Chapter 23 – Isabelle

Butterflies fill my stomach as I walk inside Grayson’s house. It’s not like I haven’t met his father before, but this is different. I’m in his house.

“Dad, we’re home,” Grayson calls. He swings the door shut, and the sound of it closing makes me jump. “Relax.” He gives my hand a gentle squeeze.

Grayson’s dad appears from the hallway. “Hey, Grays,” he says, and I can’t help but smile at the nickname. He nods at me. “Isabelle.”

“Hello, Mr. Alexander,” I say.

“We’re going to work on our Spanish project,” Grayson says, tugging on my hand.

I follow him into the kitchen where there’s a square, four-person table situated in front of a large window. Grayson flops his backpack on top of the table and walks to the fridge. “Want something to drink?”

“Um, water’s fine.” I pull out a chair and sit. My nerves are still on edge, and I try to distract myself by looking around. There are no decorations anywhere on the walls—nothing stuck to the front of the refrigerator, no piles of papers lying around—the counters are spotless. Either Mr. Alexander is an excellent housekeeper, or they haven’t finished settling in.

Grayson places a bottle of water in front of me and then sits in the chair beside me. “You’re nervous.”

“A little.”

“Why?”

I stare at him incredulously. “Seriously? It’s been a big day. Got a new boyfriend. And now I’m hanging out at his house. With his dad. You’d be nervous, too, if you were at my house with my parents.”

“Probably.” He places his hand over mine on the table and caresses my knuckles. Immediate goose bumps spread like wildfire up my arms. “But my dad is cool, so please relax, okay?”

I nod. At least his dad isn’t hovering—that makes being here slightly less awkward.

“I’m going to go grab my laptop from my room. We can search for recipes that are unique to our city and decide what we want to try to cook.” He leaves me alone in the kitchen.

I open my water and take a sip. It’s so cold it stings my throat when I swallow. Scooting my chair closer to the table, I move my bag to the empty seat next to me and dig out my cell phone. There’s no message from my mom or dad asking where I am—they never care enough to ask anymore. I should’ve gone home first to check on Mom, but she’s probably just passed out again.

A moment later, Grayson returns with his laptop. He sets i on the table and reclaims his seat, moving it closer to me. “So, do you have any secret cooking skills I don’t know about?”

“I know how to cook easy stuff.”

He opens his browser and types in “food unique to Santo Domingo.” Pages upon pages of results pop up, and we begin the arduous process of clicking through them.

“Oh, that looks good.” I point to a picture of pollo guisado. “You like chicken, right?”

“Love it,” he says as he clicks on the name. The recipe pops up, and we take a moment to read it. “Doesn’t sound too hard.”

His leg brushes against mine under the table, and my heart jackhammers in my chest. I force in a deep breath and hold still, not wanting him to move his leg. And he doesn’t. But he does drape his arm across the back of my chair. I wait for the feel of his hand on my shoulder or his fingers in my hair—he doesn’t do either, though, and I try to hide my disappointment by staring at the laptop and pretending to be absorbed in the website.

“So, what do you think?” he asks.

I turn to look at him, and he’s staring at me, his green eyes twinkling. Our faces are inches apart, and there’s suddenly a lump in my throat.

“About the recipe?” I ask, my words catching.

“Mm-hmm.” The sound of his throaty hum sends a shiver up my spine. He moves his hand from the chair and massages the back of my neck.

I close my eyes. My heart threatens to burst from my chest, so I take a calming breath and reopen my eyes. Grayson’s fingers stop moving and cup the back of my neck. He draws me closer until his lips brush mine. I let out a soft sigh, close my eyes again, and welcome his kiss as I awkwardly wrap my arms around him.

And then I remember his father is in the next room. I pull away with a gasp. “Your dad,” I whisper, eyes wide.

Grayson chuckles. “He’s outside.”

“He is?”

He nods. “I heard him go out.” He hasn’t let go of my neck—not that I’m complaining—and his gaze drops to my mouth.

I nervously lick my lips, wanting nothing more than to kiss him again. But I really don’t want his father to walk in and catch us, so I remove his hold on my neck and lace our fingers. “Did he leave?”

“No, he’s probably just sitting on the porch.” He rubs his thumb across my knuckles, and another shiver wiggles up my spine. What is it about Grayson Alexander that makes me react this way?

“Okay, so, we’ll do this recipe, then? We should print this out. Or I can write it down if you want.” I release his hand and reach for my backpack when he stops me.

“Belle?”

And now the flutters start, too. I’m such a mess around him. “Yeah?”

“Does kissing me make you uncomfortable?”

“What? No.” I shake my head.

He lifts a brow, pinning me with a look of utter disbelief.

“I like kissing you,” I say. “A lot.” I emphasize that harder than necessary.

Grayson grins.

I do my best to ignore how adorably arrogant he looks right now. “That’s what makes me uncomfortable.”

He tilts his head, his confusion deepening. “So…you like it and that’s what you don’t like about it?”

I laugh at how ridiculous that sounds. “Yes. I mean, no. I worry because I like it too much, and I'm afraid it will lead to…other things.” My face flames with embarrassment. “Things I’m not ready for.”

“Right.” He nods with understanding. “Well, I’m saving myself for marriage, so…” He shrugs a shoulder.

