Spending the afternoon and evening with Grayson was not what she'd intended to do with her day. He'd ordered way too much food so there were plenty of leftovers, and after placing the containers in the fridge, he settled himself beside her on the couch and asked to watch a movie.
"You don't strike me as a movie buff."
"Ah, but I am. Pick one."
"You seem to be under the impression you're invited to stay."
"I thought we were friends? You'd kick me out?"
She frowned at his blatant advantage-taking and clicked on the television, deciding to see how long he'd last if she chose a rom-com.
She curled up in one corner of the couch while he took the other, and after a while it became really hard to keep her eyes open. Between her full belly, sleepless nights, and the most boring and unrealistic romance unfolding onscreen, she felt herself drifting.
Sometime later she sensed movement on the couch and forced her lashes high to see Grayson had scooted closer to her. He put his arm up along the back of the couch and gently tugged her toward him.
"You look really uncomfortable."
She leaned against his side, liking the way his body warmed hers. "I'm fine."
"Frankie. Come here."
She thought she felt his lips brush against the top of her head. "Don't get fresh," she mumbled, eyes closed.
"Wouldn't dream of it. Even if I know good and well the woman fighting me at every turn wants to be with me, too."
Oh, she did. The temptation was there. The interest. Could men and women be friends? She had guy friends. Most of them were interested in more, and she kept them at arm's length because she wasn't, but she could do the same with Grayson. Not when you let him kiss you. "She wants," Frankie said softly, "to not fight with you."
"Then don't," he whispered. "Forgive me and go out with me. A real date."
She pressed her face against his shirt, the hard chest beneath, and hated that he made her feel so…
Safe?
But how was that possible given what had happened between them?
She rolled her head along his shoulder to better see his face and stared up at him drowsily. "What if we're not meant to be more than friends and we ruin it by dating? And what about your son? You need to focus on him right now. Not… us."
Grayson smoothed his knuckles along her jawline and lowered his head, took her mouth in a kiss that stole her breath and curled her toes and made her head spin for all the right reasons. The kisses earlier weren't flukes, and as one kiss blended into more, she found herself pulled across his lap, cradled against him, lips meeting and parting in sweet, sultry kisses that lessened her fear and increased it at the same time.
"What if," he said against her mouth, "we're meant to be so much more and we had to wait for the timing to be right?"
He kissed her again, lingering over the contact until she lifted her gaze and found him watching her. Their gazes locked and she couldn't look away, couldn't blink. Forgot to breathe.
"What if this could be everything we've always wanted? Everything we've dreamed of?"
What if. Oh, the what ifs were endless. Because what if he hurt her again? Not many men could handle someone with her issues, but a man like Grayson, a former soldier, someone in the medical field who understood what she dealt with… Could he? Would he?
Because what if the world imploded tomorrow? When life boiled down to its bits, all that mattered was who she loved and cared enough about to spend time with in those final moments. And given that no one knew the when or the how of a passing, any day could be the final one. Was she going to give up before she even got started? Grayson seemed remorseful. Sincere. What if… "Okay."
His gaze narrowed and he drew back a bit.
"Okay? We can… You’re saying you’ll date me?"
She smothered his words with her lips. His arm tightened around her back and he groaned, pressing her closer and holding her in place while he kissed her over and over again.
After a long while, a noise intruded. She ignored it at first because she thought it was his phone, but when hers started ringing, the moment ended with a muttered complaint from Grayson and several quick, hard smooches that told her how much he didn't want to stop.
He let her slide off of his lap onto the couch beside him before removing his phone from his pocket.
"Hello?"
Frankie got up and moved to the island, where she'd left her cell upon their arrival. She picked it up and punched in the code to see a message from Carolina.
London said you might know this kid?
Oh, no. The picture was of Christopher. She winced and texted back as she crossed the floor to the computer. She needed to pull the security footage from her garage, and now might be a really good time to know the extent of Christopher's antics.
What did he do? she texted.
While she waited for Carolina's reply, Frankie clicked on the day she'd arrived back in town and quickly moved through the footage an hour or so before she'd gone to the garage. The moment she saw a small-built shadow approach her mechanic, she stopped the footage to watch.
Oh, boy.
The photo quality was a little grainy but there was no doubt who the kid was.
A chime sounded.
Some kids tipped the claw machine and shattered it. They took off but Dad caught this one. I think Dad is on the phone with the kid's parents and the cops just walked in. Party at the pier house! :)
Frankie met Grayson's gaze and hurried over to where Grayson now paced. She waggled her fingers to ask for the phone, and when Grayson hesitated, she took it from his hands. "Dad, it’s Frankie. Caro told me what's happening and… do your best to keep the police out of this, okay? We're on our way."
Her father sighed heavily in her ear.
"Where are you now?"
