Chapter 22
Greyson
I almost wish we were butterflies
and lived but three summer days.
~ John Keats
I scan the driveway again, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.
The porch floorboard creaks underfoot. The cup of coffee in my hand does nothing to disguise the fact that I’ve been out here waiting for her, my eyes darting up toward the main road every few seconds.
Hallie will see through me the second she pulls in.
It’s our last day off. The last day before Mia comes home.
Hallie’s been here every day for the past three days.
That first day cracked something open for both of us.
We crossed lines we can’t uncross. I regret nothing—even if she has to pull the reins now that Mia will be back in town and we’re going back to work.
A few days of having her is better than nothing at all.
I want so much more, but I can’t afford to entertain those thoughts.
I’m not in the driver’s seat here. She is. I have to let her make the call.
I smile into my mug as I take a warm sip thinking of our kisses, shared laughter, and the way she slows down to listen to me.
She asked me who serves me. I’ve thought long and hard about that ever since she brought it up.
She’s right. Not too many people do. I’m sure plenty would if I let them.
But she’s the one—always thinking of me and checking in to see what I need.
She makes me feel like I can come undone in front of her, and no one else on earth does that for me the way she does.
It’s always been that way with us—right from the start.
We went on a hike the other day. I took her to a spot where the waterfall is flowing with all the spring melt and the flowers are just coming in.
And she loved it as much as I hoped she would.
Then we ate a picnic in a clearing before we packed everything out.
She stayed until dinner and we drank cocoa around the fireplace until almost midnight.
She leaned back on me and I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and we talked at intervals.
Then we just sat, staring at the flames, holding one another.
Yesterday we drove two towns over and visited a farm stand.
Hallie got all excited about the strawberries and insisted we buy a flat to make shortcake.
We spent the afternoon making a mess in my kitchen and feeding each other the dessert.
She insisted on getting home for dinner with her mom, so I reluctantly let her go.
Just before I was going to bed, she called and we stayed up for a few more hours talking like we were teens with crushes on one another. We’re making up for lost time. But it’s more than that.
The crunch of gravel interrupts my thoughts. I scan the slope of the driveway. Her van pulls in and I walk down the steps to greet her.
Hallie hops out and walks toward me. The sunlight catches in her hair, and she smiles up at me. My shoulders drop, the tension easing out of me at the sight of her.
“Is that coffee for me?” she asks, smiling up at me.
“You can have it if you want it. But it’s black.”
“No thank you. As you know, I like my coffee sweet and creamy.”
“Come inside, I’ll fix you some.”
I wrap my arm around her and we climb the porch steps together.
“Were you out here waiting for me?” she asks with a twinkle of mischief in her eyes.
“I just might have been bird-watching.”
“Lucky birds,” she says.
“And waiting for you.”
“Lucky me.”
My smile is instantaneous. We grin at one another like pirates who have been digging for treasure for a lifetime and finally struck gold.
Hallie follows me into the kitchen. I put a pod in the coffee maker and when I open the fridge, she gasps.
“What is all this?”
“Fun food.”
“You got me fun food?”
“Yes.” I take the flavored creamer out of the fridge door and set it on the counter. “You’d better do the honors. I won’t get it right.”
I place the mug in front of her and she pours the creamer, beaming as if I did something exceptional by picking up a few things I thought she’d like while I was at the grocery.
“So, what’s the plan today?” she asks, taking a sip and smiling.
“There’s this thing in Cookeville.”
“A thing, huh? I love things.”
“That’s what I thought.”
She giggles. “What kind of thing is it?”
“A hello spring thing.”
“Oh my gosh!” she laughs harder, putting her hand to her mouth to keep from spitting the sip of coffee all over. “Greyson. Your face.”
“What’s wrong with my face?”
“You look like you just bought yourself a first class ticket to the underworld—and it’s crowded and hot down there.”
I chuckle. Granted, this kind of event is definitely not my thing. But it will make her ridiculously happy. And making her happy makes me happy.
“I want to go,” I tell her.
“Oh. Yeah. I can tell. Like I want to go to the dentist and have a root canal.” She laughs. “What else is on the list of options?”
“Dollywood.”
This time she laughs so hard her mouthful of coffee sprays across the kitchen. “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!” she’s laughing and lurching for the roll of paper towels.
“Sit down,” I tell her. “I’ve got this. Drink your coffee and stop making fun of me for wanting to take you somewhere you’ll like.”
“What about you?”
I squat down, wiping a few drops off the tile. I look up at her. “I like making you happy.”
She raises her hand to her chest and holds it there. “Stop it.”
“What?”
“You’re willing to go through torture just to take me to do something I want to do?”
“It won’t be torture. I’ll be with you. Having fun.”
She shakes her head, then she’s down next to me, taking the towel out of my hand. “Let me clean up my own mess. And I’ll let you take me to this hello spring thing.”
