Chapter 7
7
GRANT
Tessa and I had kissed only a handful of times, but each of those times she went soft and liquid. I could press a hand to the small of her back, or wrap a whole arm around her, or simply steady her holding the side of her neck, and the results would always be the same. Tessa molded her body to mine. She melted into my touch. Every part of her body went soft except two—her hands, which always clutched and pulled me closer, and her lips, which pressed to mine with surprising ferocity. I liked it. Every last part of it. Too much.
Until she let her lips fall from mine and whispered, “Claire and Emily hate you. They think you’re some sort of man-whore. They think you’re the king of one-night stands.”
“Do you believe that?” I asked.
I could see on her face she worried, at least a little. “You are out here kissing me when you should be waiting for a date, right?” She was correct, but what she didn’t understand was how willing I was to cancel this and any date for the chance to spend a little more time with her.
But if Tessa’s sisters didn’t like me, nothing else would matter. If I knew anything about her, it was that she liked to keep the peace in her family. “I guess I was, but I just wanted a chance at the goodbye kiss we didn’t get. I know what your concerns are, and I respect them, but it doesn’t stop me wanting to kiss you.”
“But you shouldn’t.” She made no move to put any additional space between us.
I sighed. “You’re right. And, with that in mind, I think it’s clear we shouldn’t try to be friends.”
“Oh,” she said softly, and I felt like an ass, but there was no way I could be around Tessa and not want her. The past five minutes had proven that.
“It’s probably best if we just avoid each other all together.”
“Oh.” she repeated, and I reached up to touch her cheek, then remembered what I was doing and took a step back, letting my hand fall. “This is it, then?” she asked.
“I think it is,” I replied. “Bye, Tess.”
I turned and walked back into the bar, knowing it was for the best, but hating myself with every step.
“Hi, honey,” Mom said as I wound my way into the kitchen.
“Hey, Mom.” I leaned one hip on the counter and watched her trim the fat off a chicken breast. I’d trained under exceptional surgeons, and watching Mom attack chicken fat always reminded me of them. She had an enviable precision. If she’d had any interest in medicine she might’ve made a great surgical oncologist.
She didn’t, though, Mom had been a city planner until she retired two years ago. My dad was supposed to follow suit when I came home so they could travel the world before they had grandchildren, but he’d been slower to leave. Even now, he held on to a handful of patients and maintained hours at the office twice a week. As a compromise, he traveled with mom every couple of months. None of us had ever been foolish enough to think he’d drop his practice entirely, so both she and I were satisfied with this level of compromise.
I hadn’t pictured coming back to Bridgeport when I was young, but the past year had proven to me I liked the small town I’d grown up in. A decade ago, I thought I wanted to be at a top-notch hospital doing groundbreaking surgeries, but now, at thirty, I more often had visions of settling down with someone and starting a family.
Too bad Tessa had gone and fucked that up by putting her face in every one of my best fantasies.
Mom looked up from the chicken. “Juliet called me today.” Juliet would be Juliet Davis, Tessa’s mom. Our mothers talked all the time—they were very close friends. The only strange thing about this conversation was that my mother felt compelled to share it with me, and that simple fact made my heart pound. Would it be news about Tessa? It had only been a week since I saw her at the bar. It didn’t seem like much could’ve changed since then—unless our mothers had found out about the wedding? I inhaled deeply, then noticed Mom scrutinizing my face, looking for a reaction as she spoke. “Claire is getting married.”
I maintained perfect neutrality. No sighs of relief or sagging shoulders. “That’s nice. Quick,” I added, “but good. Hudson seems like a good guy.”
“I know you had a crush on her when you were younger, and I know Juliet had mentioned you spending time with Claire when she was in town for Ethan and Nora’s wedding.”
I was brushing away her concerns before she could finish them, because while all of that was true, I didn’t care. There wasn’t one iota of longing or jealousy or lingering feelings. I simply didn’t care. Had she said the name Tessa, it would’ve been different, but I didn’t want to dwell on that. The best thing I could do was to forget Tessa Davis existed. “I’m happy for them, Mom. I’m really not interested in Claire. Even when I was a kid, she just seemed like the kind of person I thought I should date.”
Mom tutted as she threw out the chicken scraps and washed her hands. “Claire is lovely, don’t get me wrong, but I always thought she was a bit high strung for you.” She smiled in my direction. “You need someone with a good sense of humor.”
Tessa popped into my brain, an unwelcome guest. “Probably,” I agreed vaguely.
“There’s a woman from bookclub?—”
“I’m not dating a bookclub friend of yours, Mom.”
Mom rolled her eyes. “I would hope not. She’s sixty-four, but her daughter is your age. She’s a nurse, and she’s local.”
“Mom,” I groaned.
“Susan gave me her daughter’s contact,” Mom continued, picking up her phone from the counter. “I’ll just send it to you.”
“Mom, no,” I protested, but the ding came in on top of my words.
“You don’t have to do anything with it, but you can call if you want. Or text!” she added triumphantly. “I know people your age prefer to text.”
Again, Tessa’s face filled my thoughts, frowning and thoughtful. “Mom,” I repeated sternly.
“I won’t mention it again,” she assured me. “But I did give Susan your number, too. So her daughter may call or text you.”
I shook my head at her, but she only smiled widely, pouring coffees for each of us and sliding hers across the kitchen island. I pulled up a stool on my side of the island as she walked around to join me on the other side, where the high-back chairs were more comfortable. “Did Ethan tell you about Thanksgiving?” she asked.
“What about Thanksgiving?”
“Now that Ethan and Nora are married, Juliet and I thought it might be nice to have our holidays together.” She raised her eyebrows, unable to hide the excitement as she said, “When they have babies, we don’t want to have to share them.”
I smiled dryly. “Seriously? You two are already scheming to not have to share the children? And you’re saying these words out loud without shame? Is this where I get my bluntness from?”
Mom took a sip of her coffee, then winked at me. “Darling I don’t know where you got your bluntness from, but you got your smile from me, and we both know it gets you out of plenty of trouble.”
Possibly , I conceded, but probably less than she thought . “I don’t think I should go to the Davises for Thanksgiving, Mom.”
Her eyes widened as if I’d suggested something truly heinous. “What are you talking about? Of course you’re coming.”
“Mom,” I said with a sigh. “I’m pretty sure Claire and Emily hate me. It’ll be awkward.”
Mom frowned in a way I was familiar with. She’d made that frown when I was a kid—every time she thought someone was maltreating me. I appreciated her solidarity, but I wasn’t sure I deserved it this time. “Grant, we are planning to merge our holidays together—possibly forever. Charles and Juliet adore you, and Dad, Ethan, and I would be devastated if you weren’t there,” she replied.
“I don’t want to make Thanksgiving uncomfortable,” I said, and though I meant with Claire and Emily, Mom clearly didn’t understand my meaning. Not surprising, considering she also didn’t know about my indiscretions at the wedding. And what if Claire or Emily decided to bring that up?
Mom reached across to pat my hand. “I'm glad you’re saying that. It wouldn’t be the holiday without you there.”
I sighed deeply. “Okay, Mom, if you say so, I’ll be there.”