Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Sam
I’ve stolen moments with Grant, but we haven’t had much time alone.
We lingered next to the fire with the curtain of stars above us until I fell asleep. Could I blame myself for nodding off against the warm perfection of Grant’s chest after our kiss? Not that anyone would call that simply a kiss, but no. I could not.
For once, instead of worrying about what I should be saying or doing, I just stayed there. Rested. I felt more at peace than I ever have in my life. It was Grant, yes, but it was also the calm of his back yard, and even the knowledge that his little girls were sleeping inside.
Monday morning, I got hugs and thirty-eight minutes of pure joy from the girls as they came by the diner for breakfast before an early doctor’s appointment before school.
Everything from their orders—eggs and toast with strawberries for Lily, pancakes with whipped cream and sprinkles for Poppy—to their drawings on the color-your-own placemats was so completely them.
They’re so precious and uniquely themselves, and I love seeing their differences shine side by side.
Grant and I exchanged a few words, and many looks and smiles, but like the good father he is, he kept his focus on his daughters. Plus the breakfast crowd is one of the diner’s busiest times, so I didn’t have much time to stand around and chat.
The next day, we waved at each other as he arrived home from work right as I was leaving to volunteer at a teen night at the library.
Seven adorable kids showed up, including Saoirse, and we had a blast despite the small crowd and small space.
I’ve always loved YA, and now, I’m realizing I want to focus on young adult literature and that precious time when everything is unfolding and self-conscious and wide open.
It’s another little piece to my trajectory filling me with gratitude.
It went on like that—waving, smiling from afar, snatches of conversation in passing on the street as we each went about our lives but yearned to connect more.
Every night, he texts me goodnight. Every morning, I send him a good morning. These are so far from as much as I want of him, but the interactions are filled with hope and anticipation. Longing, too.
So when he’s walking up the path to the diner on Thursday right as I’m stepping out to take my lunch break walk in the perfect spring weather, my heart absolutely flies.
“Hi there, Sheriff.” Any attempt to stifle my beaming smile fails and I pick up my pace, almost jogging toward him.
He rewards me with a devastating grin of his own. “Hey, beautiful.”
His arms reach out and pull me into him, hugging me with one hand on the back of my head and the other wrapped around my back.
I would live right here.
The diner door flies open and Jerry hollers, “Don’t harass my employee, Sheriff!”
I whip around to see her, but she gives Grant a big old grin and wink, then slips back inside.
“Guess that’s out now,” he says, then drops a kiss to the top of my head before releasing me.
“That being us? That we’re…”
Now is not the time to ask what exactly we are.
But with that thought comes a brush of discomfort with not knowing.
I don’t need a public declaration, but I do need something more than we have.
Especially with the girls, I suspect Grant knows exactly what he thinks we’re doing and where we’re heading, and I’d like to get clued in.
It’s been start and stop, start and stall, start and… whatever we are right now.
It’s not the same as anything with Andrew, but it gives me a feeling I don’t like. Small, and like I’m standing on shifting sand. And instead of assuming that’s where Grant wants me like Andrew definitely did, I need to talk to him. Grant is solid. I don’t doubt that.
“Yes. It’ll be all over town that we’re dating after this.” He dips his chin and skewers me with those gorgeous blue eyes. “You okay with that?”
Dating Grant? Publicly?
“I am.” I mean it. My heart is racing and my mouth has gone dry, but it’s not bad. It’s just new. And exciting, if I’m honest.
“How about we actually go out, then? Can I take you to dinner Saturday?”
“Yes.” I don’t hesitate, and I’m mostly excited…
…until Saturday early evening rolls around and I’m so nervous I almost feel sick.
“It’ll be fine, right?” I press my forehead into Mr. Bingley’s soft fur at his forehead and breathe for a moment.
I’d love to pull him into my arms and feel his purr against my chest, but I’m dressed for my date and I’m fairly certain if I start lint-rolling my soft yellow sweater and jeans, I’ll end up compulsively rolling the entire apartment to distract myself.
Mr. Bingley’s ears perk when a knock sounds at the door. My nerves clang and I rush to the kitchen to take a gulp of water and remind myself, “You want to do this. You like Grant. You are safe with him. This will be fun.”