"My condo." As soon as the words left her mouth, she grimaced. "Grayson and I are… friends," she said, meeting Grayson's gaze. "Dad, just… go scary colonel dad all you want, okay, but see if you can keep the cops from charging Christopher. We'll figure the rest out once we get there."
"That's one way to make an impression with your father," Grayson muttered once she’d ended the call. "Thank you. For trying to keep the police out of it."
"Don't thank me yet. He may not be able to. Come on, let's go."
Grayson followed her toward the door but stopped in his tracks. She turned to find him staring at the image frozen on her computer screen. "Grayson? That can wait. One thing at a time."
What if it could be everything we've always wanted?
The question ping-ponged in Frankie’s head the entire way to the pier house.
What would happen when she told him the truth? If she revealed the full extent of her injuries, would that be it? For some men, the answer would be a definitive yes.
Carolina texted a couple more times asking who Grayson was since she'd overhead the conversation on their father's end, and Frankie silently groaned. Any hope of keeping her family out of her personal life was now gone, and once Carolina spread the word to the sisters….
She really wasn't ready for this. Any of it.
They entered the pier house to find her father had pulled Christopher into the more private area in the middle of the building that served as storage, office, and jewelry display, and she grimaced when her first thought was that she hoped he'd locked the cases before allowing Christopher inside.
Grayson led the way, looking tall and imposing with his glower, and when Christopher spotted him, the boy's face paled.
"I didn't do it this time. I didn't," Christopher said, staring at Grayson with pleading eyes.
"Why should we believe you?" Grayson asked. "It's the third strike, Chris. And that's only the ones we know of."
"Third…?"
She stepped out from behind Grayson’s broad form and Christopher’s eyes widened.
"I know about the part you stole from me and pawned at Frankie's garage. What is wrong with you?"
Something inside of her forced her feet in motion. Frankie grabbed a plastic waste can and handed it to the kid just in time for him to get sick.
Oh, yeah. He’d definitely been drinking.
Grayson stared at his son and Frankie's heart broke at what she saw. She remembered his comment about them being strangers after Grayson served for so long, and she doubted any civilian knew the full price soldiers and their families paid during their enlistment.
Christopher stood as though to make a run for it, but her father put a hand on his shoulder and shoved the kid back down.
"Son, you sit in that chair until I tell you to get up. That's an order. Otherwise you will be talking to the police. You hear me?"
"Whatever."
"What was that?"
Christopher settled himself in the seat.
"I mean, yes, sir."
Her father straightened. "You two, over here."
Her father tilted his head toward the single entry/exit point, and she and Grayson moved to join him.
"Are you okay?" she whispered to Grayson, who seemed to be a combination of embarrassed and angry and struggling to find words to express it.
Grayson stared at his son, looking like a man very much in need of a stiff drink himself.
"Son, you aren't responsible for the stupid he's been doing, but you are responsible for your household. The boy and his friends shattered a claw machine with their antics, and it’s a wonder someone wasn’t seriously injured."
"I understand. I'm sorry, sir."
"Don't be sorry. I told the police you'd see that he was punished. I want to know how."
"How, sir?"
"How are you going to fix the mess that's sitting over there sobbing into his T-shirt when he’s not vomiting and stinking up the place?"
"Boot camp," Frankie said softly, earning the attention of both men. "Whenever we got into trouble, we got boot camp. You always said we were better able to focus if we were too tired to act out and talk back. If he's running or exercising when he’s not working to repay what he owes, he isn't stealing."
Grayson met her gaze and held it a long moment. "You think it'll work?"
"It did with us."
"Does that mean you'll help me with this? It might help with your—"
"Stress," she said before Grayson could tell her father about the PTSD. "Sure. I'll help."
Her father's thick eyebrows had lifted high at Grayson's question, but she ignored the too-keen awareness she found there after she'd cut Grayson off.
Like it or not, Grayson was right. The time spent exhausting herself might help her sleep so… why not?
"I have to agree, it worked with my girls," her father said. "Though, I should probably confess it was also a way for me to spend quality time with them. What?" her father said with a small smile at her. "The older I got, the harder it was to keep up. It was a win-win. And since you're helping, I'll pitch in, too. I can improvise some things under the pier house on the beach," her father said. "It's old-school but effective."
Grayson looked shocked by her father's offer, but she wasn't at all. In the military, family was family. But she had a feeling it was also a way of getting to know her… friend.
"Thank you, sir. I'll cover the damages to the machine and Christopher can pay me—"
"That’s not acceptable. He did it; he will work it off."
"Uh, Dad, you might want to—"
"I'll do it," Christopher said from behind them while hugging the trash can. "It's okay. I'll do it."
"Well, if you two are done making eyes at each other, I suggest you take your son home. Oh four hundred comes early, especially when he'll be working here after school for the next few years to pay for that machine he broke."
Christopher moaned. "Years?"