“What—”
He wrapped his deliciously warm arms around her and cuddled her into him.
“Mmm,” she heard herself purr and pressed her face to his throat.
He dipped his head so he could meet her gaze, but she didn’t know how to take the way he looked at her. Like he cared. Like he wanted to hurt someone for what she’d been through. Like he wanted to touch her. She’d honestly expected him to recoil from her history, from how screwed up she was. Instead, he’d done the opposite.
“What do you want to do?” he asked, his calloused thumb making slow sweeps over the knuckles of her hand.
Still with her face in the crook between his throat and shoulder, she just breathed him in for a moment. “I want to run away,” she admitted. “Just like I always do. But I need to go talk to him.”
“I’ll go with you if you want.”
The offer surprised and warmed her from tip to toe, and she squeezed him before lifting her head. “Just knowing you would helps. But I think I’ve got to do this alone. I’m sorry I called you out here before I did this.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’ll wait. As long as you need.”
She let out a breath, not taking that promise lightly. She wasn’t sure how or when they’d become friends for real or when he’d become so important to her, but she felt grateful for him. “Thanks,” she whispered, inadequate but all she could think of in the moment. She reached for the door handle, then hesitated, her heart pounding in her ears.
“Quick like a Band-Aid,” he said quietly.
She snorted. “Do you and your family ever stop speaking to each other?”
He laughed, drawing her eyes. He was genuinely amused. “All the time. They mean well, but I’m very different from them, and different is sometimes hard to accept.”
She pressed her forehead to his. “I like different.”
“For which I’m grateful. You’ve got this, Jane.”
She eyed the little cabin. “You sure?”
“Hey, you survived a near-fatal fall from a gondola. You regularly put yourself in war zones to save people’s lives. You agreed to go to dinner with my crazy family. Trust me, you can handle this. Either way, I’ll be waiting right here.”
With a wobbly smile, she nodded, drew a deep breath, got out of the car, and walked up to the front door and knocked.
She wasn’t sure what she planned to say, and the door opened far too soon, because suddenly her grandpa was standing there, squinting at her through bifocals perched on the end of his nose. He gasped, put a hand to his chest, and whispered, “Sugar Plum?”
She hadn’t been sure what she would feel when face-to-face with him, and she still wasn’t beyond the slight nausea of all the butterflies taking flight in her belly. “Hi, Grandpa.”
His smile was trembling and there was a suspicious shininess to his eyes now as he reached for her hand. “You’re actually here.”
“Is that okay?”
At her question, a shadow passed over his face, but his voice, trembling before, was strong now. “Yes. More than anything. I’m sorry if you doubted it for even a second.”
“There were more than a few seconds,” she said, not willing to let herself be moved by his obvious emotions at seeing her.
“I deserve that,” he said quietly. “Can . . . can I hug you, Jane?”
The eight-year-old in her spoke before the grown-up in her could, whispering yes.
He pulled her into his arms and pressed his cheek to hers. “Thank you,” he said, holding on tight. “You’re so much braver than I’ve ever been.”