I stood up and walked to Elm Street, and after determining I needed to head right to get to the fourteen hundred block, I set off. My teeth chattered and I pulled my arms around myself again as I walked, tucking my head down against the wind.
A line was formed up ahead, and I craned my neck to see if it was the shelter, standing on my tiptoes to see around all the people.
“You looking for a place to sleep?” an older man at the end of the line in a long, dirty jacket with a head of wild white hair, asked.
I nodded, my teeth chattering harder.
“This place is only for men,” he said. “But a pretty girl like you could probably make some good cash in the alleyway back there.” He inclined his head backward and then leered at me and cackled.
So there it was again—sex. Evidently I did have something of value. I’d like to say I didn’t consider it for a brief few seconds. I was so hungry, desperately hungry, and so cold. The list of things I wouldn’t do to stop the pain of my empty stomach and the cold that had made its way down to my bones was growing shorter and shorter.
I mustered the very last shred of my pride and turned away.
He’s waiting for me, by a spring, under the warm sunshine. I’ll wait for you. But I hope I’m waiting a long time.
I got about a block before the tears started to slip down my cheeks. Panic surged inside me. Oh no, oh no. You can’t cry. If you cry, you’ll lose control. That thought brought the terror of my situation front and center. I needed someone. Anyone. There were plenty of people walking by, but I didn’t belong to any of them and none of them belonged to me. They didn’t see me. They didn’t care. With neediness came overwhelming grief. I sat down on some steps, put my head on my knees, and I cried.
“Miss?” I jerked my head up and looked through tear-blurred vision at an older man in a suit. I sucked back my tears as much as possible, swiped wetness from my eyes, and attempted a deep, shaky breath, trying to compose myself.
“I own Grant and Rothford Company,” he said quietly, looking uncomfortable.
Then it clicked. He had been the man behind the glass door whom the saleswoman had spoken with. The owner. Oh no, had he decided I owed more money for the vase? Would he call the police now? I couldn’t go to the police. I couldn’t.
I stood up too quickly. I managed two steps before the world tilted and fell away.
Acknowledgments
As always, I had a lot of help writing this book.
Huge love and thanks to my storyline editor, Angela Smith, for helping me hone the plot and for believing in this story—even more than me at times. Thank you for being there from the first word to the last.
Immense gratitude to my developmental and line editor, Marion Archer. You are so talented and always full of such brilliant advice. The enthusiasm and diligence you put into this project is appreciated beyond measure.
Thank you to Karen Lawson, who always makes me feel like the final product I’m putting out into the world is carefully and lovingly polished. That is such a gift to me.
To my extremely valued beta readers who read Grayson’s Vow first and provided such incredibly helpful comments and suggestions: Cat Bracht, Natasha Gentile, Michelle Finkle, and Elena Eckmeyer （who gave my dragon and witch extra TLC by reading through my manuscript twice, and loved my dragon despite his fire-breathing and loved my witch for poking at him until he melted）。
Huge appreciation for my location beta, Kimberly Thompson, who made sure all my Napa references were accurate.
Thank you to my wonderful agent, Kimberly Brower, who held my hand through this process in many, many ways. Thank you for always having my back in every endeavor. You are uncommonly generous with your time and care and never fail to make me feel as if I’m your only client. （And I have a feeling we all say that）。 AIADW forever!
To you, the reader, I wouldn’t have the privilege of doing what I do without you and I never ever take that for granted. Unending love and thanks!
To all the blogs who review and recommend my books—so very grateful for you all.
And an updated thank you to Bloom Books for giving this story new life.
To my husband: I hardly know how to express my thanks to you for all your help and support with this story…the extensive plot talk—in cars, restaurants, bed, while brushing teeth—my endless questions, endless doubts, and the endless amount of time I spent in my own head trying to craft these characters. The vow I made to you has led to more joy than I ever dared to dream.
About the Author
Mia Sheridan is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author. Her passion is weaving true love stories about people destined to be together. Mia lives in Cincinnati, Ohio, with her husband. They have four children here on earth and one in heaven.
Mia can be found online at MiaSheridan.com, on Twitter at MSheridanAuthor, on Instagram at MiaSheridanAuthor, and on Facebook with MiaSheridanAuthor.