Grayson finally looked up at me, running his thumb over my cheekbone, and murmured, "Would it ruin the moment to tell you I want to take you upstairs and fuck you until I can't see straight?"

I laughed softly. "I'm at your service. But first, let's make some coffee and get you sobered up. You're going to feel like hell tomorrow. And we have a long day of monkey shopping to do."

Grayson let out a laugh that ended on a half groan/half sigh. "Okay," he finally said. "Okay."

**********

"Grayson's not working today?" Charlotte asked, her face a study in concern.

"I don't think so. He didn't get out of bed this morning. But he needs to sleep—he drank quite a bit last night." I'd already told Walter about the mess in the cellar and he had cleaned it up, taking inventory of the bottles Grayson hadn't smashed. Maybe the monkey was a little over the top, but I was serious about the parrot.

"Perhaps I should go up and talk to him . . ." Charlotte said.

I nodded. "Later, Charlotte, he needs to sleep. But I'm sure he'd appreciate what you have to say. He seems so," I chewed on my lip for a moment, "grief-stricken."

"I'm sure that's exactly what he is," she said. She shook her head sadly. "And he can't be happy with me, nor with Walter . . ."

"He'll come around."

Charlotte nodded, but her look was doubtful and her lack of confidence only served to make me more nervous. She seemed so distraught that I gave her a hug. "He's going to be okay," I said. But my tone lacked conviction, even to my own ears. The lost look in his eyes when I'd left the room this morning had sent a chill through my blood.

And there was the fact that I was keeping something from him, too. In the beginning, it hadn’t seemed like information that needed sharing. But then everything had happened so quickly . . . and now, it was a secret between us and I knew I needed to tell him, but I didn't know how he'd react. He was still on such emotionally unstable ground. How many secrets could he process right now? How much pain could a person handle before they broke?

It's me again, Gram. If you could send me some wisdom . . . what do I do?

Charlotte pulled me from my worried reverie. "Gray got a call this morning that his bottle labels are ready," she said. "I guess I'll go into town and pick those up for him."

"I'll take care of it. I need to get out for a little bit anyway. I feel like I'm breathing down Grayson's neck. He probably needs a little time to process everything on his own. I don't want to get in the way of that. If he does come down, will you text me?"

"Yes, of course, dear. See you soon."

I drove into town, going straight to the small print shop where Grayson had ordered labels for the wine about to be bottled. The woman at the front desk brought the box out to me and then ran my bankcard, frowning slightly at the machine. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hawthorn, it says your card is declined."

"What? That can't be right," I said. There was plenty of money in that account. "Will you try it again?" She did, with the same result, looking uncomfortable.

Despite the chill that went down my spine, I shook my head. "My husband probably bought something and didn't tell me. I'll have to stop in at the bank. Men."

She chuckled softly. "It's happened to me before, too. Do you want me to try another card?"

I didn't have another card. I dug in my purse, counting out the money I had. Thankfully, I had quite a bit. I'd taken out cash to tip all the vendors at the party several weeks ago, but Grayson had given Walter the cash for that, so I hadn't used what was in my wallet. It was all still there. I counted out the money for the bill and handed it over, thanking her, and leaving the shop with the box of labels.

Placing it in the trunk, I got in my car and drove straight to the bank. The feeling of panic that had swept through me inside the print shop was now a full-blown case of buzzing nerves. My heart pounded in my chest as if it understood something terrible was about to happen. Oh God, please let this be some strange misunderstanding, a bank error, anything. Please, please . . .

I parked, took a moment to take deep, calming breaths, and walked to the bank. Thankfully, it was practically empty, and I approached a teller without having to wait. When I told her why I was there, she looked up my account and frowned at the screen. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hawthorn. It appears there's been a hold put on your account." Oh God.

"A hold?" I squeaked. "Does it give a reason why?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. You should receive something in the mail if your account is being garnished or if there's another legal reason for the hold."

My heart was beating so rapidly, I had trouble catching my breath. "Are you able to check my husband's account?" I asked. "Just to tell me if there's been a hold placed on his as well?"

"Well . . ."

"Please," I said, "I don't want any other information. I know it's only in his name. Just if you could . . ." I drew in a sharp breath, panic overwhelming me for a moment. I brought my hand to my chest. "I'm sorry."

The older woman smiled sympathetically. "Let me just . . ." She began typing on her computer. She frowned again. "Yes, it appears the same hold has been put on his account as well."

"Thank you," I said, the contents of my stomach coming up my throat. I swallowed heavily. "I appreciate it very much."