Free Not Quite Gone (A Lowcountry Mystery) by Lyla Payne Page B

was always more my dream than his. Aside from his job, I think Will’s exactly where he probably always wanted to be at this stage.”
    “I heard he might be looking for new employment.”
    “Yeah. Mel told me today. I feel awful.” I bite my lip, concentrating on recapturing the good feelings. “It is such a relief to not have any topics of conversationbe off-limits with you. David would have given me the silent treatment for a week had I made any sort of mention of Will, even in passing.”
    Beau frowns. “We all have pasts. They make us who we are. Your romance with Will is part of what made you the woman I adore. More than that… I love you, Gracie. I would do anything for you. But the truth is, none of that matters if you don’t choose me back.”

    “I do.”
    The quick pleasure on his face spears my heart with joy. “I’m just saying… You’re only mine if you choose me, as I am yours because I choose you. And it’s only love if it’s freely given, not manipulated in one way or another.”
    “You’re amazing.”
    “And you didn’t answer the question. Life is different than you expected but doesn’t that mean you get new dreams? Or goals, if that soundsmore grown up to you.”
    The stillness of the evening injects me with calm. It helps me listen to the voices in my head, the ones that belong to the better parts of me. The ones who understand that even though things are better, that I’m better, the hot mess of a girl who rolled into Heron Creek last May isn’t magically on target and mentally healthy now.
    But she’s on her way.
    “I haven’t thoughtmuch about it,” is my honest answer. “I was such a mess after my breakup, then coming back here and losing Gramps. Everything that’s happened with Amelia and the ghosts, and you”—I give his hand a squeeze—“has shown me that family means the most. I think I’m okay with settling back into my own skin before I think too hard about the future.”
    He doesn’t say anything for a long time. Nerves startto stutter through me and self-doubt crowds my mind. It was the wrong thing to say, obviously. He’s going to think he’s not important or that I don’t ever think about what my life would be like in twenty years.  
    “I don’t… It’s not that I don’t think about you and us and the future, I just—”
    “Stop.” He scoots closer, moving our glasses and dessert out of the way so our sides can press againsteach other, and he threads his fingers through mine. “I wasn’t asking for that reason. I want to know you better is all, and what you said is really surprising.”
    “Because it’s mature?”
    “Sort of,” he admits. “But more because it takes a lot of confidence to admit that you’re not ready for something. Especially at a time in our lives when it can be easy to feel as though we’re falling behind.”
    “Yikes, I know. My Facebook feed is nothing but babies and wedding photos.” In truth, I don’t spend much time on social media. It’s more to do with my own insecurities than any real dislike, but the reminder that the majority of my old “friends” haven’t bothered to check in since I left Iowa isn’t a feel-good situation.
    “Right. But I don’t think…I don’t think there’s a reason to be in a hurry.Human beings need a little more time in the cooker than most of us get.”
    “You, too?”
    “Of course.” He leans closer, reaching up to sweep my hair behind my shoulder. The soft touch of his hand breaks goose bumps out all up and down my bare arms. “I’m still cooking, too. On low.”
    “Hmm, is that so?” I turn my head so that our eyes are inches apart and brush my lips over his. “Maybe we should turnup the heat.”
    “I like the way you think, but we should finish the wine first. And get, you know, indoors. Mosquito bites on the ass are less fun than they sound. Which is odd because they sound so awesome.”
    My giggles feel good. Cathartic.
    “Oh! I almost forgot part of the