Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
ABBY
G rayson’s presence catches me off guard every time I see him, as if I forgot just how tall he is, how broad-shouldered, how he seems to take up all the air in the room.
Then again, I only see him a few times a year, usually around the holidays when he makes the long drive from Seattle to Crescent Pass. In the times between, I tell myself I must be misremembering how blue his eyes are, how his face lights up when he laughs, how my brain seems to turn to mush when he speaks directly to me.
Which is hardly… ever.
But then he shows up again and it all comes rushing back. The crush I’ve had on him since we were teenagers never really faded, even with time and distance.
Not that he has the first clue about that.
“Abbs,” he says in greeting, using the nickname he gave me as a kid, and smiles. His grin has always been a little crooked, lifting more on the right side. He leans across the desk to give me a hug. “How are you?”
Oh, okay. This is happening.
His arm encircles the backs of my shoulders for a moment, and I lean in, my hand hovering above his back, unsure what to do. He’s gone before I can decide, and I let it drop awkwardly.
“I’m fine,” I say, giving him a small smile.
“Great. Do you have a minute to talk? You’re not busy or anything, are you?”
I glance around the nearly empty library. Susan is shelving books over in the corner, and our regular, Stan, is reading the newspaper in one of the comfortable chairs.
“I have time. How about over there?”
I point toward the children’s section, where we’re least likely to be heard by the others.
Wiping my sweaty palms on my pants as I follow him, I think again about Harper’s frantic call earlier, telling me that Grayson wants me to be his fake date for the wedding. It had taken a good five minutes to unravel the full story out of her, unsure what she was saying in her excitement. Even once I understood her, I half-thought she was crazy.
If Grayson’s here, though… Maybe not.
He pauses in front of the spring into a good book display I made, featuring picture books about flowers, gardens, and springtime. Reaching out, he fingers one of the paper flowers I taped to the edge of the shelf.
“Is this origami?” he asks curiously.
I nod. “It’s a cherry blossom. There are roses and lilies, too. And tulips on the bottom.”
He steps back and studies the whole display. “You guys bought these?”
“I made them.”
He glances at me, his dark brows pulled together in confusion. “You made them? Like, all of them?” He waves a hand to encompass all of it.
My fingers fiddle with the hem of my cardigan. “Um, yes. I like doing paper folding projects.”
“This looks advanced. I didn’t know you could do stuff like this.”
My head tilts to the side as I meet his gaze. “Why would you?”
When I do get the chance to talk to him—which is rarely—we stick to safe, neutral topics. How are things in Seattle? How are your folks doing? Can you believe how big Jamie and Jenny are getting? I’ve never had a reason to tell him that origami and gift wrapping are totally my jam.
“Right.” He gestures toward the paper flowers. “Well, it’s very impressive.”
I give a slight nod in thanks. “But I’m guessing you didn’t drive over here to admire my children’s book display.”
His mouth lifts in that crooked grin again. “No.”
He stuffs his hands in his pockets, then immediately takes them out and crosses his arms over his chest, the sleeves of his fitted tee pulling tight around his biceps. “I, um… Well, I wanted to ask…”
I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. Instead, he’s chewing on his bottom lip, seemingly lost in thought.
Wait, is he nervous? Grayson? He’s normally so unflappable. Then again, this is a supremely weird request he’s about to ask of me.
“Harper told me,” I say, putting him out of his misery. “You want me to be your fake date to her wedding so your mom will get off your back.”
He blinks in surprise before he sighs. “I should have known she couldn’t keep that to herself. Where my brother’s a vault, she’s an open book.”
He’s definitely not wrong with that analogy.
“So…” His gaze flicks to me and away as his fingers curl into the muscle of his upper arm. “Are you game? You’d really be doing me a favor.”
I shrug, trying to appear casual, even as a thrill runs up my spine. Despite it being fake, I’m still going to be Grayson’s date. Teenage Abby would die. “Yeah, sure. That’s what friends do.”
“You think of us as friends?”
My mouth opens, unsure how to respond as the thrill dissipates, leaving an empty heaviness in its wake. Does he think so little of me?
“I mean, we are,” he backtracks, appearing alarmed. Was my disappointment that obvious? “I just always thought of you more as Kristen’s friend. I didn’t realize it extended to me and Owen, too.”
I hide my wince. Bringing his brother into the mix? If he says he thinks of me as a sister, I’m going to spontaneously combust.
Giving him a half-smile, I turn and straighten a few books on the display, not that they weren’t already perfect to begin with.
“Thank you,” he says, filling the now-awkward silence. “This means a lot to me.”
