Davis

“She’s not ready,” I tell Vince.

We’re at the bar at McGreevy’s. Grace isn’t working tonight, but her brethren are. Whenever Candace or the other girl wanders by, I change the subject.

“I can sense it. I rushed it.”

“You’re going to have to back up.” Vince takes his coat off and sits down. This isn’t the first time I’ve bombarded him the second he enters the room. “What did you rush?”

I take a drink of my beer and then another as Vince raises his hand to get Candace’s attention.

“What can I getcha, sugar?” she asks him. He orders a draft and Candace pours his beer. She delivers it and pats my hand before walking away.

“What was that about?” Vince asks.

I shrug. “Beats me.”

“Looked like she was consoling you.”

I laught, but…was she consoling me?

“You do look a little George Bailey sitting there.”

I meet the eyes of my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. My tie is loose and the collar of my jacket is sticking up on one side. I jerk it into place, but Vince has a point. My posture is a cross between It’s a Wonderful Life’s downtrodden protagonist and Lord of the Rings’ lurching Gollum. I straighten my tie, then my back.

“How long did you wait to tell Jackie you loved her?”

“Fuck me, that’s what this is about?” Vince’s eyes go wide.

“Thanks a lot,” I grumble, feeling worse.

“It was after our ‘dark moment of the soul.’ ”

He says it so seriously, I scrunch my face.

“After you tried to pry my head out of my ass and it didn’t work,” he explains. “And after you appealed to Jackie’s sensibility. I owe you for that one. I’ll buy your beer.”

“You’re going to have to do more than buy me a beer.” I shake my head at my own stupidity. “Grace is freaking out.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Let’s just say I know what it looks like when a woman is about to freak out.” My tone is martini dry.

“Fair enough.” Vince lifts his glass. “When are you seeing her next?”

“I haven’t talked to her since she left my place without a goodbye yesterday.”

My best friend’s expression is foreboding.

“What?” I bark.

“Nothing. Jesus! Calm down.” Vince laughs. I might be overreacting. I’d love it if I were overreacting. “Everything is fine, Kemosabe. So you love her? So what? At least you told her that instead of cramming your head in your ass.”

He gulps his beer.

“Here’s the deal,” Vince says. “Tonight, meet her. If she starts any sentence with the words ‘I’ve been thinking,’ interrupt and tell her you’ve been thinking too. Tell her you didn’t mean to smother her. That you’re just so into her you got ahead of yourself.”

His logic is stunning in its simplicity. My rigid shoulders lower a few inches.

“It’s hard to know what to do,” he continues. “You were almost married. Then you went from forever with Hanna to being content to bang every broad in town and not get tied down.”

“Broad? What is this? Film noir?”

Vince laughs.

“I don’t feel tied down.” It may be the first time I’ve admitted it aloud. “And this will not surprise you at all, but the women I dated before? I was just killing time.”

“We don’t think deeply about that kind of stuff. We just do it. We’re doers.” Vince stops short of banging his chest like King Kong.

“How did you get those women to want you, Davis?” Vince asks, his smile smug.

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

“Giving you a dose of your own advice. How did you keep them wanting more?”

I take a breath and blow it out. I didn’t sit and psychoanalyze every nuance of what we did together, that’s how. A night of sex was followed by a normal morning, not second-guessing.

“Shut up,” I tell my best buddy.

“You’re worrying too much.”

“Fuck off.”

He spares me his next bout of laughter. We turn our attention to the television.

But he’s smiling. I can sense it.

The bastard.

Grace

It’s a rare occasion when my mother and I get together, but she’s throwing a ladies’ luncheon for a few of her single clients and asked me to help her plan. If anything can bond the Buchanan women, it’s planning a party.

“You’re welcome to come, even though you’ve never been divorced. All single woman are welcome.”

We’re in a spice store, and I stop at a rack of various hot chocolate mixes. I’ve had my eye on the cayenne one since we set foot in here. I pretend to be fascinated with the ingredients on the back of the tin.

“Grace.” She drags out my name likes she’s scolding me.

“Yes, Mom?” I place the tin on the shelf.

“What’s going on?”

I could lie. I should lie. But I don’t. I put two tins of the hot chocolate into my basket and tell her the summarized truth.

