CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
GRANT
“ S avannah is here,” Lina mentions when we get to the door of her apartment.
She’s struggling to unzip her purse with all of the grocery bags in her arms, and I catch one before it slips out of her grasp. Then I take the rest of them. I’ve caught on to the fact that she’s not very good at accepting help, which is probably why she looks so disarmed.
“That’s fine,” I reply honestly.
I’m not sure how Lina feels about Savannah and me, especially now that the two of them are friends— close friends. I don’t mind the fact, but I can’t deny the fact that it adds another layer to our relationship, one neither of us has brought up.
When she doesn’t say anything, I add, “Is that okay with you?”
Her nod seems far away, like she’s not quite sure if she believes her answer but knows it’s the right one to give.
I don’t like that shit. I prefer her being the speaks-her-mind type of girl. The fact that she’s holding something back for my sake is not a good sign.
“Hey.” I catch her elbow as she opens the door. “Are you sure?”
“I just don’t want it to be weird,” she says quickly.
Like my sisters’ training has taught me, I follow her lead. If she doesn’t want to make this a thing, then I’m not going to.
Still, I have to give her some assurance. “Savannah and I are friends. Everything’s fine and perfectly platonic between us.”
I know the doubt she’s feeling isn’t because of me. She knows that if I wanted to keep fucking around and uphold my playboy reputation, I very well could. She knows that I don’t want that.
Her uncertainty comes from her ex. The dickhead who cheated on her with her best friend.
It would be almost the exact same situation if I were to cheat on Lina with Savannah. That’s what is going through her mind. Knowing Lina, she’s not spiraling about it the way someone else might.
She doesn’t overthink—at least not in the way that makes her question everything a hundred times. Her thoughts are more matter-of-fact, stripped down to logic. And from a strictly logical standpoint, it tracks. Her brain goes: this happened to me once, so it could happen again.
It’s not about trust. It’s about history.
And history has a way of making even the most rational minds brace for impact. I can attest to that fact.
“Yeah.” She snaps out of her daze, pushing the door open further. “I know.”
My hand moves from her elbow up to her shoulder, desperate to comfort her to a greater extent. “I would never intentionally hurt you, Lina,” I say strongly, leaning down so we’re eye-to-eye. “Not in the way he did.”
The words land heavy between us, heavier than I meant them to, but I don’t take them back. Because I mean them. Every damn syllable.
She holds my gaze, like she’s trying to decide whether to let them sink in or slide off.
Then she exhales softly and steps inside.
I follow, carrying all of the bags into the kitchen before setting them on the counter and beginning to unload them.
The sound of the door shutting has the girls trickling out of Meredith’s bedroom, all of them talking over one another. It’s the kind of chaotic, overlapping noise that somehow makes sense to them, but not to anyone else.
I’m still preparing to make grilled cheeses when I hear Eden call out, “Lina, can you help me pick out an outfit for tomorrow?”
At the same moment, I make the mistake of glancing up, only to find Eden waltzing into the living room in nothing but a bra and panties.
She’s got her hair twisted up with a claw clip that’s already slipping, a makeup wipe dangling from one hand, and she’s somehow balancing a Diet Coke between her elbow and her hip like it’s a skill she’s mastered.
I blink, immediately looking back down at the bread in my hands. “Jesus, Eden! Put some clothes on, would you?”
Meredith and Savannah are right behind her, neither batting an eye.
It’s like stepping into the eye of the storm—loud, half-dressed, and completely at ease with each other’s chaos.
Lina enters the kitchen behind me, brushing past with a look that’s equal parts amused and unbothered, like this isn’t even in the top ten weirdest things she’s seen today. She reaches into the nearest bag for the tomato soup and sets it on the counter next to me.
Eden shrugs. “Nothing you haven’t seen before.”
Jesus Christ.
That makes Lina wave her off. She had asked me about Eden and me the other night, and I told her the truth.
Eden’s a girl who loves hookups. It’s as simple as that. What went on between us freshman year was before I even knew Lina and nothing more than a fleeting moment.
Honestly, I haven’t thought much about it since it happened. Eden asked me not to.
I go back to slicing the sourdough. Better to focus on the food than on the fact that I might be the only one here who still cares about social norms.
