Chapter Sixteen Layla
Chapter Sixteen
Layla
That day, Grant stayed late at the hospital.
He’d had a last-minute surgery, plus a ton of backlogged admin stuff. He texted to let me know that he’d be late, when I should expect him back, and that he’d DoorDashed me a Cinnabon because George and I had been very good about our low sugar intake all week and deserved a treat.
I didn’t care how stupid in love I was with this man—we were not naming our kid George.
The name aside, I loved that I was with someone who was transparent, reliable, and responsible. The exact opposite of Connor.
But was I really with him? I wanted to be his girlfriend.
Once I’d skipped past my insecurities hurdle, it became pretty clear to me that I wanted more than just coparenting with him.
And he was clear about wanting more too.
The only problem was that we’d have to do the long-distance thing.
But I was actually positive we could figure it out.
With Grant, things looked conceivable and even manageable.
Because, as he said, he always focused on what was possible.
He got home at nine thirty and found me on the couch, reading a spicy book and devouring my sweet treat.
I’d left him a Cinnabon on the dining table, along with salmon, wild rice, and some broccoli for dinner.
And a glass of wine, just because I appreciated him a little bit extra today, after hearing about Connor’s latest bullshit.
“Baby, everything looks delicious,” he praised, but his eyes were on my bare legs in my pj shorts on the sofa, not on his food.
I grinned, watching as he removed his messenger bag and hung it by the door.
He rushed to kiss me, a long, lingering kiss, boxing me on either side of his arms, which were prepped on the headrest. He tasted like the bite of the sharp outdoor air, mint, and coffee.
I whimpered a little as I scooped his face and nuzzled my nose against his.
“Please remind me why we haven’t done exactly this every day of every month of every year we’ve known each other?” I groaned.
“Because . . .” His green eyes scanned my face. “You.”
Kiss.
“Were.”
Kiss.
“Adamant.”
Kiss.
“I work for it. And I did.”
He pushed up and walked over to the kitchen sink first, to wash his hands, before sitting down to eat his meal.
I joined him, marveling at how his work was such a huge part of him.
He washed his hands all the time. A force of habit.
His hands were always dry and a little rough, no matter how much body lotion I applied to them.
And his touch was gentle but firm. There was a lot of confidence in it.
I loved being touched by someone who knew the human body inside and out.
While he was eating, I caught him up on my lunch with Kellianne. He was floored to find out she’d shown up out of nowhere to apologize, and that the marriage had lasted less time than the milk carton in our fridge.
“This goes to show that you underestimated our milk,” I tsked. “Guys like Connor are the reason baseball bats are sold everywhere across America. And, for your information, our milk is oat based. It could probably outlast the apocalypse.”
“You’re right.” Grant pushed his empty dinner plate to the side and slid the Cinnabon box toward him, breaking the pastry in uneven halves before handing me the bigger one with a smile. “You’re always right. And beautiful.”
Exasperated, I tossed my head back and groaned. “Jesus Christ, Grant, you’ll get me pregnant all over again before I even have George if you continue this way.”
He perked up. “Does that mean George is a go?”
“Nerrrmoo,” I exclaimed with my mouth full, laughing. “It means you’re making it impossible not to fall for you.”
“Then fall.” He gave me a dimpled, shaky smile, his eyes brightening. “I promise I’ll catch you.”
But it wasn’t that simple. Even though I was in love with Grant, I hadn’t actually heard him say the words to me. I knew he liked me. And that he wanted me. But love was a completely different notion.
We cleaned up in comfortable silence, and Grant went into the shower while I watered my gazillion plants and lit up his favorite candle of mine—the one that smelled like campfire, pines, and sweaty dudes.
I put it in his bedroom and strode across the hall to my room.
I didn’t want to move into the en suite, because I thought we would both benefit from taking it slow.
I stopped in the living room to grab my book, and then by the nursery, which was coming along very nicely.
Maddie had made the executive decision a few days ago not to use wallpaper and to paint a mural instead.
She’d already started sketching the general strokes of giraffes and hot air balloons, and it looked fantastic.
I smiled to myself as I shook my head and proceeded to my room.
A few minutes later, while I was already tucked in bed and reading the final chapters for our book club tomorrow, Grant appeared in my doorway, filling the frame with his impressive height and broad shoulders.
He looked scrumptious, freshly showered, tendrils of wet hair falling across his green eyes. He wore black sweatpants and a white Henley. I had no idea who’d authorized him to be this hot, but it sure wasn’t me.
“Hi.” He grabbed the top of the doorframe, showing off his biceps, because of course he had biceps as big as cantaloupes.
“Hello.” I eyed him beyond the rim of my paperback.
“What are you reading about?”
I put my book down in my lap and shot him a look. “Stop asking me that. Just assume that I’m either reading about Dear Desiree’s poor readers’ outrageous problems, or about an innocent yet sexually liberated virgin who is stuck in a cabin with a lot of hot, feral men who are willing to share her.”
“Hey, no judgment here. I just wanted to offer myself as service in case you needed to reenact one of the scenes again.” Pause. “For research purposes, of course.”
“How charitable of you.” I tilted my head.
He shrugged. “Science is my passion. Everyone knows that.”
“Well, this one is a reverse harem book, so in order to test any of the positions, we’ll need at least three more of your friends. Know any volunteers?”
Grant tapped his lips, pretending to think about it.
“Hmm. I’m afraid not. Nobody I know has a death wish.
How about we just choose an oldie but goodie?
” He breezed inside and stopped in front of the shelves he’d put up for me the week before.
“Oh, this one is fantastic.” Grant pulled out one of my Adriana Locke books and tapped it. “Remember that one?”
I pressed my lips together, stifling a laugh. “Yes, the book is fantastic, but you haven’t even read it. All you know is that he shoved a grape inside her.”
“What more do you need in a plot?” He gave me an outraged expression. “Immediate five star. Highly recommend. We both had a good time when I ate it off of you.”
I flipped my comforter off and stood up, then walked over to him. I hugged his waist, looking up at him with a smile. “You know, we can always create our own, original scene.” I wiggled my brows.
He scowled, feigning confusion. “Are we suggesting we’ll be original?”
“I’m actually demanding it.” I hooked my index finger into the elastic of his sweatpants, kissing his neck and slowly trailing my kisses down his shirt.
He tipped his head back, groaning. “I’m all for a woman who knows what she wants.”
And it felt good, showing Grant how much I wanted him back after all the time he’d spent making me feel wanted and admired.
That night, I thanked him not only for being the perfect partner and parent, but also for putting together what Connor had broken and left behind.