“Davis and I are serious. I think. I’ve concluded that I’ve never been serious with anyone. Not like this.”

I frown in thought before telling her the rest of it.

“He offered me his house key,” I whisper.

“Oh.” She purses her lips. “That is serious. We need to sit down and talk.”

My mother takes the shopping basket from my hands, swipes in two more tins of hot cocoa, and starts for the cash register.

Back at her house, she pours steamed milk into four mugs and stirs in each powdered concoction. She arranges them on a tray, tops them with marshmallows, and brings them to me.

I’m curled on her couch like a croissant. Talk about conversations you don’t want to have. And yet I’m here, because I need to talk about it. I can’t talk to Rox and I don’t know Jackie well enough, and Grandma Rose would totally rat me out. Her loyalty lies with Davis.

I have no choice, really.

“It’s soon,” I tell my mother. “I’ve only been seeing him a few months.”

“I only saw your father a few months.” Her face darkens as the room fills with what we aren’t saying.

“He and I have lunch next week,” I tell her. “He wants to repair our relationship before…before.”

My mother bats her eyes and offers a watery smile. “Good. That’s good, honey.”

A beat of uncomfortable silence passes, then another before she takes control of the conversation again. “So. Davis?”

“Davis. Well, we’ve got a great thing going.” I opt for bluntness. “Great sex. Overnights. We laugh. We have fun. He takes care of me.”

“I suppose you don’t want to hear ‘So did your father and I.’ ”

“No thanks,” I give her a soft smile.

“Grace, Grace, Grace.” She sits with me and hands one of the mugs over. I sip. It’s the peppermint cocoa and pretty damn delicious. “Davis is a stock analyst, right?”

“Yes. The best in his company.”

“He’s an overachiever.”

“Completely. He’s dedicated. A hard worker,” I say, proud.

“And he had a false start down the aisle.”

I probably shouldn’t have shared that with her. I’ve had a few bouts of weakness where Davis is concerned.

“Does he truly care about you? Or are you his next challenge?”

I stop blowing on my hot beverage and face my mother, whose expression is stony and serious.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that Davis may not want you; he may simply be conquering his next challenge. He failed to take a woman down the aisle. Maybe he wants to see how far he can go with you.”

“That’s a horrible thing to say.” My heart clutches. I don’t believe Davis is using me as an experiment. Then I think of the women he used to date. Were they experiments?

I close my eyes. I will not let my mother burrow into my psyche.

“I’d rather you know now than find out in your own divorce proceedings.” Dawn Buchanan sets her mug down and stands from the couch.

“That’s…pessimistic.”

“It’s realistic, Grace.”

“Divorce isn’t inevitable, Mom.” I’m on my feet and pulling on my coat before I can talk myself out of it. “I’m more to Davis than a goal to check off his bucket list.”

“And what is he to you?”

I frown.

“Because if he’s serious about you and you’re not serious about him, that’s not fair either. Do you know what love is, Grace? Do you know how to love him the way he loves you?”

I wonder if I’m visibly deflating. I am on the inside.

I told Davis I loved him. I meant it.

Didn’t I?

“Don’t toy with him,” my mother warns. “Especially if he’s serious. You know firsthand how bad a marriage can look when two people aren’t on the same page.”

“Thanks to you.” I grab my purse and start for the door.

“Remember what I said!” she calls as I leave her house.

I drive home, thinking that my mother is both certifiable and possibly right.

Davis has been good to me. I’ve been cagey. Squirrelly. Everything he does—every thoughtful, selfless thing—causes me to twitch with alarm.

In the shower I scrub my hair and push my visit with my mother to the back of my mind. I remember the bet I made with Davis and the way he leaped at the idea of taking me out. The way he offered me his “packages” and how I didn’t accept.

The champagne night.

Meeting his grandmother.

The hotel where he said he loved me.

I rinse my hair and stand under the spray, hot water cocooning me.

My mother is right.

Davis is being honest. It’s time for me to be honest.

I climb out of the shower, wrap myself in a towel, and, dripping, go to my cellphone where it sits on my bed.

Hands shaking, I draw a deep breath. I punch a button and make the outgoing call I should’ve made a long time ago.