I’m not proud of the way I’ve needed to create a mantra for today, but something about going out makes this momentous. It’s not just a date. It’s not really even a first date since we’ve spent time together one on one before. But it feels huge and consequential.
Like the start of something.
And yes, there’s a little quavering voice in the pit of my chest wondering whether I can trust Grant. And myself. And suggesting I might be better off if I simply let go of the desire for someone like him and accepted a life alone.
But when I open the door and see Grant holding a bouquet of desert flowers, feet planted and face so handsome it hurts, I release a breath.
“Nervous?” He steps inside as I step back to welcome him.
“Yes.” I hadn’t planned on acknowledging it, but why? Do I want to be with someone I have to pretend with? No.
Been there, done that, got the T-shirt, divorce, and self-doubt, thanks!
Grant tosses the bouquet to the side table next to the couch and gently cups my cheeks, dipping his head so we’re eye to eye. “Any doubts about this, we bag it. If it’s me, or going out, or anything, you say the word and we change the plan.”
I’m speechless. At this point, I should know Grant will surprise me in the best ways, but I truly cannot find words to respond to him. He must take this to mean I want to cancel, and he gives me the softest smile.
“I’m a grown man, Sam. I want to spend time with you but there is no part of me that wants that if it’s not also what you want.”
My heart soars. If I needed more confidence in him, he’s just given it to me with his steady assurance.
I can guess very well what he wants—he wants to go out.
He wants time with me. I think he simply wants me.
But he’s making clear that if anything has changed on my end even after I told him I was ready, we’ll stop.
He won’t shame me or pressure me or make me feel small for needing time and space.
It's exactly why I don’t. He’s given me time and space with grace and in turn, I’ve burrowed into myself. I know me. And that’s why I tell him the truth.
“I do! I do want. I don’t know why I’m freaking out.” I swallow hard and grip his wrists. “I haven’t been out with someone since Andrew, and I know you’re nothing like him in about every way there is, but I think I’m just nervous. Not scared or worried so much as…” I shrug.
“Would it help if we stayed in?” He tucks some of my hair, which I’ve worn loose in waves, behind one ear.
“It might. But I want to go. It’s maybe even important that I do.”
His gaze searches my face, eyes flickering back and forth between mine, and then he nods. “Then we go.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re seated at Farm Comfort and the waiter is taking our order.
Five minutes after that, I’m slathering a hot piece of homemade sourdough with salty house-made butter and eating it like it’s my last meal.
“This is amazing. I’m so glad we came.”
Grant smiles. “We’ve been here for six minutes.”
“They had me at the bread and butter. Warm bread and whipped butter.”
His cheek creases with amusement. “So all I need to do to warm you up to an idea is give you bread and butter?”
I laugh, mouth full, and nod. Once I’ve swallowed, I add, “I won’t tell you it’s a bad strategy.”
The whole meal is like this—loose and fun. I laugh more than I ever have on a date. At one point, I’m telling a story about an assignment in one of my classes after he asked how school was going, and I knock my water over.
Me two years ago would’ve outright panicked. Me tonight apologizes, feels the embarrassment on my cheeks, and then happily continues my story when the tablecloth soaks up the water and Grant slides the empty bread bowl on top of it.
For a man I thought was uptight, he’s so relaxed. And I’m relaxed with him. I’ve long since forgotten to be nervous or worry about how he perceives me. I’m sharing myself and gobbling up whatever he shares with me.
“Enough about my classes. They’re all fine. Tell me about you. How’s work? How are the girls? How’s your family?”
Amazingly, we’re waiting on dessert by the time I ask this. We’ve talked nonstop, but it’s only now we’re getting around to these kinds of catching-up questions.
“Everything’s good. Well, except maybe that each of my siblings is giving me heartburn.
My parents and the girls are good, though.
” His brows drop, the pad of his finger tracing along the line of the table in front of him.
“Actually, work is frustrating. Lots of dead ends on a few cases and we’re getting stonewalled from the county on more than one funding channel, but otherwise, fine.
It was Jean’s birthday on Friday, so we got her a cake. ”
He flashes his brows and I’m not sure why, but it makes me think, I think I love him.
That would be insane, though, right? I can’t possibly be in love with someone I’ve only known a few months.
I swallow hard but cover it with a grin. “How fun.”
It just doesn’t make sense. I can’t be.
Can I?