Trying to ignore the warmth of his touch, I studied his face closely. But I couldn't find a trace of insincerity in his expression—only a pure, fatherly fondness. He was dead serious about protecting Maple.
“Ay-son!” Maple toddled over to him at top speed and glued herself to his leg.
“Why, good morning, sweetheart.” He bent down to greet her. She grabbed his proffered pinky, staring up at him with a wide, gummy grin.
Jesus, this level of adorable ought to be illegal. Why did he have to be so sweet with her? Just because Maple thought Grey walked on water didn't mean I should turn into a gooey puddle. No amount of corny Hallmark moments could change the fact that my husband was dead. It should be Marcus standing here, holding Maple's tiny hand, giving her presents and taking her out on daddy-daughter dates.
Even knowing all that, though, Grey's gentle smile still calmed my heart...and touched off a spark in my belly. And that kiss from last night didn't help. I shook off the sexy mental images just as Grey looked up again.
“So how about it?” he asked, eyebrows raised slightly in encouragement. “I'm betting you haven't had a real day off in a while.” He handed me a gift card for a local spa. “Go get a massage or whatever it is women like to do.”
Maple switched her pleading gaze to me. Her huge green eyes were a weapon of mass cuteness and she knew it. And a day at the spa sounded like heaven.
I melted immediately. “Okay,” I said before I could think better of it. “I do need something...” My job forced me to keep up with leg and bikini waxes, but my hair was getting too long, and my feet were dying for some TLC after dancing in high heels every damn night.
I showed Grey how to attach the child seat into his car, then drove downtown to Roxy's Locks and booked a haircut and deluxe pedicure. I sank into the padded salon chair. As the wispy attendant fluttered and fussed over me, I started to relax. The constant mental refrain of work and worries, time and money, gradually faded away. But in the resulting quiet, I could hear all the questions I'd been avoiding. Life was so busy, so full of moment-by-moment demands, that it had been easy to keep my mind off the big picture. I had taken that excuse gratefully. Now, however, I was all alone with my thoughts—and they always found their way back to Grey.
I closed my eyes, tears threatening. I wondered what on earth Marcus would think of all this. Would he judge me and think this was totally wrong? Or would he be happy that a man he loved and trusted was taking care of us?
I'd been so scared to even consider a future with another man. I'd thought it would feel like a betrayal. Either he wouldn't measure up to Marcus...or he would, and I'd feel traitorous, tricked by my own heart into breaking our wedding vows. But I'd come to realize that nothing I did could ever damage our marriage. Death had done us part—those days with Marcus were far behind me. And though I would never, could never forget a single moment, I wondered if my heart did have room for more. I needed reason to smile again. Maybe Grey and Marcus didn't sully or overshadow each other. They represented totally different parts of my life. And dear God, I wanted to actually enjoy my life again.
I said a silent prayer begging Marcus to understand.
Please.
Please help me see what I’m supposed to do.
“Miss?” The pedicurist asked, bringing me back to reality. “Is this the color you wanted?” She held up a bottle of baby pink polish.
“Yes, thank you.”
I watched as she painted carful strokes of polish over my buffed toes and my thoughts drifted to Greyson again.
The longer he came over to our place, the more normal it had felt. At first, I'd only let him play with Maple while I watched, eagle-eyed, skeptical that a never-married soldier boy could handle a toddler. But eventually I let his duties expand: feeding her at dinner, brushing her hair, wiping her face, entertaining her while I relaxed in a hot bath. And in return, our routine expanded to include him. I started taking it for granted that he'd show up twice a week, like clockwork, bearing dinner and a few precious hours of respite.
Before I knew it, three weeks had passed. Six visits. Dozens of deli boxes of mac 'n cheese for all of us, countless bedtime stories and peekaboo games for Maple...and then, at last, one bottle of Merlot. For me.
This arrangement wasn't supposed to be about me. The only way I could swallow my pride and let myself accept Grey's help was by making it all about Maple. Her learning to say his name had been the straw that broke my back. Oh, screw it, I'd thought, Maple likes the bastard for some reason, and I shouldn't deprive her of a father figure just because she's got terrible taste in men. She deserved a better childhood than the one I could give her on my own. And it was only for a little while, just until I could get on my feet. I furiously denied that my choice had anything to do with Grey himself—his handsome face, his broad shoulders and tight ass, his gentle but firm insistence on taking care of us. The most I'd ever admit was how refreshing it was to talk with someone who knew more than three words.
So I'd let him into our life. We didn't talk directly to each other much, apart from quick questions like “where's the paper towels?” But the atmosphere was still comfortably domestic. I'd never expected to feel that way again. With any man, let alone Greyson fucking Archer.
I almost wished I could feel more awkward. I was practically playing house with my husband's executioner. So why did the sight of him bring a smile to my face and loosen the tension in my shoulders? He made me feel like everything was going to be okay. Even though he'd been the one who made my life not-okay in the first place.