Page 42 of Sealing the Deal

“Yeah, I know all about dads who let you down. Mine was a deadbeat,” I say, voice rougher than I expect. “I wish he’d focused on profits instead of drinking them all. He never lifted a finger to help. Left my mom to do everything, and it stretched her too thin to be anywhere close to a good mother.”

“Sounds like we both grew up with two parents who failed us. My mother was around, but she checked out. She became a Stepford wife, spending more time at the country club than at home. She’s stayed with my dad for the money and the name. She never once stood up for us. Still doesn’t.”

The admission digs under my ribs. “But I had the Sullivans,” I say. “When Harry convinced my mom to let me stay at Oakwood Ranch on weekends, it became more than a refuge. It became home.”

Inside, I feel it all. How the Sullivans shaped me, loved me, taught me what family actually means, when my own mom was too busy to do those things. I look at Grayson and I’m not sure he’s ever had anything close to that. It’s the oldest cliché in the book, but it’s true: Money doesn’t buy love or happiness or any of the things that really matter.

Our eyes lock. I see the weight he’s carrying. The exhaustion and the hurt. The impossible pressure he must feel he’s under. It makes me wonder why he’s trying so hard. He’s made his money, and yet there’s something driving this man.

“And Grayson Global?” I ask.

He draws in a slow breath. “Grayson Global is a property development and architectural innovation firm. I like to build things. I don’t think the world should have to choose between the functional and the beautiful.” Everything about him lightens at the mention of his company. “We should be striving for both.”

“It’s your passion,” I say quietly, thinking of The Hay Barn and what it means to me. The way I’ve fought for it. The way it feels like an extension of my being. I recognize the same thing in him.

Grayson’s eyes hold mine with an intensity that’s starting to feel familiar. Then he nods once.

“So, you really bought the Stormhawks because you wanted to be part of something that matters?” I ask. “And because the Stormhawks were in financial trouble.”

Another nod. This time he looks away, shifting in his seat, like we’ve moved too close to whatever edge or line Grayson doesn’t want to cross. Except this time there’s nowhere to pull back to. We’re trapped in the back of a car in slow-moving traffic, city lights streaking past the windows, and I don’t stop. Because I’m starting to understand.

“And Donny’s your best friend, and you couldn’t stand by and watch the thing that matters most to him fall apart.”

Grayson continues to stare out the window as he talks. “He didn’t ask. I offered. I insisted, actually. I listened to Donny talk about the team every damn day in college. I admired that kind of passion. I wanted to feel it, too. In a way I never have for buildings or housing.”

For a moment it seems as though he might say more. His mouth parts slightly, his gaze flicking from the window to me. Then the wall slides back into place. But as the car cuts through traffic and takes the turn toward the airport, city lights blurring past the windows, I acknowledge that I was wrong about Grayson. He is a good man. And somewhere between the anger and the arguments and the times we’ve spent together, the laughter and teasing, I’ve started wanting him.

The question is—what does he want? Because there’s still a part of himself he’s holding back, I’m sure of it.

EIGHTEEN

FLIC

SONIA: Before you ask, everything is still completely fine!

The jet rumbles beneath my feet as it taxis down the runway, Baltimore shrinking behind us in a smear of concrete and weak winter light. The late-afternoon sun is a pale coin in the sky, barely touching the frosty ground. But the plane is warm, and I find myself getting cozy in my seat, feeling comfortable despite the insane level of luxury I’ll never get used to.

Grayson sits across from me in the lounge area. The edges of his lips lift into a smirk. “I had Nicholas disable the buttons on your chair, by the way. I didn’t want you hitting eject instead of the overhead light.”

“If the seats had eject buttons, I’d have pressed yours.”

He laughs. The air between us feels lighter since our conversation in the car. “I can believe it.”

His phone rings, and he glances at the screen with a mix of joy and worry. He shoots me an apologetic look. “Sorry. I need to take this. Helena, what’s up?”

I watch him listen to his sister’s reply. Watch his entire being shift. Any sign of the relaxed version of Grayson vanishes. His shoulders go rigid. His jaw hardens. Even his voice changes, flattening into something controlled.

After a minute, he speaks. “It’s fine. I’ll be there.”

He ends the call and deep exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at me, like he’s deciding how much truth he can share without breaking whatever rules he’s got stamped in concrete in that head of his.

Eventually he asks: “Are you in a rush to get back to The Hay Barn?”

I’m about to say yes, because of course I need to get back. But then I stop myself. I think of Sonia’s last message and how solid she’s been this week. She treats the bar and everyone in it with respect. Like it matters. And the truth is, I was only messaging her because trusting anyone with my bar feels like letting go in a way I’m not ready for. But Sonia is due to close tonight. She’s not expecting me and she doesn’t need me.