.”
He didn’t sound as if he did. It sounded as though it was one of the hardest things he’d ever said. She bit back the urge to tell him the feeling was mutual. But she didn’t want any more regrettable words hanging in the air between them.
“I should go,” she said, scraping the chair back as she stood.
Grady got to his feet immediately and didn’t try to stop her. Marissa grabbed her bag, thanked him for the coffee and walked down the hallway. He was beside her in a flash, opening the front door wide as they both stepped out onto the porch.
“Thank you for coming, I know it meant a lot to the girls.”
She nodded. “Me, too. Good night.”
“Good night,” he said and then called her name when she was almost at the bottom of the steps.
“Yes?”
He took his time. “I like you enough that I wanted to ask you to prom in senior year.”
Prom? What was he talking about? She shook her head. “You asked Liz.”
He nodded. “I wanted to ask you first. She talked me out of it. She said you weren’t interested.”
Oh, Liz.
Marissa pushed back her shoulders, fighting the denial sitting on the edge of her tongue. “I guess she knew me better than I thought. Good night, Grady.”
By the time she got to her car, her hands were shaking. They were still shaking five minutes later when she arrived home, and still as she peeled off her clothes and changed into comfy sweats. She was shaking and thinking one thing.
Liz had lied.
In the middle of senior year she’d confided