Eight Years Gone, page 10
He slowed when he spotted her Sorento parked in front of Simplicity. For a second, he contemplated grabbing both of their favorite sandwiches and knocking on the door, but she needed space.
He winced as he thought of their drive back from the lake. They’d had some semblance of a conversation, but Grace had shut things down when he tried to talk about anything but his job.
“Slow and steady,” he reminded himself, forever remembering that he and Grace were starting from scratch. She was different—so was he. But so many things were the same.
She still listened to her music—the nineties stuff she played whenever she was in a funk. He knew the moment she remembered their very sexy afternoon that had started with a searing kiss while The Sundays played in the background.
Eventually, they would talk. At some point, he would say all of the things that he needed to say. But for now, he would eat.
Pulling open the door at Tony’s, he walked inside, sending Christy a polite nod as she glanced his way while she paid for her sub sandwiches.
Grabbing her bag, she moved in his direction. “Jagger, it’s nice to see you around here again.”
“It’s nice to be back.”
“From what I hear, you’re creating quite the buzz at the elementary school.”
He frowned. “I am?”
Christy nodded. “The kids love your classes. Brennan’s bugging Mike and me to sign him up for taekwondo.”
He loved that the kids were having fun and learning. He’d always wanted to do for others what Master Isaac had done for him.
Master Isaac and Wakeview Taekwondo had saved his life when he’d been a lost, angry kid from the shitty side of town. Master Isaac and Wakeview Taekwondo had given him a life. Everything he had now started the day the man opened the door to the eight-year-old boy with the nasty black eye.
“You should bring him over—let him check it out. He can take a class with us for fun.”
Christy beamed. “I’ll talk to Mike.” She looked at her dinner. “I should get this home.”
“Have a good night.”
“Thanks.” She moved past him, then stopped. “She’s afraid, Jagger.”
Sighing, he turned to face her. “I know.”
“You’re here, so that has to mean something.”
He nodded.
“If you want her, do something about it. Stop being so polite and get in her way. Ben’s a nice guy, but she belongs with you. She always has.”
Jagger nodded again. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“I’ll see you around.” Then Christy turned and left.
Jagger exhaled another long breath as he grabbed a spot in line, still coming to terms with the fact that he’d caused Grace so much pain, but he liked Christy’s advice.
It was time to make things as right as he could. It was time to start reminding Grace of exactly what they’d had before he’d thrown it all away.
Grace stared at her bedside clock, huffing out a breath as one thirty-nine turned into one forty. She’d been lying in bed for hours, but sleep wouldn’t come. She’d been too busy thinking about Jagger.
Rolling to her back, she settled her arm behind her head, staring up at the ceiling fan blades.
When she told Jagger that his life was his own, she’d so badly wanted that to be true. Who he was and what he did were no longer supposed to matter. But she was quickly concluding that thoughts of Jagger would haunt her for the rest of her days.
She’d tried everything to get him off her mind. Editing pictures was a strategy that usually worked. But when her thoughts kept wandering to fantastic muscles and dark-blue eyes, she’d snatched up her keys and headed over to Simplicity to get a jump on inventory and prep for next weekend’s big wedding.
Now it was pathetically late while she rehashed their conversation in the car. Again.
“Delta Force,” she murmured, sitting up, pulling back her covers as she got out of bed.
She’d resisted all evening, assuring herself she couldn’t care less about what Jagger had done for the last eight years. But she walked down the hall to the kitchen table, opening her laptop seconds after she plunked herself down in a chair.
She typed Delta Force into Google, glancing at the pictures that popped up on the side of the page.
Unable to resist, she clicked on Images, studying heavily armed men in combat gear with their faces smudged out in every shot. Top secret, she remembered Jagger saying.
Eager to learn more, she clicked back to All, diving into the available information. “Hostage rescue and direct-action missions,” she absently murmured as she read. They only recruited the best of the best—and that was absolutely Jagger Tennyson.
Scrolling down, she moved to the videos, watching in equal parts fascination and terror as she got glimpses into Jagger’s life over the last several years. He’d said his job had been dangerous, but that was an understatement.
She went back to Google, typing in Private Contractor next, repeating the same process for her research. Again, there were images of highly armed men. Again, his job had been fraught with peril and a high probability of a loss of life.
With her curiosities satisfied, she closed her laptop, staring out into the dark. Jagger was here. He was safe. He wasn’t going back. But he wasn’t staying either.
Sighing, accepting that her night would most likely be a sleepless one, she walked back down the hall and crawled into bed, realizing that along with all of the sorrow and helpless anger she’d felt over the last eight years, there was now a new layer of pride for the man who’d broken her heart.
Jagger had vanished from her life in the cruelest of ways. For so long, she’d been left to wonder. But Jagger had done massively important things.
Confused all over again, she rolled back to her side, staring at her bedside clock, watching the next hour pass until she finally fell asleep.
Eleven
Jagger grabbed the last heavy bucket Asa handed him, setting it on the floor among the dozen other buckets he had yet to put away after Maggie’s trip to the warehouse over in Scranton.
