But it’s Grady. Thinking of how he held my hands at the pier, his lone tear over what I wrote, my heart plays an erratic beat to my thoughts, and the hope that he’s finally seeing me. Not a victim of his mistake. Not an obligation. But as his Marina. Because I long for him to be my Grady.

I leave for our date, feeling giddy-hopeful and planning out my moves—an embrace at the door, for starters, with a kiss on his rough cheek. I want Grady Tripp to know that affection is allowed and encouraged. I want him to know that I’m ready for this.

For him.

For everything.

32. Grady

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Grady

Opening the door to Marina is exhilarating and devastating at once. Fucking hell, she’s stunning. Not just her everyday beautiful, either. She’s date-ready beautiful. My eyes don’t know where to land, taking her in. Glimpses of the smattering of freckles on her bare shoulder, the lovely lines of her collarbone, her brighter-than-usual smile, the way her short skirt grazes her legs, and her big, hopeful eyes gauging my reaction all beckon for more attention.

“I’m early,” she says when I don’t speak. Then, she leans in for a warm embrace—a move that happens too quickly for me to stop.

Not that I would.

She smells faintly of roses as I breathe her in, her long, wavy hair tickling my nose. My hands drift over her back—the silk of her blouse and the softness of her bare shoulders. She’s intoxicating.

“Thanks for having me over,” she whispers before kissing my cheek. She lingers in the tiny space between us, meeting my eyes with her easy smile, tempting me to kiss her.

I want to. God, I want to kiss her.

That’s when it hits me how badly I’ve ruined this.

After leaving her at the dock, I wandered into an elaborate, confusing labyrinth of misgivings about our date. Asking her to dinner felt as natural as the swamp around us—time alone with Marina was what I wanted. But insecurities battled my desires, convincing me that our age difference, origin story, and her deserving better mattered more and ultimately won out. So, anxious over what might happen between us, I arranged precautions to ensure the answer was nothing—self-sabotage at its absolute finest.

Precautions I now deeply regret. She’s so excited, alluring, and goddamn hopeful. Now, I’m about to hurt her. Again.

The dogs rush up. Harley leads the charge, wagging her stubbed tail, with Hannibal and Blackbeard behind her. Marina coos and drops to her knees to greet them.

“Oh, my goodness!” she laughs, rubbing Hannibal’s uneven ears. “Grady, they’re perfect.”

“Imperfect, actually,” I note, glad for the distraction and amused at her willingness to engage them. They can be a lot all at once.