The corner of Declan’s mouth ticked up when Grace let out a wet-sounding laugh. He knew her pride would hold a grudge against her letting the noise slip, but he was satisfied that he’d made her do something that wasn’t cry for once. Or scream in his face. There had been a lot of screaming in each other’s faces in unfamiliar lawyers’ offices.
As soon as Grace disposed of the tissue and leaned in, Declan unconsciously mirrored her. Could either of them really be blamed for that? One measly divorce couldn’t undo years upon years of muscle memory and natural magnetism. He gripped the back of the chair he was leaning against and rested his chin on his knuckles, raising an eyebrow at Grace. There was that stubborn pride again, doing what it could to belittle Declan in favour of making Grace look like she had the upperhand. There were still faint mascara smudges around her eyes and the tip of her nose was red. If anything, she looked like she needed a win so Declan didn’t counter her little jibe. Well, he did, but with less vigor than usual.
“Still need to see my face on the daily to get you through the day, Gracie?” he teased her, knowing he was asking for a scowl in response.
If she needed someone to be mad at right now though, he’d gone months upon months being on the receiving end of Grace’s ire. It was a different flavour than the usual passion she directed his way, and harder to digest, he had to admit. But he could bear it better than he would with indifference.
Being on her periphery was better than her forgetting about him at all. He supposed he had Bee to thank for keeping his ex-wife in his life one way or another.
“I think you and that pigeon have a lot in common,” he quipped, before leaning back and sitting up straight.
He gave Grace a careful once-over, certain she wasn’t about to burst into tears again. Then he rapped his knuckles on the brass frame of the chair.
“Right, enough tears from you. You’ve had your tantrum, back to business,” he declared.
He swung a leg back over the chair in a casual dismount then began unbuttoning his own blazer, a gift from Bee a few birthdays ago that he knew his daughter wasn’t fashion-savvy enough to have actually picked out for him herself. Bee and her mom were too artsy-fartsy to know what a label like this would mean. It had ‘purchased by Grace’ written all over it, though he supposed she wouldn’t remember that.
Reaching the final button, he let the blazer fall open and shrugged it from his shoulders, catching Grace’s eye.
“Don’t get too excited,” he warned her, knowing she’d hate the implication, coupled with the smug smirk he wore. Before she could grow too irate, he held the blazer out to her.
“It’ll cover the stains on your suit. The white suit you chose to wear. In December. In New York.”
dededos
gummygunk
jacobvanloon
titsay
germansingergirl