“Maggie and I are going to head home to change out of our wet clothes. I’ll have her back here as soon as I can,” Asa said, wiping at the drops of rain dripping off his yellow slicker in the miserable morning drizzle.
“Take your time. I’ll get the buckets taken care of. Then I’ll get started on the roses.”
Asa nodded. “We appreciate it, Jagger, especially when I’m not available to help with the afternoon deliveries today. Unfortunately, I have a meeting I can’t rearrange.”
“I’m happy to do it. Go get dried off and warmed up.”
Asa nodded again. “We’ll be back in a bit.”
Jagger closed the back door, shutting out the chill in the air, wiping the rain on his exposed forearms off on his jeans.
Finding it cold, he pulled down the sleeves on the white long-sleeve T-shirt he bought the other day. He’d added several items to his typically minimal wardrobe. The cooler temperatures weren’t something he was used to after spending so much time in the milder overseas climates.
Getting back to work, he lugged two buckets crammed with filler greens into the refrigerator. Walking them a few steps inside, he headed back out as he heard Grace’s efficient footsteps on the hardwood.
“Hey,” she said as she walked into the processing room, dressed in another pair of snug jeans that she’d paired with brown boots and a cream-colored V-neck sweater. She’d added simple silver hoops to her ears and piled her hair in a loose bun, leaving her sexy, slender neck exposed.
“Hey.”
She stopped in front of him, holding two paper cups. Steam trailed from the lids, carrying the heavenly scents of great coffee and her typical chai tea. “I picked this up for you. It’s a dark roast with plenty of cream.”
He definitely hadn’t expected this—her bringing him his favorite coffee doctored up how he liked it.
He’d assumed Grace would spend her morning in the front, avoiding him like she had last week. Taking the blessedly warm cup, he smiled as he breathed deeply. “Thanks.”
She shrugged. “It’s cold outside, and you’re doing us a huge favor. I pick up hot chocolate for Brandon all the time.”
Getting the gist clearly enough—her gesture meant nothing special—he noted her slightly stiff shoulders and the way she now gripped her cup between two hands before he stared into blue eyes that were all the more fantastic with her face unframed. “I appreciate it.”
She nodded as she looked toward the remaining buckets. “I guess we should get these put away.”
He took a glorious sip, then set the cup on the table, picking up two buckets as Grace did, following her into the refrigerator.
They finished the process in silence—the slight tension between them forever there.
On the last trip into the fridge, he didn’t open the door again when they put their buckets down.
Turning in the small, cramped space, she stopped short of bumping into him. “What are you doing?”
He sighed. “How do we make this not weird? How do I get you to talk to me like you did on Sunday?”
She jerked her shoulders as she crossed her arms across her chest. “I don’t know how to talk to you. I don’t know how to be around you anymore. You were my best friend. You were my lover for years. I don’t know how to pretend that things didn’t end badly.”
Finally, they were getting somewhere—actual words that weren’t small talk. “I’m not asking you to pretend anything.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to do this—bring up the past—especially not in here.”
“Because I used to pull you against me? Because we used to sneak kisses and drive each other crazy?”
She swallowed as her eyes grew frosty. “No, because it’s cold, and there’s a lot of work to do.”
Understanding that they weren’t getting anywhere after all, he used his ass to push the door open, letting her out before he let the door close behind them.
The silence stretched out again as they began unboxing the dozens of roses for tomorrow’s wedding.
He picked up the dethorning tool and got to work on the first set of stems as Grace did the same across from him at the table. “This is a hell of a lot of white flowers.”
She sent her tool down a stem. “The bridal party’s bouquets are white roses and peonies.”
He touched one of the packages. “What about these burgundies here?”
“The bride has burgundy roses and ranunculus sprinkled into her bouquet to match her bridesmaids’ dresses, but otherwise, the décor is mostly white.”
“Just white?”
She nodded. “Plus, the green filler we’ll use. White’s not uncommon for an evening wedding. It’s very elegant.”
“Huh,” he said, trying to figure out how boring was elegant.
The quiet stretched out again as they efficiently worked through half a dozen packages.
“You jumped out of planes and hung yourself out of helicopters,” she finally said.
He paused, looking at her.
“Delta Force,” she continued. “You risked your life every day.”
He got back to work. “That was my job.” The only topic she seemed to be interested in talking about. But it was something. It was a start.
“What was your title—your position?”
“I was a master sergeant.”
She shook her head. “But what did you do?”
“I did lots of things, but mostly I sniped.”
“A sniper?”
He nodded.
She picked up another flower, studying one of the blooms, plucking off a bent petal. “I read that some Delta guys do stuff with the CIA. Did you?”
“Grace, I can’t tell you that.”
“What can you tell me?”
“Not much.”
She nodded, picking up another flower. “Delta Force does hostage rescue.”
“We do,” he confirmed, knowing her well enough to understand that there would be a follow-up to her statement.
“There was a raid two and half years ago in Afghanistan—for those foreign aid workers that were kidnapped by that terrorist group. It was all over the news for weeks. Maybe Delta Force was there. Maybe you were there.”