“Gracie Lou,” Davis answers.

“What are you doing?” My voice shakes, but I clear my throat and try again. “Are you busy?”

“I’m coming to your place,” he says, his voice sexy and suggestive.

I manage a curt “I’m waiting.”

“See you in ten.”

Ten.

I have ten minutes to think of what to say.

Davis

Grace inviting me over goes a long way toward soothing my ragged nerves. The other day I overthought myself into a tizzy.

Tizzies are not manly.

I park at the curb and walk to her door. I notice I’m whistling—how about that? I’m not sure “chipper” is manly either, but I’m going with it.

Grace answers with wet hair, wearing jeans, a sweatshirt, and fluffy blue socks.

I hand over the fall bouquet in my hand. “For you.”

Her eyes go to the blooms and then lift to my face. “We need to talk, Davis.”

A jolt shocks my system. My brain scrambles to remember what Vince said the other night. Something about cutting her off to tell her I was wrong. Was that it? Something about how I was the one who jumped the gun?

“We do need to talk,” I say. On the cusp of eating the I love you that I said a long time ago and meant ever since, I hesitate. I could tell her the offer of my house key was premature, but that too feels like the wrong move.

I’m not going to lie to Grace. I’m not going to say I didn’t mean any of it when I meant all of it.

“Come in.”

I step into her house and close the door behind me. I follow her to the kitchen, where she’s pulling a glass vase down from an overhead cabinet. She rinses it and fills it with water, and I hand over the flowers.

We stand in silence while she unwraps them and takes the extra step of trimming the ends with shears. I keep my mouth shut. No good can come of my speaking first. She’s the one with something to say. I’m going to let her say it.

“They’re beautiful.” She looks sad. A bizarre spark of hope comes when I wonder if she’s upset about her father, not me.

“Is this about your dad?” My heart thuds hard, then harder when she shakes her head no. That means it’s about me. Well, shit.

I take her hand and lead her to the sofa, shrugging out of my coat. She sits, looks at her lap, and fidgets with the pocket on the front of her sweatshirt.

“Tell me, Gracie.”

She inhales. I steel my spine. I’d rather know what’s going on in her head than not know. Not knowing sucks.

“You said you wanted more,” she starts. “With me.”

“Yes.” I did say that.

“Why?”

“Why?” I repeat. She needs clarity on that? “I thought the why was clear.”

“The thing is, Davis…”

Hell. This is going from bad to worse.

“More could mean a lot of things,” I interrupt. “More could mean you have my key or stay the whole weekend. More could mean trips together. More could mean…” Marriage, kids, a future. “Whatever we want it to mean,” I finish lamely. I don’t want to spook her. Given the dark circles under her eyes, I might be too late.

“I’ve seen the more. I’ve witnessed firsthand when love leads to destruction, then to compromise, and then to ambivalence. Every stage is uglier than the last.”

She’s talking about her parents.

“You’ve seen one version of it, Gracie.”

“You’ve seen another,” she fires back.

“And I’m willing to try again.”

Her eyes widen in alarm. “You can’t mean…marriage?”

“Breathe.” I grip her arm. I can’t not touch her. She leans into me despite her uncertainty. “I don’t want to get married. Not yet. But in the future, who knows? I’m willing to see what happens. We haven’t exactly been sticking to the script here.”

Everything about Grace and me is different.

“You love me; I love you. We’ve got this.” I wrap my arm around her but she twists away.

“I don’t—” Her fists are curled in the sleeves of her sweatshirt. She shakes them at me. “I shouldn’t have said it back.”

“Grace.” The word is a warning. I’m not playing around with this and neither should she. Years ago my heart was destroyed, and it took a lot for me to get to this point. “Be very certain that you mean what you say next.”

She swallows, then meets my eyes. “What if we back off? What if I choose a package and we start from there?”

Her voice is infused with hope. Hope, while devastation wreaks havoc in my chest cavity.

“You’re serious.”

“It’s a good compromise.” She lifts her eyebrows.

Like I’m going to agree to this bullshit?

“I don’t want to offer you a package. I’m done with the way I used to date. I’m done taking out random women. I’m over being lonely.”

