My work family takes me in stride, but I see my awkwardness reflected back on me whenever I ask about their children’s birthday parties or ailing grandparents. I feel as if I’m not supposed to know or care about these things, even if they share tidbits of information with me in passing. Sometimes, I feel like people chat to fill time, not realizing someone’s actually listening.

I listen. That’s what having a work family means. Right?

It’s the same with customers. If I’m told about your husband’s upcoming surgery during a chat in the cereal aisle, I’m going to ask about it next time I see you. Still, I catch people off guard.

“Ah, you remembered,” they say, glancing quickly at my name tag. “He’s doing well, Marnie. Thanks.”

Rarely does anyone ask about me, let alone question my relationship, and maybe I’m not close enough to anyone for that. But it bothers me that he cares to ask—this stranger with a ginormous, beautiful family and slews of Seagrovians desperate to know more about him, though afraid to approach Grouchy Tripp themselves. He makes it clear that he couldn’t care less about getting to know any of them.

The day he confronted me about the meat, no less than seven customers and employees asked me about the interaction.

So, he’s definitely not a vegetarian?

What else did you find out about him?

What’s he like?

Did you see his smolder?

Do you think he’s single?

Did his heart seem dead from euthanizing so many animals?

That came from my reluctant protege, Wren Christie, whose pitch-black hair, piercings, and witch vibe provide an unusual challenge in customer service, not that I don’t rise to meet it. I don’t care how black your eyeliner is or how many piercings you have, a smile works wonders.

The point is, Grady Tripp’s existence doesn’t match mine. Not by a mile. And the distance between us is full of thick forests, rocky terrain, bodies of water, and booby traps.

Anyone with the luxury of being a grouch doesn’t have a clue what Marnie-land is like.

Knowing this, his question shouldn’t bother me. But it does. It’s niggling away at my insides like his words are toothy termites.

Why would Ashe deny me his love and care?

Why wouldn’t he choose me over himself just this once?

Or choose his mom’s advice over his promise?

The more I think about it, the more it hurts.

But Grady does me a favor and says nothing else until we reach Seagrove.

10. Grady

CHAPTER TEN

Grady