He held her gaze, sending her the slightest nod, wanting to give her something—to share a small piece of who he’d been. “If I talk about missions, I put my team members in danger and compromise national security.”
She sent him a small smile as she nodded again. “Top secret.”
“That’s right.” He winked, focusing on the stems, thrilled that her smile had been for him.
“What contracting group do you work for? If it’s okay to ask.”
“I worked for Gray Corporation.” He cut several of the processed stems, setting them in the bucket of fresh water. “You won’t find much about it online—probably nothing. They’re ultra-exclusive—a referral company.”
“Oh.”
He opened a package of the burgundies next. “You know, we talk a lot about me, but what about you? Aunt Mags said you freelance for Travel.”
She nodded, cutting a group of stems, then set the flowers among the other blooms in the new bucket. “When I have time. I’m making my way to all fifty states. I visit both urban and rural settings while I’m there. The readership seems to enjoy my adventures, so that makes it fun.”
They were actually having a normal-ish conversation. She was letting him in, even if it was just a little bit. “Aunt Mags also mentioned that you changed your major to business.”
She shrugged. “It seemed to make sense since I run the business side of the shop.”
The back door opened, and Maggie walked in, depending heavily on her cane as she took off her rain jacket to hang it on the peg. “All of this rain. I sure hope the weather clears up before tomorrow.”
Jagger slid a glance Grace’s way, noting the furrow of worry creasing her brow as Maggie’s gait looked as bad as he’d ever seen it—incredibly stiff and uncoordinated with each heavy step. “I thought I heard that things are supposed to clear up—get warmer and sunny,” he said.
Maggie awkwardly took her seat. “It better. This is the wedding of the year. Centerpieces for thirty tables, ten bouquets and boutonnieres, and the damn floral chandelier.”
Grace exhaled a quiet sigh before she sent Aunt Maggie a smile. “I thought we decided you weren’t going to worry.”
“Every bride and groom deserves the best on their special day.”
“Yes, they do. That’s why you’re taking care of the bouquets and boutonnieres, and I’ve got the rest. Jagger’s already agreed to help me tomorrow.”
His gaze whipped to Grace’s as Maggie blinked her surprise.
“Is that right?”
Jagger nodded, still staring at Grace. “We were talking about it before you walked in. Everything’s all set. I’ll head over here after my last taekwondo class at one.”
Grace sent him a silent thank you before returning her attention back to the roses. “See? The worry’s officially been taken off your plate. Jagger and I are handling deliveries and site setup, so you and Asa can stay here.”
“We’re even having dinner after,” Jagger tossed in.
Grace’s gaze flew up to meet his this time. “Uh, and we’re having dinner after,” she conceded.
Maggie beamed. “That’s excellent.”
“Mm,” Grace said as she forced a smile.
“And you’ll be able to pick up the lattice from Blake? He’s setting that big piece aside for us at the hardware store. We’ll need that for the flower wall for the kids’ high school dance next week. Homecoming’s a big deal.”
Grace nodded. “It’s already on our agenda.”
“We thought we’d grab it before dinner,” Jagger improvised. Because Grace wasn’t going to have any excuses to cut their meal short. He was officially taking Christy’s advice, using every new opportunity he had to get in Grace’s way.
“That’s a good idea,” Maggie said as she settled her supplies around her. “You’ll be able to enjoy your dinner.”
“That’s the plan,” he said, watching Grace pause with the slide of the dethorner down the next stem. But she said nothing as she continued with her work.
Maggie grabbed one of the burgundy roses to start on the first boutonniere. “Where are you eating?”
“Out at Rafferty’s,” he decided, wanting to keep the mood simple and fun—and that’s what Rafferty’s was, with its gorgeous lake views and family-friendly atmosphere.
Maggie smiled again. “You kids always loved that place.”
“Yes, we did.” Jagger reached for the next box of roses, answering Maggie’s occasional question as Grace headed over to start on the large chandelier she would create.
Grace worked quickly as she placed greenery around the large hoop she’d fitted with florist foam that hung from the thin rope attached to the ceiling.
Stepping back, she narrowed her eyes, checking for balance, making certain she was achieving the romantic effect the bride was looking for.
Deciding the left side was slightly sparser than the right, she grabbed some of the seeded eucalyptus from the bucket, snipped off the end, then stuck it in its place before she reached for a leafy bunch of Ruscus.
Shoving the piece in place, she glanced toward Aunt Maggie, struggling not to worry as she watched her work on another boutonniere with clumsy fingers.
Another spell. The decline was happening so fast—and this wedding wasn’t helping.
Selecting a piece of ivy next, her gaze wandered to Jagger as he opened one of the last packages of roses. Guilt swamped her for her poor behavior—for putting him on the spot in a major way. But he’d rolled with it, helping her out of another jam.
Her guilty conscience only compounded because she hadn’t been entirely friendly when she walked in with his cup of coffee. But her cool composure seemed to be her last defense.
How was she supposed to ignore him when he was everywhere? How was she supposed to resist him when she knew exactly what those hands and his mouth could do to her? Because despite her denial while she stood trapped with him in the refrigerator, she remembered all too well their stolen kisses and the way they used to drive each other crazy.
