“I do hope you’re not giving him grief about this, honey,” Mom said. “I think it’s sweet that he’s so protective of his family.”
“I’m not giving him grief.” Gray frowned. “I even help out. I like the prepping stuff.” More than he’d anticipated, to boot. “I just don’t see why he has to blow things out of proportion before anything’s really happened. Did you know he’s spent the whole week doing inventory? We have three pantries filled to the max. And he still asks me to buy extra toilet paper and batteries every time I’m at the store. At this point, the cashiers must think we have IBS.”
Mom laughed at that—hard.
It made Gray grin.
Deep down, he knew he was just bitching. Kinda like Darius with party supplies. Gray was happy to contribute to their cache of goodies, because he’d become hooked on the idea of self-reliance. But like he’d told Mom, he didn’t understand the urgency. To which Darius just claimed, “You build your defense in peacetime, because when the war breaks out, it’s too late.”
And then Gray would say, “So? There’s still no reason to panic. Panic is a useless response in any scenario.”
And Darius replied, “I’m not panicking. I’m preparing. Do I look panicked?”
They’d gone around in circles several times already.
The sex that followed was out of this world too. When they were mildly annoyed with each other and got extra punchy. Fucking hell, just last night, Darius had railed him so hard that Gray had nearly flown off the bed. And now Darius’s limp was nearly gone too. His leg was healing. His strength returning.
While Mom took out a container of what looked and smelled like chicken salad, Gray turned to the counter and logged in to the inn’s social media accounts.
“Did you pick a new book?” he asked as he checked messages on Instagram. “I gave the last one three stars. Shifters are more your jam.”
“That’s why I gave it five stars,” she responded. “I just downloaded this one. Contemporary romance, no shifters.” Thank goodness. “I think you’ll like this, Gray. Older lumberjack meets younger hothead.”
Oh, fuck yeah. “Hot,” he commented. “Gay or straight?” Gray liked to read het romance too. Mom preferred gay shifters…
“Super gay,” Mom said with a smirk in her voice.
Something to look forward to, then.
Gray’s job at the inn was very comfortable, though he was looking forward to researching the requirements to become an EMT or something similar. He just wasn’t in any rush. The hours at the inn were flexible, the daily leftovers from the breakfast buffet were fantastic, he got to showcase Mom’s hard work on Facebook and Instagram, and he met a lot of interesting people.
The first hour flew by fast. He responded to emails, confirmed reservations, and helped an older couple find a good restaurant for the evening. He would’ve sent them to Darius’s place if they hadn’t insisted on walking—in this damn weather.
“Oh, would you look at the time. Gray, you can take a break now,” Mom said. “I have to prepare rooms three and six for tomorrow’s check-ins anyway.”
Gray checked the clock on the computer screen. “It’s only been an hour.”
“I know, but I really want your input on the first chapter.” She appeared from the break room and rubbed lotion into her hands. “I bookmarked the page I’m on and went back to the beginning.”
She made an actual shooing motion at him.
He peered down at her. “You’re really weird sometimes.”
“Just go! The lumberjack does something that I think—”
“Hey! Spoiler alert!” He shot her a scowl before he stalked back into the room and shut the curtain. Fine—he could take an early break. He had no messages on his phone, so he got comfortable in the cushy chair and grabbed the Kindle.
“I’m just gonna grab something from my car!” Mom hollered on her way out. “Make sure you read right now!”
“I’m trying, but you’re talking!” Gray shook his head to himself and turned on the e-reader. The front door opened and closed with Mom’s strange exit, and Gray refocused on the page that only had a series of digits. So he flipped to the next page—just as his brain registered the specific numbers he’d seen, but then he saw something else on the following page, and a breath gusted out of him.
Marry me, knucklehead.
What the—how did…
Gray licked his lips, his pulse suddenly shot through the roof, and he glanced around himself as if someone were going to jump out of the tiny pantry or possibly from behind the chair.
He read the three little words again, then returned to the previous page.
583928.
He knew those digits so well by now.
Older lumberjack meets younger hothead…
“Oh my God,” Gray mumbled. Oh my God. He flipped forward once more.
Marry me, knucklehead.
“Oh my God,” he repeated and shot straight up from the chair. Was this fucking happening? Now? Right here and now? He quickly grabbed his phone from the little kitchen counter and stalked out of the room, where he immediately came to an abrupt stop and was knocked back by a wall of surprise.