“Seriously? Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

“I’m serious.” There’s no trace of humor in his tone or expression, and I relax in my chair. “I was raised with the same beliefs as you, remember?”

“Yeah.” But I do forget, probably because he doesn’t actively talk about his beliefs, and I’ve never seen him pray. And then there’s the whole church thing.

“I quit church,” I blurt.

His brows spike up to his hairline. “You what?”

I lower my head and fidget with my hands. “I quit my church.”

“Why?” he asks slowly.

“Because of how they acted last week.”

“Wait.” He stands and paces away before returning and clutching the back of his now empty chair. “You quit going to church because of me? Do you realize how messed up that is?”

I whip around and glare at him. Is he really standing there judging me? “No, Grayson. I didn’t quit because of you. I quit because the people I thought I knew behaved in a way I can’t support. And when I talked to Pastor Jeff about it, he pretty much blew me off and told me I could leave.”

Grayson is silent for far too long, and then with a shake of his head, he walks out of the kitchen. I follow, mostly because I don’t want to stand in the middle of his kitchen alone, but also because I want to know what he’s thinking. He flops down on the couch, elbows on his knees and head in his hands.

“You can’t seriously be mad at me about this,” I say.

“I’m not mad.” He looks up at me, and his expression is bordering on torment. “I’m angry, Belle, and disappointed. I never should have gone to church with you.”

“Are you giving me an “I told you so” right now?” My arms hang at my sides, and I tilt my head.

“No.” He sighs and pats the couch cushion.

I sit so we’re shoulder to shoulder. The warmth and nearness of him calms my nerves a bit.

“I’m sorry, Belle.” He turns to look at me. “I just never wanted you to experience what I have. So, I’m sorry that I went with you and that you lost faith in your church.”

I slip my arm around his and rest my head on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault.” I was the one who insisted he go; I never thought he’d be right about what would happen.

“No, but still. You shouldn’t have to deal with this. It’s not fair.”

“Tell me what happened,” I say softly. “With your mom and your church.” I hold my breath, praying he doesn’t get mad at me for asking. I’m such a hypocrite, asking him to tell me about something so personal and hurtful when I’m lying about…everything.

He leans back, taking me with him, and wraps his arm around my shoulders. I curl up against him, content to stay here, just like this, all night. “I told you she was cheating on my dad, right?”

I nod.

“Well, after the fire, when we found out she was in the room with our pastor, the rumors started to fly. Everything from she was a prostitute and the pastor was only there to help her, to my dad was abusive and the pastor was helping her flee.” He shakes his head with disgust. “He died a saint, and her reputation was trashed. The entire congregation shunned us, so we stopped going to church altogether.”

“I’m so sorry, Grayson.” I drape my arm across his stomach.

“The whole thing was a nightmare, but I never lost my faith in God. Just in church.” He drags his free hand up my arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps in his path. “Please don’t make the same mistake, Belle. You can’t quit church completely.”

“I know.” But how can I explain how messed up things are without telling him about the rest of my dysfunctional life? “I’m not sure I can handle going back to that church, though. With Cam and Andrea and his parents…” Just the thought of it makes my stomach clench.

Grayson presses a kiss to my forehead, and I close my eyes. He’s much too sweet, and I don’t deserve him, not when my life is a disaster, and I’m such a hot mess. “We can always try out a new church. There are a lot of them in this town.”

“Really?” I tilt my head back so I can see his face without moving from my position. “We?”

“Yes, we.”

“I’d like that.”

“Me too.” He leans down and captures my lips in a tender kiss that’s quickly interrupted when the front door opens and his father walks in.

I jerk back and sit up straight. Grayson laughs, and I elbow him.

His father raises a brow, his gaze darting back and forth between us. “I’m going to start dinner. Will you be joining us, Isabelle?”

“Oh, um…”

“I can cook, Dad. You know you’re not supposed to be using your hand.” Grayson stands and holds his hand out for me. I take it, and he pulls me to my feet. “Want to help? It will be good practice for when we have to cook for our project.”

I know I should go home and check on Mom, but I really don’t want to. I don’t want to spend another night alone, cooking for myself and cleaning up, wondering when or if my father will come home. For just one night, I want to have a normal family dinner.

“Yeah, okay,” I say with a nod.

“Really, Grays? She’s your guest. Don’t make her cook.” Mr. Alexander shakes his head, a frown marring his otherwise stoic face.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind,” I say.

“I’ll just order something.” His father disappears into the kitchen and returns a moment later with a stack of take-out menus. He hands them to me. “What do you like?”

“Oh.” I take the menus and flip through them until I find one for the local Chinese restaurant. I hold it up. “They have the best sesame chicken.”

“Chinese it is.” Mr. Alexander takes the menus back from me. “Want your usual?” he asks Grayson.

“Yeah, thanks.”

When his father returns to the kitchen to call in our order, I ask, “What’s your usual?”

“General Tso’s chicken.”

Seeing him interact with his dad warms my heart. If only I still had that kind of close relationship with my parents, but all of that died with Brandon. Grayson grabs the remote from the coffee table and sits back down. I do the same, and within a moment, his arm is around me again, and I’m cuddled up to him.

He scrolls through the channel guide. “See anything you want to watch?”

Instead of answering, I place my palm against his cheek, turn his face toward mine, and kiss him.