4
“Greyson?” I called from the bottom of the stairs.
“In the kitchen,” he answered.
I followed the path most likely heading to the kitchen. The house was large enough to take a wrong turn and get lost.
I found him sitting in a chair facing a sunny window. He sipped coffee as he stared out at the landscape.
“Coffee is made,” he said, continuing his watch over the crater.
I grabbed a mug. Before I could pour the coffee, I began having second thoughts. Greyson was obviously not in the mood for visitors. His presence loomed.
“I think I’ll go,” I said, retreating from the kitchen.
He took another sip of coffee before setting the mug down on the table. He turned his piercing gray eyes on me. “Are you running away again?”
“I didn’t run away,” I argued with a quickness that confirmed that
