“And miss all the good stuff with you now that you’re figuring out all of this? Not a chance, big guy.”
Relief swamped him as her gaze moved over his shoulder, and she said, “Are those the guys you worked with at Darkbird?”
He turned around as he walked over to the picture of him and his buddies he’d thumbtacked to the wall by the door. They’d just returned to the States after a grueling mission in Nigeria, where they’d rescued two oil executives who had been kidnapped by a paramilitary group. Grant and a few of the guys from his team were sitting around a table having a beer.
“Yeah, that’s them.”
“Look at you with that short hair and big grin. You’re the best looking of the bunch.”
She leaned against him, and a stroke of guilt moved through him. He wished he were still that grinning guy for her. He put his arm around her and kissed her temple.
“Who’s who?”
“The skinny guy on the left is Rat. He could sniff out anything and anyone. The long-haired, bearded guy is Wolf, for obvious reasons, and the big guy next to him is Gray, which we started calling him after that Fifty Shades book came out, because of his penchant for BDSM. The dark-haired guy who looks like a movie star is Cruise.”
“As in Tom?”
“Exactly. We gave him so much shit for that. The bearded, older guy on my right is Titus, our superior, and the guy on my left is Critch, the underwear model.”
“No wonder she wanted those pictures of him.”
He gave her a deadpan look, and she giggled.
“Do you have more pictures, or is that the only one?”
“I have a few more,” he said.
“We should get frames today and hang them up. Why don’t you have any pictures of your family up?”
“I have one in my wallet.” It was a picture Tara had taken of him and his family at the farewell party his parents had thrown him before he’d gone into the military. He’d thought about that picture often when he was away, though he’d rarely looked at it because it stirred memories he’d rather leave buried.
“One?” Her brow furrowed.
“I’ve got a few on my phone. It’s not like I’ve had anywhere to print them out.”
“Are you kidding? You can get them printed at the drugstore. They have a machine that does it, and you can email them to yourself and print them from your phone. How long did you rent this place for?”
He shrugged. “However long I want. I told Roddy a few months.”
“Then we need to get you some more pictures. I have a bazillion of your family. We’ll pick some out. Are you going to hang up that painting?” She motioned to the one leaning against the wall.
“No.”
“Can I have it?” She bounced on her toes. “I love having them in my office.”
“Jules.”
She made a pouty face. “They’re too good to just put away.”
“Fine,” he relented.
She let out a happy squeal and threw her arms around him. “What about the one on the easel? What’s that one going to be?”
“You’ll see when it’s done.”
“Can I have that one, too?” she asked hopefully.
“Like I have a choice?” He gave her a quick kiss. “I’m going to change so we can get out of here before you stake a claim to more of my stuff.” He was only teasing. She’d already staked a claim to the most important part of him, and she could have anything else she wanted.
Chapter Eighteen
JULES LOVED THE simplicity and old-fashioned New England charm of Seaport. There was nothing fancy about the small fishing town. It lacked the historical monument and enormous houses of Silver Haven and the elaborate town square and cobblestone streets of Chaffee. But it was known for its close-knit community and monthly potluck dinners hosted by eighty-year-old Goldie Gallow at her family’s bed-and-breakfast on Gallow Pointe by the lighthouse. Jules also loved the quaint cottages in the center of town that had once been home to fishermen and were now shops and restaurants, their residential fences and driveways still intact despite having turned into commercial businesses. More cute cottages and a smattering of indigenous plants lined the narrow-paved roads that led from the shopping district all the way down to the harbor and Fisherman’s Wharf.
She and Grant spent a lazy afternoon walking hand in hand through the town, checking out shops, people watching, and kissing. Always kissing. The air was crisp, the shopkeepers were friendly and helpful, and she and Grant were as close as they could be. It had been a perfect day from the moment she’d woken up to find the bag of Almond Joys on her doorstep, to working together on their projects, and this very moment as they walked around a bookstore stealing glances at each other from across the aisles. Grant may not wear his heart on his sleeve, but his feelings were evident in every glance, every stolen kiss, and in how thoughtful he was.
He was different today than he’d been just a few days ago when they were delivering wreaths. He wasn’t looking warily at the shopkeepers or passersby. He was playful and relaxed. When they’d left the last store, he’d led her into an alley between two shops, and when she asked what they were doing there, he’d kissed her senseless. She wondered if that was his new state of being or if it was just because they were far enough from home that everyone didn’t know about his leg, allowing him a little breathing space. It didn’t matter what the reason; he was relaxing and they were together, sending shopping with Grant to the top of her favorite activity list.
“I didn’t know you liked thrillers,” Jules said as they walked out of the bookstore, where she’d bought a romance novel and Grant had picked up a new thriller written by Brant’s cousin Kurt.
Grant hugged her against his side and kissed her as they headed down the sidewalk toward the next shop. “Kurt’s books are great, and I loved Jock’s first book, although that was horror.” Jock’s first novel, It Lies, had hit #1 on the New York Times bestseller list and had remained on the list for sixteen weeks.
“I didn’t read it. I was afraid it would give me nightmares. But I’m excited to read the one he just wrote because it’s romantic suspense.”
“I already told him that I’ll skip that one,” he said as he pulled open the door to a shop called Everything Under the Sun. “Romance isn’t my thing.”
“You are so wrong, Mr. Silver.” She tapped his stomach as she walked into the store and said, “Romance is your middle name.”
Ignoring the shake of his head, she took in the plethora of merchandise surrounding them. Antique dressers and tables were paired with new, intricately carved chairs painted in vibrant colors. Funky lights and colorful lanterns hung from the ceiling, and a multitude of interesting displays with a mix of new and old things from jewelry to sunglasses lined a path through the store like a maze.
“Good afternoon,” an elderly man said from behind a counter near the register, where he sat with a book in his hand and reading glasses perched low on his thin nose.
“Hello,” Jules said cheerily.
Grant nodded. “How’s it going?”
“At my age, every day is a good day. Let me know if I can do anything for you.”