The Next Day (Foothills Book 2) by Carrie Thorne (christmas read aloud TXT) 📕

few keys. “I think we can waive the fee today. Congratulations on your marriage.” After a few more clicks and the hum of the printer, she passed across their updated boarding passes.

Zane smiled, “Thanks so much.”

“Have a wonderful trip home.”

As they left the counter, he took her hand again, leaned over, and landed a zinger on her; one of those kisses that wasn’t demanding or lusty, but enduring and savoring. Like newlyweds should do. Heart stumbling a little further, Freya bit her lips together as they pulled away and kept walking toward security. “We won’t get an annulment if we go around kissing and telling everyone we’re married,” she mumbled, unable to make her voice perk up enough to project.

He nodded with that subtle tilt of his head, the corner of his mouth turned up. “That was for the attendant.” As they rounded the corner, he dropped her hand and jammed his in his pocket.

Shoving her own lonely hand in her pocket, she ignored the pang. “Nice finagling. I didn’t think you were one to manipulate.”

He shrugged, “Not usually. But I can when the situation calls for it. Learned something useful from my parents at least.”

The plane slammed into the ground and bounced in a rocky landing. Zane gritted his teeth, flashing back to the time the airfield had been roughened from a recent airstrike, the base mid-evacuation. His team was the military’s last-ditch effort to recover the area.

As soon as they taxied into the gate and came to a stop, he hopped up from his seat and grabbed their bags. He handed Freya her backpack, hauling his over his shoulder and wrapping the garment bag over his arm. Keeping his hands to himself, they walked spaced apart as they crossed the speckled white tile, up the escalator, and into the concrete parking garage.

At his truck, he dumped their stuff in the backseat and they hopped in. Not a word on the entire drive back. Shellshocked, regretful, who the hell knew what was driving her silence.

How could he have been so fucking stupid? Sure, he was trashed as all hell, but he wasn’t some kid that got the dumbass idea to get hitched while his brain was altered. Nor was he the type to get hammered twice in as many weeks.

Back home, he dropped her off, but stayed in the truck. Before closing the door, her eyebrows dropped as she realized he wasn’t getting out. “Where are you headed?”

“See if I can catch Grady at home while Asher’s gone.”

“You don’t want Asher to know?”

“I’ll tell him, but I need a plan first.”

Nodding, her face fell, dejected. She wanted the annulment, right? She’d been the one to bring it up in the first place. And again at the airport.

He’d lived a disaster of a marriage to Blaire, constantly disappointing her while she drained his soul and his bank account. Stupid fucking mistake, and he wasn’t doing that to himself again. Or Freya; she wasn’t anything like Blaire, but she didn't deserve to get stuck in his directionless, selfish life.

“Okay,” she adjusted her bag and closed the door. He watched as she trudged into the house. Sophie sat curled up with a book on a rocker on the porch. Good. She wouldn’t be alone if she didn’t want to be.

11

Celery

A shiny new Forerunner was parked in the drive. Asher’s truck was notably absent. Good.

Zane rang the bell. A few moments later, a pretty-boy sort that looked like he regularly modeled for O’Neill or Volcom opened the door. “Grady?” he asked.

The guy nodded. “Zane?”

“Yep.”

“Freya called; said you were on your way over.”

“Cool. Um. Yeah. Did she tell you why?”

“Nope. Said she’d leave it to you. And seemed to be laughing and crying and hyperventilating as she said it. What’s up?” Stepping inside, Grady motioned for Zane to follow.

Zane’s stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten breakfast or lunch. A half-eaten ham and cheese sandwich sat on the kitchen island. He tried to not stare.

Grady grinned, “Hungry?”

“Yeah. Long morning.”

“Are you useless in the kitchen like Asher?”

“Hell no. That lazy ass bummed a lot of food off me over the years and made up for it by inviting me over for steak or burgers or PB&J, as he couldn’t manage much else.”

Pulling the ingredients out of the fridge, Grady smiled, “I’m not sure his PB&J is worth bragging about. As Sophie won’t let him move in until he learns to cook, I feel like I’ve turned into a cooking instructor. Honestly, I’m still not sure how he convinced me to let him live here. With Lincoln moving in with Pippa, I thought I was finally in the clear of roommates.” Slapping some mayo on the bread, Grady nodded to the island, “Have a seat and fill me in.”

Sliding the sandwich across the island, neatly plated with carrots and snap peas, Zane tore into the ham and cheese, muttering a thanks through full cheeks. Grady sat down to finish his own lunch.

Keeping his mouth full as a tried-and-true procrastination strategy, Zane looked around. The place was nice. Nothing high-end, more the practical sort of a guy still new to nine-to-five life. In the corner, a bookshelf held five bowed shelves, filled with about everything from law to history to survival skills to classic and contemporary fiction.

Ha, and a few romances. At least Grady was honest about it and didn’t hide the guilty pleasure. If any of his SEAL buddies had caught him reading that shit, he’d never have heard the end of it, so he kept his in digital format.

Grady caught him squinting to read some of the titles. “I read a lot.”

“So I see,” he said as he swallowed. “I donated most of my stuff so I