Grace
The next morning, Grace stood at the counter in The Spruce, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of black coffee. The smell was strong, bitter, but it did little to chase away the fog that clung to her. She hadn’t slept much after Kaleb’s late-night visit. His words kept circling in her mind, burning hotter than the coffee she sipped.
Because I do.
Why had he said that? Why would a man like him—so guarded, so silent, so harsh—admit to caring about whether she froze to death on her balcony? She didn’t know if she should believe him. Maybe he had just been frustrated. Maybe it was nothing. And yet, every time she remembered the rough honesty in his voice, her heart ached in a way she didn’t want to admit.
“Gracie, you are pale again.” Natasha’s sharp eyes narrowed as she slid a
