Delaney James seems to have it all-a successful husband, a stylish Manhattan townhouse, and a thriving career in fashion journalism-until it all falls apart. Her husband leaves her, shattering the perfect life she once knew. Heartbroken and desperat...
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"So, the prodigal daughter returns from the big city," he says. He turns on his stool to face me and crosses his arms over his broad chest, the muscles in his biceps stretching the sleeves of his t-shirt. "I heard you were in town, but I sure as hell didn't think you'd still be here."
I always wondered what I'd say, or what I'd do, if I ever ran into Greyson. The St. Louis Archers – the major league baseball team Greyson was a starting pitcher for – play in New York a couple times a year, but Manhattan is a big city, and I knew the chances of running into him were slim to none.
"I came to see my family. It's been a while."
"Oh, I know exactly how long it's been. Since your fancy Hamptons wedding in November, right? House in the Hamptons, very pretentious, by the way." I draw my head back in surprise and scoff. "I check in on your parents from time to time. Make sure they're okay. Help your dad around the house. Pick up things at the grocery store for your mom. You know, since you're not here to do it."
I was going to be an adult about this, but now I'm pissed. Who the hell does he think he is? He hasn't seen or spoken to me in ten years. He has no clue what my life is like, or what I've been through. I asked my parents not to share the details of my personal life with him, so I doubt he knows anything about my life in New York. Yet he has the audacity to stand here and judge me?
Fuck. That.
"Let's not do this." I shove my hands into the pockets of my black, V-neck, shift dress. "We don't even know each other anymore."
"Oh, but I know you. You're Delaney James. The girl who left this town and everyone in it behind for a better, more extravagant life in Manhattan because apparently, we're not good enough for you. You haven't visited since you left for college – not even once. You got married. Some hot shot attorney in some fancy law firm. How's that going?"
My breath catches in my throat, and I step forward as I open my mouth, prepared to tell him everything about Will and his affair and why I'm really home, but I see Jo creep out of the kitchen from the corner of my eye. She doesn't speak but gives a slight shake of her head as if to say, don't give him the satisfaction.
"How've you been? I heard you're working for your dad now."
He turns away from me, grabbing a menu from behind the counter, and snickers. "I've got a great life, Delaney. I'm very fulfilled. Thanks for asking."
"Are you trying to convince me, Greyson, or yourself?"
His cocky smile, the one that used to make my heart skip a beat and my clothes practically melt off my body, leaves his face. He's aged since I last saw him - which was on the cover of Sports Illustrated when he announced his early retirement - but in the way that makes men more attractive and women jealous. The rosy-cheeked, baby-faced teenager that I'd filed away in my memory has matured into a strong, masculine and annoyingly handsome full-fledged man. His vibrant green eyes – the color of mint chocolate chip ice cream – no longer hold the innocence I remember, and there's life experience behind them now, maybe even a little sadness. His milk chocolate brown hair is shorter than it was in high school. Back then it was shaggy and fell just below his ears, but now it's cut close on the sides while the top is long and tousled with natural whiskey-colored highlights that I assume are from being out in the sun all day. An impeccably groomed five o'clock shadow decorates his sharp jawline. His full, light red lips – like they're permanently stained from all the cherry water ice he ate as a kid – are pressed together and his thick, dark brown eyebrows are furrowed as he frowns at me.
