The Best Next Thing

“You’re the good guy,” she whispered, still astonished that she had she not recognized that fact before now. How had she always assumed that this gentle, considerate, kind man was cold and unlikable?

She was once again struck by the differences between him and Blaine. Her dead husband had lauded his good deeds over the rest of the world. He had frequently managed to casually drop his latest act of charity into random conversation and then feigned humility when people sang his praises.

Oh, it was nothing. I don’t seek acclaim for doing the Lord’s work.

Ugh.

Miles sought no such accolades, he was inherently kind. He cared about his family, those who worked for him or depended on him and he expected nothing in return. In fact, he seemed downright embarrassed that he had even mentioned it to her.

“I think I’ll come to town with you, I haven’t been to my self-defense class in a while and they have a session this afternoon.”

“Sounds good.” He graced her with a smile, and she went back to loading the dishwasher, wondering why the hell she felt so excited at the prospect of just being in the same vehicle with him. It wasn’t like they would be spending the afternoon together or anything.

Charity was enjoying her sparring session with Greyson Chapman. When she had first started this class, the mere thought of allowing a man to lay hands on her with anything resembling violent intentions had been terrifying. But Sam Brand had been so professional and impersonal, and so obviously in control of his every action, that it hadn’t taken long for her to relax in his presence.

It had soon become apparent that the handling and grabbing and pushing were very different from anything she had experienced with Blaine. Brand had no intention of hurting her, there was no extreme emotion attached to his movements. He felt no malice, or love, or hatred toward her. All he wanted to do was instruct her. And to instruct her, he had to touch her in ways that she had initially found uncomfortable.

He was an observant man and she knew that he, and possibly Greyson, were probably more aware of her background than she was comfortable with. But neither man had ever said a thing about it to her. Instead, they continued to train her to the best of their abilities. They tailor-made each woman’s training exercises to her fitness level and what she hoped to achieve. Charity hadn’t been very forthcoming about her goals other than stating a need to “feel safe,” and Brand had focused a great deal of her instruction on deflecting punches and wrestling her way out from beneath an opponent. And once she had mastered those, he had started teaching her how to fight back. But they didn’t only concentrate on the physical in these sessions—they had helped rebuild her mental, as well as emotional strength and had boosted her self-confidence and self-belief. And somewhere along the line that fear of being around these big, muscular men had faded.

She did not feel as comfortable around them as she now did with Miles, but she wasn’t afraid of them. They had helped her find an inner strength she had forgotten she possessed, and she valued these classes because of that.

Greyson swung at her, and she deftly sidestepped his punch and used his own momentum against him, utilizing her speed and smaller size to duck beneath his arm and flip him over her shoulder. He wound up on his back, her knee on his chest, and his arm twisted in her grip.

There was a smattering of cheers and applause at the move, and Greyson writhed for a moment before swearing. “Shit!”

He thumped the mat with his free hand, and she grinned and released her grip on his arm, offering her hand in assistance instead. He gave her a rueful glower and took her hand, before leaping nimbly to his feet.

“You had to toss me on my butt for my wife and daughter to see, didn’t you? Not cool, Cole!”

She wrinkled her nose ruefully and tossed him a towel.

“Sorry about that, but you taught me to exploit all weaknesses. It’s not my fault you were showing off because you knew Olivia was watching.” She glanced over at the mommy and baby yoga group on the community center stage, and sure enough, Greyson’s tall, stunning wife—baby in arms—appeared to be laughing at her husband’s ignominious defeat. The woman spotted Charity watching and waved at her.

Charity didn’t know Olivia Chapman very well. She had seen her in passing a few times and had had an awkward introductory chat with her one Sunday afternoon when she had run into the couple on the Boulevard. Greyson’s wife was the head chef at the recently revamped eatery in town. This was the first time Charity had seen her at the Wednesday baby yoga class. She remembered Greyson mentioning that they usually came to the Monday morning sessions.