Page 16 of It’s Your Love
He hadn’t even remembered to give Grandma the earrings he’d brought or Grandpa the silver belt buckle.
It was a stretch for Deep Haven style, but for Florida? Oh boy. He’d have to warn Grandpa not to wear it with his island-print shirts, or Grandma would never forgive Grayson.
The automatic doors whooshed open, and he lifted his head. Dylan Strauss, Beth’s brother and his former best friend, rushed in. A few new wrinkles and maybe an extra pound or two, but overall, the man hadn’t changed much. Just the same as always in a blue T-shirt and gray cargo shorts.
“Hey—thanks for calling me.” Dylan put his hand into Grayson’s, then pulled him forward into a man hug. Smacked his back. “It’s been a long time.”
“Of course,” Grayson answered. “Glad I was there—I was sitting in the bakery and saw…her.” He didn’t even know how to describe the mascot Olympics he’d witnessed. “How’s Marie doing?” Robin had told him about the cancer diagnosis Dylan’s wife had been hit with.
“She’s doing good,” Dylan answered. “Thanks for asking. The treatment makes her sick, but she’s strong. She’s got grit.”
Grayson didn’t even know how a man handled his wife being diagnosed with cancer at thirty.
Which was exactly why Grayson kept his life free of any such attachments. He helped horses—and yeah, he’d had a few horses break his heart with inoperable colic or an all-night labor that ended with a stillborn foal.
Those were hard enough.
But he’d found he could just dig in deeper to the work. Help more horses.
“I’ll bet she does,” Grayson said. He gave his friend a light smack to the chest. “She needs to, dealing with you.” As soon as the words left his lips, he held his breath, not sure how they’d land.
Dylan laughed, full and satisfied. “That she does.” He nodded. “She says I need to get out of the house. I start driving her crazy after a few days—maybe hovering.” Dylan shook his head. “We’ll have to get some fishing in while you’re here. She’ll welcome the break.”
The nostalgia of summers in the north woods poured over Grayson, causing an ache in his stomach. Fireflies and friends and fishing.
The scent of lilacs and honeysuckle from his mom’s garden.
All the reminders that kept him out of Deep Haven. Because he didn’t need to be lured into the complacency of comfort. That’s how people got hurt.
But he hadn’t expected an invitation from Dylan. Not when they’d left things like they had. Grayson fidgeted. “I want you to know, what happened between Beth and me was never what you thought it was. That night of the pit party? I was trying to help.” He shook his head. “I could have done it a lot better than I did. I’m sorry.”
He’d carried her into her bedroom after driving her home. Brushed her hair off her face and watched her sleep for a few minutes, replaying their kiss. The one he never should have let happen.
He’d realized then how much he’d wanted her to be sober. Wondering all the what-ifs because the pesky little sister of his best friend had grown into a beautiful young woman, and he hadn’t even noticed until that night. She’d shed her baggy sweats and her dad’s oversized shirts. Instead, she’d worn cut-off shorts and a T-shirt that her dad would have said was a little too tight and six inches too short. But he’d gone to a weekend men’s retreat, and Dylan had been out with his girlfriend.
Grayson hadn’t heard their front door open, but he remembered the steel in Dylan’s eyes when he’d found Grayson tucking Beth into bed.
Don’t ever look at my sister like that again.
“Hey,” Dylan said. His voice snapped Grayson back to the hospital corridor. He pressed his lips together. Nodded. “It’s history, okay? That was a long time ago.” He placed a hand on Grayson’s shoulder. “It was a knee-jerk response for me. I could have handled it better too.”
Grayson nodded, wishing the weight on his chest would lift with Dylan’s words. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I still can’t believe you’re here—when you called about Beth, it took a minute to put it all together.” Dylan drew his hand across his mouth. “It didn’t all connect right away.” He smiled. “Seriously, it’s good to see you, even if you do look like you’re dressed for Western Days at the elementary school.”
Grayson took the well-deserved cheap shot. “Thanks.” He picked up his hat. “Are you still in construction?”
“Yep. Working for Seth Turnquist—best custom log homes on the North Shore,” Dylan added. “I heard some news this morning about you now being the owner of a lot.”
“I’m not building a home here.” Despite owning that prime piece of real estate.
Dylan stepped back. “Okay. I felt I should mention it.” He smiled. “Gotta do my part for business.”
“How did you hear about the lot? Robin didn’t even know until today.”
“Ouch.” Dylan cringed. “News travels. Eli’s Sunday school teacher was in the bakery this morning and told a woman named Janet, who happened to have told Dad, who told me.”
“Of course.”