“Marina, you’re walking to and from work? That’s too much,” he sighs. “Didn’t you get the insurance check?”

“Yes, but no car yet,” I say, turning to his sister. “Hey, Marigold. It’s so nice to see you. Come inside. Are you okay with cats?”

She glances up, blue eyes narrowing towards mine. “I like cats.”

“Purr-fect,” I giggle. “You can give them treats if you’re comfortable.”

She nods and scoots off the truck’s tailgate.

I turn to Grady, “You can come, too, if you promise to relax.”

“I’m relaxed. There’s somewhere I want to take you. I have an idea.”

“Oh, that sounds intriguing… slightly concerning. Does it involve much walking or any extreme sports?”

“No. Just assholes and gators,” he answers with a hint of a smile. “Trust me?”

“Of course.” I unlock the door to a cat chorus. Marigold looks overwhelmed at first, but seems to assess her surroundings and soon relaxes, petting Sunkist as she circles her Mary Janes.

“How’s the art going, Marigold?” I ask, grabbing cat treats from the pantry.

She looks unsurely at Grady, who gives her an encouraging look, urging her to answer.

“Good.”

“Marigold won every art show at Seagrove High when I was there, even when she was in middle school,” I say. “My favorite was your Shadow Man Series.”

Grady and Marigold share a familiar glance, and she says, as soft as a baby kitten, “Grady’s Shadow Man.”

A laugh rumbles out as I hand her the cat treats. “Oh, I see it! That makes sense.”

“Marigold finds inspiration in the least artistic places,” he says as she divvies treats to the meowing congregation.

“Oh, I don’t know.” I step closer and stare up at him. “All your gentle lines and hard edges could be inspiring.”

Grady’s eyes narrow with amusement, and his arms fold over his impressive chest. “Inspiring, huh? Never been called that before. Hope you feel the same after today.”

“Will you be trying to inspire me, Tripp Grady Tripp?”

“Something like that.”

His raspy voice taunts a grin that widens the longer I take him in. Is he blushing?

“Feeling inspired already.” Oh, wait, am I flirting? “Um, do I have time to change?”

“Take your time.” He breezes by me for the couch, and Triscuit promptly joins him like they’re BFFs.

I scoot by Marigold in the hall, where she ogles a rough painting of a waterfall I picked up at a thrift store. “Make yourself at home.”

“I like your art,” she says.

“Thanks. Most of them are probably discarded school projects or family hand-me-downs that no one wanted, but I like rescuing things. Back in a jiffy.”

I lean against the closed bedroom door, steadying my breaths. Whatever Grady’s up to makes me nervous—I hate that he feels indebted to me.