Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Sam
With no word from Grant last night, I’m eager to see if he’ll swing by today. I worked the breakfast shift earlier, and now I’m cleaning up the little garden beds in front of the garage. I’m not totally sure this is my purview, so I will need to ask Grant when I see him.
He’s been gone all morning, and I get that whatever we have to say to each other, it should be in person. But I’m also finding it deeply hard to focus on anything else.
Is he going to regret it? Not that it is all that much, but it felt like something significant. And there’s a decent chance he might perceive that change as one he enjoyed in the moment, but which ended up proving I’m wishy-washy or still don’t know what I want.
I groan and grab another handful of leaves from below the rose bush. My phone buzzes and I drop the leaves, instantly fumbling the device until I pull up a text from a new unknown number.
“You should be here today. I want you back, Samantha.”
A chill runs up my spine as I wait to see if he’ll write anything else, but I’m pacing and staring at my phone.
I’m almost tempted to call him and tell him to stop bothering me, but I have no desire to hear his voice, and I don’t want to do anything that can be seen as me initiating.
After taking a screenshot of the message for my records, I block this number, too, knowing it won’t stop him if he decides to contact me again.
Hours later when I hear Grant pull into the driveway, I go to greet him.
He’s lit with interest when he sees me coming, maybe wondering if I’m going to try to talk to him about last night. But as he rounds the hood, his gait shifts when he sees my face.
“What happened.” Again, it’s not a question.
“Everything’s fine.” My voice is small, though, and I don’t mean it to be. I’m not actually upset. I’m happy to see him, and eager to get this figured out. Now that he’s here, I can.
I will.
“What. Happened.”
I narrow my eyes, recognizing that his intensity is making me feel more anxious. “I’m going to need you to ease off just a bit.”
He inhales, and Poppy and Lily spill out of the car behind us. Poppy runs at me, and I drop down, accepting her hug and savoring it. She’s got fruity, sweet breath and the hand that presses against my neck is a touch sticky.
“What’d you have for a snack?”
“Fruit snacks.” She whips around to her dad then makes the guiltiest face I’ve ever seen.
“Pops, didn’t I say no?”
“Sorry, Daddy.”
Lily shrugs. “I told her not to.”
“Run inside and wash your hands. I’ll be there in a minute.” He watches them go for a moment, waiting until Lily’s got the door open before he turns back to me.
“Please tell me what’s going on.”
I’m mollified by his please, and also by the way my heart has calmed. Poppy’s magic, no doubt.
I don’t want to be freaked out by this, and I know telling him will help.
I swipe open my phone and show him the screenshot of the text. His expression darkens and his jaw flexes. But he pulls in a slow breath before turning back to me.
“What can I do to help?”
I could hug him for asking instead of demanding something—instead of telling me what he was going to do.
“I’d like to talk to Davis, if you’re still up for going with me.”
He pulls out his phone and taps at the screen. “Absolutely. I’m calling him now.”
My heart flips watching him. He’s instantly in get-it-done mode, and I wonder if he ever gets tired of being so capable and on top of things.
“Davis, yeah, good to talk to you, too, man. I need an appointment this week.” His gaze tracks up to mine as he listens to whatever his brother-in-law is saying, nodding as he stands tall and still.
It strikes me that even in the way he talks on the phone, he’s sturdy. He’s one of the oaks in his back yard, rooted deep and weathering any storm. Me? I pace when I encounter any conversation that lasts longer than a few seconds.
He catches my gaze and tilts his phone away from his face. “Wednesday or Thursday around lunchtime work?”
I decide Thursday would be best and mouth the words. A few more seconds pass as he wraps up the call, and then he’s giving me a sharp nod, case closed.
“Thursday it is.” His gaze sweeps over me, observation with a tinge of concern. “Will you come in for a bit? Join us for dinner?”
“No, thank you. I have an early shift tomorrow. But thank you, truly.” I step closer and reach for his hand, taking it in both of mine.
He moves farther into my space, sliding his free hand to my lower back. “What else can I do?”
My stomach backflips and a laugh trips out of me from sheer nervous energy escaping. “You’ve already helped. And Thursday will do even more.”
I want to hug him, but the girls are inside and I need time to sort through my thoughts on all of this. So I squeeze his hand and step back, instantly missing the warmth of his skin and the press of his palm into my back.
“Anything comes up, just text. We’re in for the night.”
His piercing eyes study me, and I could swear he wants to say more, but he swallows.
I am so close to embarrassing myself by asking for a hug, but I triumph over that neediness and give him a soft smile. “Thank you, Grant.”
We linger for a few more seconds, then he dips his chin. “Night, Sam.”
I’m stupidly reluctant to walk away from him, especially considering he asked me to join them. But that’d be intruding, and I should think through how all of this is affecting me.
Except… I’m fine.
I want a hug from Grant because I want to be near him, and I like him.
I want things between us to feel settled, and they aren’t.
But I’m not cowering in my little apartment, fearful of Andrew.
I’m frustrated he’s reaching out, but we have a plan.
In a matter of days, I’ll talk to a lawyer and figure out what recourse, if any, I have.
So why am I about to sequester myself away from the Ryans when all I want is to be near them?
I stop walking a few feet from the door to the garage.
I tell myself if he’s already inside, I’ll go home and look forward to the next time I see him.
I’ll snuggle my cat and watch a movie before bed, or maybe research library science master’s programs and add to my list of YA books I need to read through.
But if he’s still there…
When I turn back, he’s there. Standing right where I left him, looking at me.
“Maybe I could come over for a while?” I phrase it like a question because I’m not certain the offer’s still on the table, but his mouth kicks up into a soft smile.
“Girls’ll be thrilled.”
So we walk up the porch steps together, my heart pattering wildly with a hundred thoughts. It’s progress for me—I’m not shriveling up at the reminder that my ex is still out there feeling entitled to me. I’m not hiding away from my feelings, nor am I incapacitated by them.
And I’m letting myself have something I want—time with Grant, and the girls for that matter. A few moments of belonging instead of locking myself away like I need to be punished for my bad choices in the past.
When the kids squeal and jump up and down when Grant says I’ll be joining them for dinner, my heart bursts.
I may not have everything figured out, but if this is the reward for trying, it’s even better than I could’ve imagined.