When the room quiets just enough, I realize I’ve officially become the only guy in a room full of girls who forgot they weren’t alone.
“You have sisters, don’t you?” Savannah teases as she approaches the counter, hopping on a nearby barstool.
Since I was here a few nights ago, the wooden barstools have been painted all different colors.
It was no doubt a project the girls attempted with way too much wine flowing in their systems. Savannah’s sitting on the mint green one that has a tiny, hand-drawn daisy on the seat and glitter trapped in the paint.
“Yeah, but they did me the favor of staying dressed in my vicinity.”
At the same time, Lina hops up onto the counter in the corner of the kitchen between the stove and the sink. She’s close enough to where Savannah is sitting that she can easily lean down to whisper something I can’t hear.
Savannah barely lowers her voice when she replies, “She’s not here. I don’t know where she went.”
It makes me more aware of the situation than I should be. The topic of Kara was bound to come up when I’m standing in the apartment she lives in, especially given the current scandal.
Meredith and Eden take seats at the other two barstools—a pink one and a light blue one. Thankfully, Eden is now wearing clothes.
They quickly join in on the whispering while I pretend I’m not worried about what they’re discussing.
It takes me a minute to find their biggest frying pan, one I’m actually shocked they have considering the fact they can barely make popcorn in the microwave without nearly burning down our apartment building.
I assume the only one who actually uses this pan is Kara, given the way Lina raves about her cooking.
Before I turn on the stove, I grab Lina by the waist and lift her off the stovetop and onto the counter beside it. She keeps her eyes trained on the girls, but she reaches out to grab my shoulder, keeping me within arm’s length.
Her fingers stay curled around my shoulder, like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it—like holding onto me has become second nature.
So I don’t move away.
Instead, I lean in closer. Just a little. Enough to rest my hand on her bare knee, my thumb tracing slow, lazy circles against her skin. Her breath catches for half a second, so quiet it might not even be real, but she doesn’t pull away.
“She rushed out after she saw the Notes of New Haven post. I don’t think it’s a good sign,” Meredith says, not sounding any different despite the way her face etches in concern.
“Do you think she’s…” Eden trails off. She doesn’t have to say the words ‘ doing coke’ for all of them to catch on.
“Are you asking in general, or at this very moment?” Savannah asks, moving the chain of her necklace back and forth.
Meredith doesn’t wait for Eden to confirm. “The answer is yes to both.”
Lina draws her attention toward me, giving me a sympathetic look that I don’t often see from her. I know she feels awful for putting me in this position.
I layer my small nod with a half-smile, trying to silently convey to her that I’m okay.
Softly, I pull away from her and begin assembling the grilled cheeses, setting them on the heated pan.
After a few moments, the subject changes and the girls all lift from their seats.
Lina holds onto my shoulder as she hops down from the counter, giving it a soft squeeze before departing to follow the girls into Eden’s bedroom.
I stay in the kitchen, flipping the sandwiches, watching as the bread crisps into that perfect golden color. The room is ten times quieter without them—even with the distant hum of their conversation and the occasional burst of laughter echoing from Eden’s bedroom.
When I finish the last grilled cheese, I stack them on a plate, lining them up like I’m feeding a small army. Which, in a way, I guess I am. I ladle the tomato soup into mismatched bowls that I’m almost positive the girls swiped from a nearby cafe.
By the time I’ve wiped down the counter and set everything out, I hear the creak of the bedroom door and the rising tide of voices again.
The girls trickle out one by one, barefoot and loud, like they never left. Savannah’s the first to make a beeline for the food, followed closely by Eden, who immediately dips a sandwich into a bowl like it’s a competitive sport.
Lina’s the last to come out, her eyes catching mine across the room. She doesn’t say anything at first—just walks over slowly and bumps her shoulder into mine as she reaches for a sandwich. Her version of a thank you.
While the rest of the girls rave about the food, each suggesting that I might be allowed to stick around if this is what I bring to the table, Lina and I stay in the corner of the kitchen.
“You’re being quiet,” she says, mid-bite. “Too much estrogen for you?”
“No such thing,” I reply.
Somehow, in this strange, chaotic apartment with glittery barstools and girls who forget pants are a thing, it gives me the same feeling I had growing up.
And I think I’d be okay making grilled cheeses for the foreseeable future.