“Do you make it a habit of buying flowers for every woman who is kind to you?”
A smile slowly crept across his face, a warning that he was about to say something that would tempt me to throw him out on his ass.
“Only the special ones,” he answered casually.
“I bet that’s reassuring to your wife.”
He cleared his throat and fussed with the watch on his wrist. Granddad always said you could learn a lot about a man from his watch.
Never trust a man who fiddles with his watch. That’s a nervous man who’s about to tell you a lie.
“Due to an unfortunate accident, my wife is incapacitated and will remain that way for the remainder of her life.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” I said empathetically, even though he appeared not to give a damn. According to the news, Mrs. Branson was involved in a hit-and-run. There were no witnesses or video footage. Whoever did it got away with the perfect crime.
He’s not sorrowful enough for me. If something were to ever happen to Kiyah… I… I don’t know if I’ll be able to live with myself. I certainly wouldn’t be buying another woman flowers.
“Thank you. A few days ago, Anna was discharged from the hospital to Emerald Hill’s for skilled nursing. Still, I’d rather have her home where she can have more personalized care.”
“Just in time for the election, huh? A young man who becomes a single parent and caregiver for his incapacitated wife is the epitome of family values. You’d be a shoo-in.”
His posture stiffened for a brief moment before relaxing again.
“In sickness and in health, Mr. Baker. I must get going. Please see that Kiyah receives the flowers and tell her that Pistol Pete says hello. Have a good day, Mr. Baker.”
I watched the politician creep out of the firm to his Porsche Panamera and prayed it’d be the last time we heard from Thaddeus Branson Jr.
Kiyah
I melted against the leather booth when Grant’s lips graced mine, and his hand squeezed my thigh underneath the table. I responded, pressing myself closer to him in our tiny booth as our tongues entwined. I retreated after he attempted to pull me into his lap.
“Grant, you’re doing too much. We’re in public,” I reminded him softly, wiping my burgundy lipstick from his lips.
“We should skip the rehearsal dinner,” he whispered seductively.
I smiled broadly. It’d felt like forever since I’d been this happy. The past two days have been nothing but pure bliss since Grant returned home on Tuesday with the most beautiful bouquet of pink roses for me. We had picked up the habit of buying each other flowers from our parents. Growing up, I used to melt when Mom gave Dad flowers on a random weekday. The look of pure joy on the man’s face was enough to hit you in the chest and make you wish for a love like theirs.
I had a love like theirs… have a love like theirs. I don’t know what the fuck I have, but I want to hold onto it forever and spend the rest of my days doing penance not only for Grant but for our family. I need them—all of them—from the craziest to the most frugal and everyone in between.
“We can’t skip the rehearsal dinner,” I insisted.
“Why not?” he asked, continuing his discreet under-the-table squeezing.
“Because we’re in the wedding party.”
“All we have to do is walk down the aisle. How hard is that?” he asked, nuzzling my neck. Lips smoothed across my skin, inching and inching closer to that spot that would make my eyes cross.
“You know there’s a lot more that goes into it than that,” I answered, pushing him away gently.
“I wouldn’t know. The only wedding I’ve attended was my own, and it was efficient.”
I snorted. Efficient was one way of wording it.
“We can’t skip. Questions would be raised.”
He hummed non-committal before reaching into his pocket. My eyes enlarged when the plastic hit the tabletop, and a clang of metal followed. Grant placed his elbows on the table and laced his fingers in front of his mouth as he waited for my response. I picked up the red-and-white motel keychain and grasped it.
Room 107.