“Deal,” I say, standing.
I finish my coffee and rinse my mug while Hallie wipes all the surfaces within ten feet of where she was standing. She finishes her coffee and we head out toward Cookeville.
Hallie reads the article on my phone while I drive. “Hello Spring is held at the Putnam County Fairgrounds in Cookeville. We have over two hundred vendors and food trucks, live music and much more!” She looks over at me, a giddy smile on her face. “I really am going to like this thing.”
“I knew it.”
We spend the day going from booth to booth. Hallie admires people’s handiwork and we even buy a few things to take home with us. I’m carrying bags that contain a few hand-hammered sterling bracelets, local honey and fresh jam, and a handmade soy candle that Hallie said smelled like heaven.
She’s walking through a booth with aprons and dish towels now, and I’m watching her face light up as she reads the ridiculous sayings to me.
She giggles, covering her mouth and reads one to me. “I know how to grill this. I watched a YouTube video!”
Her eyes meet mine and I smile. She’s having the time of her life.
“You need dish towels,” she declares, popping a fist onto one hip and glancing around at the canopied vendor’s offerings.
I walk in under the canopy. “I don’t need dish towels. I have two sets.”
“Not fun ones,” she looks up at me, eyes wide, smile full.
“Because dish towels need to be fun?”
“Exactly.” Her eyes soften. “Life is serious enough, Greyson. Have some fun dish towels.”
“Fine,” I concede.
If she wanted to buy out the canopy, I’d say yes.
“Look!” Hallie exclaims, grabbing one and reading it. “Kiss the Cook!”
“Does that mean you’ll be following the instructions on my towels?” I ask.
“I most definitely will,” she says with a wink.
Her face falls for the briefest moment, so I pick up another towel and read the embroidered caption. “Life’s short. Lick the bowl.”
“Yes!” she says. “That’s perfect!” And just like that, we’re back in our own four-day world where clocks and limits and reasons this can’t continue dissolve like sugar in coffee.
“What about a chef’s apron?” she asks. Then she bursts into laughter and can’t even get the caption out. “I Like Pig …” she snort-laughs. “I like …” Her hand is on her abdomen and she’s gasping for breath through her laughter.
She hands the apron over to me and I read it. Just below a line drawing of the backside of a pig with a curly tail it says, “I Like Pig Butts and I Can Not Lie.”
I chuckle. She’s in hysterics. Her laughter draws out mine and we stand there laughing, my eyes on her, soaking up the last drops of what we’ve shared this week.
“I obviously have to buy this now.”
“Obviously,” Hallie says, wiping the tears of laughter from under her eyes.
After we buy the towels and apron, Hallie says, “I’m hungry. Are you?”
“I can always eat. What sounds good?”
We walk the food trucks and end up stopping at a barbecue truck called The Food Pitt, and then we get cheesecake slices from Sweet Emmaline’s.
It’s late afternoon by the time we’re driving back to Waterford.
“Tell the truth,” Hallie says. Her cheeks are tinged with pink from a few days in the sun and her eyes are soft. “Did you have fun—at all?”
“I had fun. The music was good. The food was great. And being with you … that’s what I liked most.”
She pivots and looks at me. “How do you do that so easily?”
“Do what?”
“Just say the nicest things.”
“I just say what’s true. I had the best time because I was with you—the way you compliment the vendors, seeing your eyes light up when you watched the kids in the Kids’ Zone, wiping barbecue sauce off your chin while you devoured those ribs—that’s what made my day.”
She reaches across the console and intertwines her fingers with mine. “Tomorrow, reality smacks us right between the eyes.”
“It does.”
“And …”
“And we’re taking this bit by bit.” I say the words to remind us both.
Hallie nods. I give her hand a reassuring squeeze.
She stares out the side window for a while.
I finally say, “Hallie, I don’t want to be a burden in your life.
Your plate is full enough. I love spending time with you.
I …” I pause. Checking myself. Then I say what I was about to say.
“I would want a lot more. I do. I do want a lot more. But I’m not here to pressure you.
You have Mia. And she’s important. You have to do what’s best for her. That’s what matters most.”
“And we work together. And you’re her coach.”
“Those things would iron themselves out in time. We might have a rough patch til everyone got used to the idea, but they would. Mia needs to be your focus. And it’s not my call as to how that goes.”
She sighs. “Thank you.”
“Bit by bit,” I tell her.
Besides, I have an application in to FEMA. I had all but forgotten about that over the past few days. I got so swept up in our time together—in her—that I forgot I was even considering relocating. I stare out the windshield, flexing my jaw to relieve the sudden tightness.
I know what my decision would be if she wanted to take this relationship further. There wouldn’t even be a question. But I’m not bringing my job opportunity into the mix right now. Hallie needs space to figure this out. And I’m going to give her what she needs.