“We all need a little fixing,” Grace said in a small voice as I smoothed my hand over her back.
Perhaps I should have walked away from Grace, but now that I was here, I didn’t have the strength to let her go. “I think Harper’s trying to tell you that you’re kind and generous and loving,” I said.
“In the way only Harper can,” Max said.
“Of course that’s what I’m saying,” Harper said as she began to shred cheese. “Did I just turn into your commis chef without realizing it?” she asked Amanda, who just shrugged.
“She has us both wrapped around her little finger,” Max said.
My mother would have said the same about me.
“Just grate enough for the topping,” Amanda said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Harper replied, then turned back to Grace. “Look, what I’m trying to say is you are one of the kindest, sweetest, most generous and loyal people in the world . . . and I don’t think the men you’ve dated so far have come close to deserving you.”
“I’m so happy we’re talking about this in front of Sam. I really am,” Grace said, and although she was smiling, her tight jaw told me she was uncomfortable. I stroked my thumb across her wrist wanting to calm her.
“It’s nothing I didn’t already know,” I said.
“So you approve of Sam?” Amanda asked Harper. “You think he deserves Grace?”
I was sure I didn’t.
“So far, so good,” Harper said.
“Don’t take that personally, Sam. She says the same thing about me,” Max said as he moved off the stool and kissed Harper on the head as he made his way to the fridge.
“How can you tell?” Amanda said.
“Tell what?” Harper asked.
“That he deserves Grace,” Amanda replied.
“Well, from what Grace tells me—and from what I see.” Harper glanced at me as she handed a plate of shredded cheese to Amanda. “He’s thoughtful and caring and makes her laugh.”
Grace smiled and turned her head toward me. I raised my eyebrows. Did I do all that?
“Remember, you have to judge men on what they do, and not just what they say,” Harper said.
“Amanda doesn’t need dating advice, but thank you, my sweet,” Max replied.
“I wish someone had given me that advice sooner,” Harper said. “No, that’s not what I mean. I wish I’d followed that advice sooner.”
“I think things worked out just about perfectly,” Max said, grabbing Harper.
Amber started screaming from the living room and Harper pulled out of Max’s arms.
“Drink your wine,” Max said. “I’ll get this. She’s getting tired and needs to have a bath.”
“And that is why I married the guy,” Harper said. “He’s a total DILF.”
“Harper!” Amanda shouted.
Harper just shrugged and Amanda rolled her eyes.
“Are you okay?” Grace asked me under her breath.
I nodded and smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear, allowing my finger to continue across her jaw.
I looked up to find Amanda watching us.
“Are you going to marry Sam?” Amanda asked, looking at Grace. Even though her question wasn’t directed at me, it caught me off guard.
Grace laughed. “Maybe.”
“Why only maybe?” Amanda asked.
Loving Grace hadn’t been a choice, but marriage? I hadn’t thought about it. Ever. Marriage was for other people, people who’d had a normal life. People who knew how to be a husband, a father—people who knew how to love.
“Amanda, you shouldn’t ask people such personal questions,” Max said.
“Why not? It’s just Grace. She asks me much more personal questions.”
I curled my hand around the edge of the countertop, hanging on to I didn’t know what. I needed something solid—something to be sure of. The ache for something that had gone before grew and grew.
I tried to refocus on the conversation around me.
“You’re right. I do ask you personal questions and there shouldn’t be a double standard,” Grace replied. “Sam and I haven’t known each other very long, but maybe someday.”
Surely Grace understood I wasn’t that man, the one who could commit. I couldn’t give her three children, a house filled with love and laughter and chaos. It was too much to be responsible for.
Too much to lose.
“Excuse me,” I said as my stool scraped against the slate floor of the kitchen. “I’ll get our bags out of the car.” I needed some air. Some distance from a life I could never give Grace. I wasn’t the man who deserved her.
I was anything but.
“I’m sorry for saying that earlier,” Grace said as we shut the door to the pool house. “About marriage, I mean. I know we’re going a million miles an hour and—”
“Hey,” I said, pulling her into my arms. As much as what she’d said had unsettled me, she shouldn’t be apologizing “You have nothing to be sorry for. I like knowing how you feel about these things.” I moved us toward the bed and pushed her onto her back.
She pulled at my shirt until I was leaning over her. “Did I freak you out?”
“You didn’t say anything wrong. Why would I freak out?” I wanted to protect her from my fears.
She grinned as she scraped her nails over my scalp absentmindedly. Her touch went straight to my cock. Every. Time. I had to slow this down—tell her I couldn’t give her what she wanted.
I groaned, rolled away and presented her with an opportunity. Straddling me, she settled on top of me, and my dick hardened four layers beneath her pussy.
“Are you telling me you’ve thought about marrying me?” she asked as she moved her hips back and forward.
“No, I haven’t.” It was the truth and she deserved that. Her smile faltered, just a fraction. “But you’re the only woman I’ve ever cared about in this way.”
She stopped rocking and tried to move, but I grabbed the tops of her thighs and held her in place. “Talk to me. Is marriage what you’re looking for?”
“Not for the sake of it,” she said, her gaze fixed to my chest.
“I don’t understand. Do you want a family, the children, the chaos—all the responsibility? Is that what you see for yourself?”
“For myself and the man I love.” She looked at me from under her eyelashes. Was she saying she loved me?
“No, Grace.” I released her thighs and moved her off me and sat up. “I’m not a man you should love.” I pushed my hands through my hair. Didn’t she understand? That wasn’t what this was between us.
“What do you mean, you’re not a man I can love?” she asked from behind me. The bed moved as she shifted and I felt the warmth of her hands on my shoulders. I stood to avoid her touch.
I couldn’t do this. I didn’t know what I’d been thinking getting involved with a woman—allowing myself to care about someone, for someone to care about me. I’d known it could only end in disaster.
“Surely I get to choose who I love?” Her voice was harder than before, her tone more challenging.
I couldn’t look at her. Instead I pulled out my overnight bag and began to pack. I needed to leave. Get back to my apartment—be on my own. “I’m just saying you can’t chose me. And if you do . . .”
“What? You’re going to leave me? Because I love you?”