Page 12

Chapter

Twelve

André

André had never lost a fight. Sure, he’d been beaten a few times—once so bad he woke up in a trainer’s room with his left eye swollen shut and the distinct memory of a guy named Korchinski treating his face like a speed bag—but he’d never lost.

He wasn’t about to start now.

Not that Grace was some cup to be won, but he couldn’t leave things the way they were between them. Half the time she was biting his head off and the other half she was showing him her bra. He needed to up that second portion to at least eighty.

André parked on the curb and grabbed the paper bag sitting in the passenger seat. He would ask for his coat. But he’d also drop off the best tacos in the city. Their spiced meat, fresh tortillas, and house-made salsa had been known to make grown men weep. Probably because Alberta had such shit Mexican food, it restored their faith in their fellow countrymen, but that was beside the point.

He walked up the drive, climbed the steps, and rang the doorbell. The camera eye stared at him as he shifted his weight. He was suddenly self-conscious. Was he standing too close? Wrong angle?

After a couple of minutes with no answer from Grace, André frowned, glancing at the Volkswagen parked in the driveway. She was home. A light was on inside, a faint glow filtering from some room at the back of the house through the front window.

So she was either avoiding him—which, yeah, fair—or didn’t hear the doorbell. Except Grace didn’t seem like a person to ignore her notifications. He also highly doubted that she hadn’t connected this camera to her WiFi network.

Grace was a woman who liked things in order. That was what she wanted, and she’d curated her life to get exactly that. But André couldn’t help but wonder, after seeing her so worked up and anxious Monday morning, if it was what she needed?

André smirked, rocking back on his heels. She could see him, and she was making him wait.

Fine.

He dropped onto the front porch steps, stretching his legs out like he had all the time in the world. She could sit inside, watching him like he was some overly persistent Uber Eats driver, but he wasn’t leaving.

He had nowhere to be, and he had tacos. Maybe if he ate one?—

“What are you doing here?” Grace stood in the doorway, barefoot, her yoga pants hugging the curve in her calf and lower thigh before disappearing under her oversized sweatshirt.

André ’s throat went dry. He’d never seen her like this. So casual. So . . . normal. Even if she didn’t quite pull off “relaxed.”

“André. You’re sitting on my porch.” Her voice was flat, unimpressed.

He shrugged and stood, grabbing the bag. “You didn’t answer your door.”

Her arms crossed. “You didn’t take that as a sign?”

“Could’ve meant a lot of things.” He stood, easily stepping into her space, letting her feel him there. “Maybe you didn’t hear me. Maybe you were busy.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Or maybe I saw you on the camera and decided I wasn’t in the mood for whatever this is.” She gestured at the bag, but also toward all of him generally.

André grinned. “Hey, I’m good with eating these tacos myself, but?—”

“Tacos?” Her ears perked up. “From where?”

“Anejo.”

Grace’s eyes flared. “They’re downtown.”

“Yes. They are.”

Grace fiddled with the door knob, then finally stepped back, just enough for him to pass to the entryway.

Not into the house. Not an invitation. Just out of the cold.

She reached for the bag, but he didn’t immediately hand it over. “I got a few for me, too.” That whole week it’d felt like he was playing chess. Taking his time to make a move, then committing and holding his breath until she responded.

She was unpredictable. Frustrating. A code he couldn’t crack. And that was probably why he wanted to keep playing.

Grace made a small noise as she pulled the cuff of her sweatshirt over her hand. Why was that so hot? It was coy, almost schoolgirl-ish.

As if sensing his thoughts, Grace dropped her shirt and straightened. “I can get a plate and take mine?—”

“Am I that repulsive to you? You can’t even eat a taco with me?” Screw the game. He was breaking the fourth wall.

Grace blinked. “You’re not—I’ve had a bad couple of days, and I’m not even dressed?—”

“You’re more dressed than you were in the car the other day, and yeah, I’m aware of your shitty days. Country told the team what’s going on with the adoption, so I sat in 17th Ave traffic to get you some damn tacos, and now you’re acting like I came here holding a condom in my teeth.”

Grace opened her mouth, then snapped it closed. She drew a deep breath, then exhaled and drew another. “I—I can’t do this.”

“Do what? Spend time with me? Because?—”

“No, I can’t make another decision, okay?” Grace stalked into the living room, threading her hands in her hair. “I’m in charge of everything right now. The renovations, the permitting, one of the largest purchases with my company that I’ve ever managed, and then all of this with Country and Jenna. I can’t get the damn therapist on this case to call me back, the birth mother’s lawyer is cock-blocking me, and I just—I can’t do it. I can’t be in charge of hosting you for tacos, André, okay? I can’t think about whether I should offer you water or Coke or the bottle of tequila I’ve been too scared to bust out in case I drink the whole damn bottle, and whether you’d be okay with paper plates, because that’s what I’d be using for tacos tonight since I don’t have a spare second in my day to run the dishwasher, and?—”

“Right, got it,” André snapped, kicking off his shoes and striding into the room. He stopped in front of her, momentarily distracted by her pulse fluttering in her throat.