“You’re lonely and I’m convenient, is that it? The girl without a career or hobbies? The one woman who can seamlessly fuse into your life while leaving hers behind?”

Wait. What?

“What the fuck, Grace? I never said any of that.”

“You didn’t have to, Davis!” She bursts off the sofa. “You’re not in love with me, admit it. I’m another challenge for you to overcome.”

“I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone,” I all but shout as I stand with her. She shrinks back.

“No. You like having a sex partner and a person to watch TV with.”

When I confront her next, my voice shakes with anger. “This is bullshit. You know it. You’re scared and you’re nervous and you’re looking for a way to sabotage what we have.”

“It’s doomed anyway!”

I lock my jaw and lean in. “You don’t believe that.”

She’s silent.

“You dared me to date you, Grace. You. You decided to stay with me past the agreed-upon package. And when your dad showed up out of the blue with news he wasn’t going to be around much longer, who did you run to? Me.”

“I shouldn’t have put that on you.”

I grip her shoulders. “Yes. You should have. That’s the goddamn point! It’s okay to lean on the person you love. It’s okay to be vulnerable. It’s okay to take my house key. It’s okay to fight and have uncomfortable conversations about our future.”

I lower my face to hers.

“Gracie,” I say softly. She’s still in there. The woman I’ve fallen for—I can see her beyond the fear. “Don’t do this. We’re okay. We’re better than okay now that this is out in the open.”

Just when I think I’m reaching her, she shakes her head solemnly.

“Ending it now is better than ending it later. I don’t want to be a bitter divorcée whose only bright spot in life is eating lunch with a bunch of other bitter divorcées.”

I have no idea what she’s talking about. She steps away from me, her eyes damp, but no tears fall.

“Your solution is to never try again. Is that it?” I ask.

“You and I, Davis…We’re not Rox and Mark.”

“What the hell does this have to do with Rox and Mark?” I practically shout.

“He’s perfect for her. A harmless guy with a bland past and a normal family. Our dynamics…We’ll never survive.”

Fury roars within me, though I suspect beneath it is pain—a truckload of it. The deep, dark hurt I once buried and swore never to unearth.

“I can’t help who I am, Gracie. I can’t change my mother leaving or my father dying. I can’t change your parents either.”

She juts her chin stubbornly.

“You’re right, though. If you kill what we have before it starts, we won’t survive.”

“I couldn’t lie to you any longer.”

“Lying to me should be the least of your concerns.” I snatch my coat off the couch and march for the door. “Lying to yourself, on the other hand—that shit leaves a scar.”

I open the door, a cold breeze slapping me in the face and slicing through my thin shirt. I should walk out without looking back. I should, but I don’t. I turn and look over my shoulder, half in, half out.

“Last chance, Grace. Do you love me or not?” I brace myself for her answer, remind myself of my new motto: I’d rather know than not know.

“I…can’t.” Tears spill down her cheeks. She covers her mouth like she’s trying to keep from taking it back.

“All right, then.” I feel the wall going up—the stones stacking from my gut to my neck and enclosing my heart along the way. “I guess we’re done.”

I shut the door firmly, the silence feeling final.

I feel fucking horrible.

But. I was eviscerated once before and lived to tell the tale.

I can do it again.

I don’t bother pulling on my coat. I climb into my car and start driving aimlessly until, two hours later, I arrive in Mysticburg, Ohio, knocking on my grandmother’s bedroom door.

She takes one look at me and her eyes brim with concern. “What happened?”

“Grace” is all my shaky voice manages.

“I told her not to fuck it up.” My grandmother grabs my arm and I allow her to drag me inside.

“It’s not her fault. Hell, maybe it’s no one’s fault. Maybe we were doomed from the start because of our checkered pasts.”

“Don’t be an idiot. It’s unflattering.”

I sink into an armchair and cover my eyes with my hand. “I loved her.”

“I know.” My grandmother pulls my hand away from my eyes and quirks one white eyebrow. “Want a shot of whiskey?”

I laugh but choke on it a moment later as the severity of what I’ve lost sinks in. “I lost her.”

“Davis, no.”

It’s no use. My eyes blur and my gut hollows out. “I lost her, Rose. For good.”