Her original purpose for moving in with Griffin had been to give his sister and family the space they needed. After today, there wouldn't be any good reason for her to remain in No. 9.
Tess frowned. "Jane, are you - " She broke off as David entered the house.
"Honey," he called. "Gage is on Griffin's cell. Why don't you go over and get your chance to talk with him."
"Oh!" She reached around her waist to untie her apron. "Can you flip the pancakes?"
"Sure." He kissed her cheek as she handed over the spatula.
As if struck by a sudden thought, Tess touched her husband's arm. "Is Gage all right? Everything's okay?"
"Seems so. He's got some new assignment he's stoked about. Wants Griffin to meet up with him so they can work together in faraway Somewhere-istan."
Tess slid a look at Jane. "When?"
"Sounds like he wants him on the first plane out."
Jane put a hand to her suddenly still heart. Was the idyll over just like that? Her snow globe filled with all the memories it would ever have? An emptiness opened in her belly, and cold loneliness swamped her like a Pacific wave. She hadn't seen it coming so soon, but if Griffin headed to his brother, there wasn't any reason for her to stay in Crescent Cove - or at Beach House No. 9.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
JANE HAD DISAPPEARED on him. Griffin tried tamping down his annoyance but hell! That mouth of hers was always flapping about deadlines and work to be done and then she was nowhere to be seen when he was ready to get to it. He'd ended his call with Gage twenty minutes ago, and she'd done a complete Houdini.
Of course he didn't need her to be nearby for him to continue with the memoir. But her presence made it easier to confront those photos she'd taped around the office. His gaze would catch on a face, and something odd would pop into his head. He'd remember that person's blood type, for example, because it was posted on them from head to toe: A POS, on helmet, vest, boots. Griffin could have taken the images down, but Jane was right, they helped him taste the flavor of the dirt, smell the stench of the men's sweat after combat, remember the incongruously blissed-out look of a bleeding soldier sucking on a fentanyl lollipop to block the pain.
Good times.
So he didn't want to do any of that without Jane in the room. When it got to be too much, he'd look over at her wacky shoes or her pouty mouth, and find himself centered in the present. He'd think about her center, and instead of wallowing in the past he'd be dreaming up ways to get her into bed and the ways he'd take her once he did.
After wandering around No. 9 for a few minutes, he ventured next door. His sister was the calm in the middle of chaos, as there were piles of kid crap on each bed and pretty much everywhere else. He leaned on a doorjamb, watching her pack up clothes while discussing with Russ the merits of cutting his beloved blankie in half. "Think of it, my sweetness - then if we did the unthinkable and lost it somewhere, we'd have an extra at home."
"Why don't you just buy the baby another one?"
Her head turned to him. "It's a comfort object. You can't just buy another one, because they're not interchangeable. It wouldn't smell the same, feel the same, be the same."
"Creepy. You're making it sound like Russ has a relationship with a square of fabric."
"And it's probably more meaningful than the ones you have with the people in your life," she retorted. "Russ doesn't hesitate to become attached."
He blinked. "Hostile."
"I'm not hostile, I'm being honest. And honestly, Griffin, you need to be careful or people are going to get hurt."
He retreated from the doorway.
Tess pointed at him. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. You back off when things get a little too real."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Let me be clear." She huffed out a sigh. "It's going to hurt Jane when she sees how easily you can walk away from her."
The back of his neck felt hot. "We're colleagues. Professional colleagues."
His sister skewered him with a look that she'd learned from their mother. A look only the female half of the population could deliver. "Cut the crap, brother dear."