Page 59 of In Every Chapter

Greyson waited beside me, hands in his pockets, taking in the stormy atmosphere.

“Can you smell it?” I hollered above the crashing waves. The wind whipped around us, tugging at my hair and yellow gingham sundress. I gripped the fabric tightly to avoid any unnecessary wardrobe malfunctions.

“What?”

“The salt!” I inhaled deeply. “The sea!” I hadn’t realized just how much I missed it. After college in Seattle, moving inland to Idaho had given me new scenery. And it smelled different. Like dust and pine instead of tangy salt and high seas adventure.

But this? This was the essence of my childhood. It was wormed into my blood. I might breathe dust, but I bled salt water.

A lump lodged in my throat, but I refused to cry. I needed new memories. And if they weren’t coming back, it was time to make them.

Starting right now.

I smacked Greyson’s chest. “You’re it!” I shouted before pelting down the shoreline, parallel to the waves nearly lapping my feet. I wasn’t delusional enough to think I could outrun him. He’d been a Marine after all, and his physique was far more athletic than mine. But maybe a chance to laugh would keep the tears at bay.

Blood whooshed in my ears with each pounding step. The roaring waves licked up the shore towards my feet, never quite catching me. The inky rock guards saluted me as I passed. The wind flirted with my oversized cardigan trying to slip off my slender shoulders. Overhead a seagull cheered me on, dipping a wing in acknowledgement.

Strong arms wrapped around my waist, hoisting me up and spinning me. I laughed, wiggling to break free.

Greyson loosened his hold enough for me to twist around, but his hands lingered on my hips. His ocean eyes were even more beautiful than the stormy water in front of us. One of his hands slipped up to cradle my cheek. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

My face warmed at the frank appreciation in his voice and gaze. “I want different memories from my time here,” I said softly. “Oregon might never be home, but I wanted to take away one good thing.”

“Is that good thing me?” he asked hoarsely.

My fingers tangled in his shirt front, holding onto him—to this moment. “I think I want it to be.”

He swallowed hard, then bent slightly, lips brushing my forehead. “Give me a chance, Pais. I’m a patient man.” Leaning back with a wry smile, he let me go and tapped my shoulder. “You’re it.”

“I . . . what?” But he was already racing down the beach. And did he mean I was it in tag? Or it for him?

Who needed to fall off a ladder to lose your memories when Greyson Satterfield made me forget everything with a simple forehead kiss?

Chapter twenty-five

Paisley

Memories haunted my dreams after coming home from Cannon Beach. Threads of the past and present tangled into knots worse than the back of my embroidery samplers.

Jared had been real. But his chapter was over. Then there was Greyson. Steady and reliable. The way he’d studied me on the beach. Like I was precious. Like he wanted to kiss me.

A girl could get used to that.

Fitful sleep (thanks for nothing, insomnia) made me oversleep on Monday, and even then I couldn’t drag myself from bed. I slept so much better with Greyson. Nope, not going there.

It was all too much. So much. All my life, the people around me had tried to use my softness against me. I just needed to toughen up. But just because I felt things deeply didn’t make me a wimp. And if I let the shadows make me hard, did that mean they won?

Wasn’t softness an act of defiance against a dark world?

I stared at my bedroom ceiling, looking for shapes in the popcorn texturing while deeply philosophical thoughts raced through my brain.

Fidgeting with the wedding band on my left ring finger, I held it up for further examination. At first, I’d kept it on because it felt wrong the one time I’d tried to take it off. Like I was naked without it. But now . . . I twisted it. Now, it was a beacon, a reminder. A silent plea to remember what I’d lost.

Lord, please . . . please let me remember a good man.

“Rise and shine,” Juliet announced, flinging my door open so hard it bounced against the doorstop with a boing.

I groaned at the interruption, covering my head with the blankets. “There’s no rising and shining. Only dark and dimming.”