He squeezes my arm in thanks, the area tingling even after his hand returns to his side.
I nod unsteadily, hating how he affects me. I’m twenty-eight-freaking-years-old. I shouldn’t still have this stupid crush on him.
“Harper said she has some events planned for this week?” he continues, his voice lifting at the end, making it a question. “I don’t know, I didn’t really look at the itinerary she sent. But she mentioned my mom will be at some of them, so we might have to pretend, too, before the actual wedding.”
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
“It could be a good thing, you know? Another way to sell it to my mom.”
How important is it that she believes I’m his date to this thing?
“Are you coming over to dinner tonight?” he asks. “At my mom’s?”
“Oh, no. I think that’s only for family. We’re all going out tomorrow night, though. Over in Kirkwood.”
There’s a beat of silence, and I resist the urge to fill it as he seems to inwardly think.
“Can I stop by your house in the morning?” he finally asks. “So we can get on the same page about everything?”
“You mean come up with our alibi?”
He laughs, almost like he’s surprised, and gives me a searching look. “Yeah, exactly.”
I nod. “Sure. Just text me.”
Since he has my number now and all, apparently.
He says his goodbyes and as he leaves, I let out a whole body sigh, tension releasing from me.
So, that just happened.
Before he’s even out the front door, the library assistant, Susan, is pushing her book cart toward me, nosiness radiating from her. God help me in this small town of busybodies.
“Was that Grayson?” she asks, as if she hasn’t been in the stacks texting to let her gossip network know the once-prodigal son has returned. “What’s he doing meeting up with you?”
Ouch. Is it that unbelievable that Grayson would—
Okay, yeah. I can’t even finish the outraged thought. She has a point.
“We have some things to coordinate for Owen and Harper’s wedding,” I tell her, surprised at how breezily it comes out. Not that it’s a lie… It’s just not the full truth.
“I can’t believe you’re taking off a full week for that,” she grumbles. “It’s not until next Saturday.”
I don’t bring up the fact that I haven’t taken a vacation in years. I’ve already reminded her numerous times.
“Well, Harper has a lot of stuff planned for us since her friends are visiting from Chicago.”
“Yeah, but a whole week?”
I give her a shrug and walk away. She’s only salty because she wasn’t invited to the wedding.
It’s not long until it’s six o’clock, and I go through the closing procedures on autopilot, my mind obsessively going over everything. Can I really convince Mrs. Taylor I’m her son’s wedding date? And why wouldn’t I have mentioned it before now if it was true?
I mentally add it to the list of plot holes we’ll need to resolve tomorrow. I should have asked him why he needs to convince her in the first place, but I have a feeling I already know the answer. His mom can get a bit… forceful when it comes to pushing her kids toward her idea of what’s right.
When I get home, my orange tabby, Leo, chatters loudly at me, telling me it’s past dinner time.
“I know, bud,” I murmur, setting my bag down on the kitchen table. “Give me a sec.”
He circles my ankles, nearly tripping me as I open the pantry door and peruse the selection.
“Is it an ocean whitefish and tuna kind of night? Or salmon and beef?”
I hold out the two cans of cat food to him, and he rubs the side of his face against the first option.
“Excellent choice, sir.”
I plate it for him, his interest in me long forgotten as he chows down, licking up all the gravy before chewing the shreds of meat. I watch him, not in any rush to start dinner for myself. There’s still this unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I’m on a precipice, ready to tumble into the unknown.
This thing with Grayson… Spending time with him, getting to know him better… It could lead to something. An actual something. That’s what happens in rom-coms, right?
Get real , an inner voice snarkily whispers. The man hasn’t looked twice at you in the two-plus decades he’s known you.
I think back to this past Thanksgiving, seated next to him but barely saying a word throughout the whole dinner. At Christmas, hardly able to string two words together when he’d greeted me.
A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow hard to get rid of it, not liking the reminders of all my failings when it comes to him. Of all the ways he’s never noticed me, of how anxious I get around him.
No, no. Today was different. I’m turning over a new leaf. I’m going to be fun, bubbly Abby, the perfect fake date for his brother’s wedding. So perfect that he’ll wonder why he never paid attention to me before, how I’ve been under his nose this whole time. How we’d be perfect together.
A soft laugh escapes me, tinged with an edge of hysteria. I’m delusional, aren’t I? I need to cut back on the romance novels and Hallmark channel.
Even if nothing happens between us, though, this feels like a wake-up call. I’m tired of life passing me by, waiting for something to happen. If I want things to happen, I need to make them happen.
And who better to try that with than the man I’ve always wanted?