He wet his lips. “So here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to put my arm around your waist. I’m going to take you into the kitchen, and then I’m going to tell you exactly what to do. No decisions. Just tacos.”

That damn flush rose to her cheeks again. She swallowed hard. “No decisions.”

“Right.” Something flickered behind her eyes, and André caught her wrist. “Not because you’re incapable, but because you’re so damn capable your brain needs time to shut off. I’m going to give that to you, okay? And if you don’t like it, you can tell me to go, and I’ll?—”

“Don’t go,” she whispered, her shoulders finally dropping an inch.

André took in the deep circles under her eyes, then did exactly what he said he would. He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her toward the kitchen. Her body stiffened for a heartbeat before melting into the contact. She moved with him, barefoot on the hardwood, her long legs brushing his as they walked.

“Hands on the counter.” André planted her next to the stools at the island. “You can sit when I tell you to.”

Her brows lifted, but she didn’t argue. He didn’t want to take this too far, but that desperate look in her eyes made him bold. If he was too passive, this wouldn’t work. Human brains weighed information and made choices nearly every second. Grace was so burned out, she needed to let go of all of them, even the subconscious ones.

André opened the cupboard on his right.

“Good guess.” Grace watched him pull two plates from the middle shelf.

André unpacked the food with slow precision. He rolled back the foil, and the scent of warm corn tortillas and slow-roasted pork filled the air. He arranged the tacos on the plates, added the salsa and lime, then slid her portion across the counter. “Sit.”

Her lips twitched, and she obeyed. André leaned over the counter, picking up a taco. “Eat the one on the right. You’re going to pick it up and make a mess. You’re not going to think about it or give a shit if juice drips over your hands and wrists because I’m making a mess, too. I’ll clean you after.”

Grace’s eyes flicked to his. Okay, maybe that was too much, but a small part of him wanted to see what he could get away with. Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink as she reached for the taco.

“One more thing. You’re going to enjoy this. You’re not going to eat it only to eat. You’re going to eat it for pleasure. This is food you didn’t have to cook or buy yourself. You have friends here. You’re not in this alone, and that means you can take a breath and savour it.”

Grace watched him with wide, glistening eyes. She quickly looked away and sniffed before taking a bite. Sauce dripped over her palm and down the inside of her wrist. Her eyes fluttered, and there was a small, audible moan in her throat.

“Exactly.” André bit into his al pastor. Even though the tacos had been sitting in the bag for close to half an hour at this point, the double corn tortillas kept them from falling apart.

They finished their first tacos together. André rinsed his hands at the sink, then pulled two glasses from the cupboard. He filled them both with water and squeezed in a little of the extra lime. André rounded the counter and set Grace’s drink beside her plate. “You’re going to get the glass dirty, but you’re not going to care because it’s easily washable.”

Grace nodded once, then hesitated for a split second before picking up the glass from the counter and taking a drink.

“That’s good,” André murmured. Grace set the glass back on the counter. André returned to his place across from her. He nodded at the opened foil in front of her. “Eat the second one.”

Grace dropped her eyes, but not before André saw the tears welling there. They ate together, then André threw out their trash and hand-washed their glasses after Grace cleaned up at the sink. He set them to dry, then turned to find her leaning against the island, watching him.

She swiped at her cheek. “Thank you.”

André dried his hands on the tea towel she had sitting beside the sink. “You’re welcome.”

She pursed her lips, then released them. “Is it over?”

“Is what over?”

She let out a small embarrassed laugh. “I—there are a lot of calls I need to make. I should probably—” Grace paused when her phone lit up on the counter. André glanced down and saw the caller without meaning to. Elodie Shaw.

He frowned, wondering if it was his phone he was seeing for a moment until he felt the outline of it in his pocket.

“Oh, I need to get that.” Grace hurried over and snatched the phone from the granite. She answered the call with a chipper, “Hello!” then mouthed, “I’m so sorry” to André .

Elodie Shaw. Grace was talking to Elodie Shaw two feet from him. It wouldn’t have felt strange at all if he’d spoken to Elodie besides a brief hello at Christmas in the past two years. But since he hadn’t, the fact that Grace was shooting the breeze with his sister made his stomach twist.

Why were they talking?

Had it really been two years?

André did the mental calculations as he strode to the door. Grace was already walking down the hall and lowering her voice—obviously something she didn’t want him to overhear. Which made it even easier for him to get the hell out of her condo. For both their sakes.

André strode out of the kitchen, his pulse racing. He slipped on his shoes, opened the front door, and stepped out into the night. By the time he descended the steps, he was already reaching for his phone.