Pirate's Promise (Sentinels of Savannah #5) - Lisa Kessler Page 0,82
the department if that’s possible, but I understand if you’d rather have me step down.”
He sighed. “How about if we use some of the vacation days you’ve never taken while I get the paperwork moving to open a position as head of the field office in Savannah? If I can get the budget together, there may be a raise in it for you, too.”
She smiled, even though he’d never see it. “Thank you.”
“Talk to you soon, Aura.”
She ended the call and started her car. It was a long drive to Savannah. She didn’t have a bag packed, but she could find a store when she got there. With any luck, she’d never walk into that empty apartment again. She had socked away plenty of money to pay movers to pack her stuff and ship it south if things worked out.
On the highway, as the snow gave way to rain, part of her couldn’t believe she was eagerly diving into such a careless, unplanned, and potentially unsuccessful mission, but that realization only made her more resolute.
For the first time in weeks, she’d found something worthwhile to fight for.
Love.
Chapter Thirty
Greyson’s mood had been crap all day.
He hadn’t slept much, tossing and turning, unable to stop repeating the moment he’d told Aura good-bye. She hadn’t called or sent another text. It was better this way. He needed to get her out of his system. Maybe he’d even delete that photo off his phone.
He bent his knees and lifted the heavy compact fridge, lugging it into the corner of the galley. Sweat dripped into his eye, and he cursed under his breath as he stepped back to inspect the area.
Drake was on a step stool, finishing the new custom cabinets, and Colton had gone to the lower deck to turn on the generator so they could check the electrical connections.
One-Eyed Bob put his hand on Greyson’s shoulder. “Looks even better than it did before the mess in Scotland.”
“Aye,” Greyson agreed.
“We can fix anything with a little work,” the cook mused, giving Greyson’s shoulder a squeeze. “Ye seem troubled today. I would cook somethin’, but the kitchen’s not open yet.”
Greyson shrugged, shaking his head. “Even your hush puppies can’t put any shine on this shit day.”
His eyebrow shot up. “What happened?”
Greyson finally looked over at the cook. “Aura called me last night.” He quickly broke eye contact, focusing on the new appliances again. “She’s like a ghost I can’t shake.”
He patted Greyson on the back. “Or maybe it’s another mess worth fixing.”
He walked away before Greyson could reply.
How could he get the matchmaking old salt to understand he couldn’t fix something that wasn’t there? Maybe Aura enjoyed seeing him wriggle on a hook—he didn’t know. He wished he could find a way to break free from her spell.
The electricity came to life, and he crossed to the fridge. The light came on when he opened the door, and the condenser was already blowing cold air. He looked over at Drake as he closed the door. “It works.”
Drake came down from the step stool and marveled at the new kitchen. “She’s back in business.”
Greyson managed a half-hearted smile. “If we’re done here, I’m heading up to the nest. Need some fresh air.”
“I’ll let Bob know if he comes back looking for you.” Drake patted his shoulder as he passed by. “Let me know if you need an ear.”
Greyson patted his hand. “Thanks, mate. I’ll be okay.” Someday.
He climbed up the lines in a fog, distracted by replaying their phone call over and over. By the time he got into the nest, sweat beaded on his forehead, and he was half tempted to call her just to hear her voice.
He leaned on the railing and took out his phone. He pulled up the picture of them in front of the Glasgow Cathedral and stared at her smile. He looked ridiculous in the polo and khakis, but seeing her smile brought back the memory of the way she’d put her arm around him and grabbed his ass, the way they’d laughed.
“Greyson?”
He blinked. Was he so lovesick he imagined her voice? He frowned and looked over the side. His heart stuttered. Aura was more than halfway up the ratlines.
What the hell was she doing here? Greyson’s pulse raced as he watched her stretch for the next rung at a snail’s pace, but she was still climbing. Slowly. Too fucking slowly. He should’ve waited. But it had been three weeks since he’d seen her. He couldn’t wait any longer.