Delaney James has it all: a handsome husband who just made partner at his law firm, a gorgeous townhouse in NYC's Upper East Side, and a blossoming career in fashion journalism. Life is perfect - until her husband leaves her for another woman. With...
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Knowing I'm not going to get through to Greyson tonight – if ever – I push my feelings about his decision aside and point out how late it is, suggesting we go to bed. While he locks up the house and sets the security alarm, I make sure Hercules is comfortable in his bed by the fireplace, tucking him under his favorite fleece blanket and giving him plenty of goodnight kisses, knowing he'll end up in our bed in a few hours.
He always does.
While Greyson is in the shower, I brush my teeth with the toothbrush he got for me – the one he said will remain in the toothbrush holder permanently – and wash my face. I strip out of my clothes and slip a silk, forest-green nightgown over my head, and as I move around the room, I stop and look at all the picture frames that decorate the walls, shelves, and nightstands. There are a bunch of him and I, mostly from the days of us growing up and when we were dating in high school, and a few from our trip to Los Angeles – us on the red carpet at the ESPYS and standing in front of Cinderella's castle with our mouse ears on at Disney Land. There are pictures with his family – his parents, his brother Cole and sister-in-law Lydia at their wedding, and a couple with his niece and nephew.
I run my fingers over the photo of our high school baseball team, mid-celebration the day they won the state championship when we were seniors. I'll remember that day for the rest of my life. I smile when I see pictures of Greyson, Mitchell, and Wyatt at a Dawson's Beach bonfire when we were kids, perfectly placed next to one of them from this summer's Fourth of July bonfire. There are photos of him playing ball, and since he's not wearing a St. Louis Cardinals jersey, I'm assuming they're from his days in the minors, and as I lean closer, I realize I don't recognize any of the guy's he's with – except for Bodie and Kutter.
Kutter. How am I going to tell Greyson about what happened tonight? A part of me is wondering if I even should. What are the odds I'll see him again? Since Greyson isn't taking the job with the Cubs and moving to Chicago, the chances of us running into each other are rare. Kutter lives in Illinois during the season, and when it's over, he goes back to California where he grew up. I doubt he passes through our small-town often – if ever. I most likely won't see him again until Greyson and my wedding day. Then again, do I want him there, making me feel uncomfortable during a time that's supposed to be so important for us?
Our wedding day? Okay, now I'm just getting ahead of myself.
"Slow your ass down, Delaney," I tell myself.
I pull back the heavy, goose-down comforter and slip underneath the cool sheets. It's late, but I always text my mother goodnight when I'm not home. She texts back almost immediately, and a loud cackle bursts out of me when I see she sent an eggplant and a raincoat emoji.
"What's so funny?" Greyson asks as he comes into the bedroom.
He's fresh out of the shower and looking especially yummy in nothing but a pair of tight, black Calvin Klein boxer briefs. His tan, sculpted chest glistens with droplets of water and his thick, chocolate-brown hair is messy from being towel-dried, with wet tendrils falling over his forehead. The muscles in his back flex as he holds the clothes he wore tonight over his head and tosses them across the room like a basketball, cupping his hands around his mouth and exhaling when they land directly in the hamper, mimicking that of a raucous crowd of fans. My eyes travel down his body and I tuck my bottom lip between my teeth as I watch his ridiculously tight abdominals flex when he yawns and stretches his arms above his head.
