“You aren’t responsible for me, either. I don’t need any help, but thanks for⁠—”

“How are you getting home?”

She waves her phone. “Lyft. I’ll request a ride as soon as I’m on the elevator. We’ll pitstop for my prescriptions. I’ll have dinner delivered. I’ve thought of everything.”

Her lips edge upwards in a triumphant smirk.

“Not everything. You forgot one important detail about our irritating small town.”

“What?”

“It’s Sunday. Seagrove Pharmacy is closed.”

Her entire demeanor shifts with an anguished expression that still comes off as mildly adorable. “Oh, no, dang it! You’re right. I’ll have Ivy⁠—”

“Stop. I’ll get your meds if you let me drive you home.”

Her thin brows cock in a challenge. “If you think I’m letting you drag your mom into work on a Sunday⁠—”

“It’s that or Cora, unless you want to spend your evening in unbearable pain.”

Her lips pout in a sigh.

“Mom sends me on a hundred errands a week. She’ll jump at the chance for me to send her on one. Besides, you’re going to need more help than you think. Please, Marina. Let me do this.”

Her arms fold in dramatic protest, pressing against her stomach and causing her to grimace. She hesitates to answer, as if debating whether she can trust me.

“Marina, you’ll be safe with me. I promise. I’ll even be… nice.”

She smirks. “Okay, Grady.”

9. Marnie

CHAPTER NINE

Marnie

Ivy rolls me to the entrance, where Grady drives up in a classic, red and white Ford truck with honking big tires and a loud rumble like the purr of a very happy cat. It squeaks to a stop, and I chuckle—this isn’t what I expected.

Lifting and bending from the chair to the truck steals my amusement. It’s downright excruciating. Sharp, angry pains race across my belly. Grady’s right—I’ll need more help than I expect.

Getting an early release from the hospital may not be one of my winning ideas.

Unless the game is pain. I’d win and get an award for best sportsmanlike conduct.

Not that I want to tell him about my pain. This man has wiggled around in my insides and witnessed me at my absolute neediest—I refuse to give him another show. I can’t let myself be so vulnerable—not with the people who claim to love me and certainly not with a stranger.

Even a stranger with an uncanny knack for showing up when I need him and superior hand-holding skills.

I ease into the truck. Grady refrains from throwing any I-told-you-so’s at me, even as I wince, moan, and otherwise fail to smile through it. He’s gracious rather than grouchy, for now, anyway.

I try for quickness, nerves heightened over relying on a stranger’s help.