Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Holly
“You weren’t kidding when you said you could cook.”
Grayson pulls out one of the chairs at his two-seater table, waiting until I sit down before helping me scooch back in.
“My mom has always said there's no reason a man shouldn't have at least basic idea of how to cook,” he says, grabbing the dish of macaroni and cheese. “We aren’t as good as her or my grandma, but I can grill and use the smoker.”
He scoops a giant portion of macaroni and cheese on my plate, and I practically moan at all the gooey cheese.
I help myself to a pulled pork sandwich as Grayson takes a seat across from me.
“You should be impressed with yourself. I don’t really know how to cook, well, not something from scratch like this. ”
There’s a small bundle of flowers in a mason jar in the center of the table.
Three white petals fan out at the top, and a lower petal that’s shaped almost like a pouch hangs below.
The lower part is a vibrant pink, and I smile as I bring the bouquet to my nose to inhale, admiring the extra step Grayson took to make this dinner special. “These are beautiful, what are they?”
“Those are lady’s slippers.” His eyes flick from the flowers in my hand before he sets the macaroni dish to the side and sits down across from me. “They’re for you.”
My mouth must pop open in surprise, because he smiles as he reaches to take two sandwiches from the platter that sits on the table between us. “For me?”
“For you. I was driving home after you texted me today. Spotted them on the side of the road. The pink reminds me of that pretty top you had on at the clinic. And the white is like your hair.”
“And you stopped just to pick them?” I’m unable to hide the shock in my voice.
I’ve received flowers many times in the past. My parents would always hand me an oversized bouquet after my piano recitals.
Geoff would get me a dozen classic red roses for our anniversary and on Valentine’s Day.
They’re always gorgeous, appreciated, but knowing that Grayson saw these, thought of me, and thought to pick them without a special occasion in mind suddenly makes swallowing that much harder.
“Thank you,” I practically whisper as I return the jar to the center of the table. “I love them.”
He nods, and I force myself to avert my gaze, grabbing my fork to take an oversized bite of macaroni. My eyes roll back once I taste it. “Oh my god.” I place a hand over my mouth as I chew. “Sorry for talking with a mouthful, but this is incredible.”
Once my eyes have rolled back in my head, I look forward, and my stomach clenches when I see the look on Grayson’s face.
His nostrils flare once, and a slight pink tinges his cheeks before he uses his fork to scoop up a heaping pile of macaroni and cheese. “Never knew watching someone eat my food could be so hot.”
“Thank you for letting me invite myself over, by the way.”
He smirks at that. “Baby, you can invite yourself over any day of the week. I’d never get sick of it.”
I try and fail to stifle a smile. This is new for me—being around someone who is so open about their feelings and their thoughts.
Growing up, it felt like a trick sometimes, trying to figure out what my parents expected of me.
The pressure was always there to do the right thing.
Say the right thing. Don’t say too much.
Don’t say too little. Don’t embarrass yourself, or worse, don’t embarrass them.
When I’d inevitably mess up, and my mom would give me the silent treatment, I’d spend hours, sometimes days, dissecting myself, wondering what I did wrong.
When you grow up in a household that prioritizes appearance and vanity over feelings, it can be confusing when you meet someone who is so openly honest like Grayson. He seems to like me for, well, me, and a big part of me is still learning how to accept that.
Sometimes, I think that’s why I was with Geoff in the first place.
He resembles my parents, in some ways. An outsider would say he was present in our relationship, always by my side for the special occasion or holiday party.
We shared the same circle of friends. We may have looked picture perfect, but he always kept me at arm’s length.
Never one to have that difficult conversation, and never one to want to help me work through my anxiety.
Six years together and I can’t say I truly know who he is as a person. And he likely doesn’t know me.
“What’s on your mind?” Grayson's soft question cuts through my spiral.
“Thinking about my parents, weirdly.”
He nods at that, bringing his sandwich to his mouth for a bite. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about your mom.” He chews slowly, as if carefully planning his words with his gaze focused on his plate. “That night in February, you had tried to call her, and she…”
“Was a bitch?”
He chuckles, tilting his head back as he laughs. “I didn’t want to say the word, but sure.” He swallows his bite before speaking again. “Did she ever apologize for that? Once she found out what had happened? Why you were calling her?”
It’s my turn to stare at my plate. With half my sandwich gone and most of my macaroni sitting comfortably in my belly, I squish a lonely noodle between the tines of my fork, mashing it to pieces.
“Holly.” Grayson’s voice is still soft, but a little stern, commanding my attention.
I shrug a shoulder before dropping my fork, letting it clammer on my plate.
I sit back, turning my head to face the front door.
Grayson had left the screen door open for dinner, and a soft summer breeze filters through.
I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with fresh air.
“She never apologized, but…” I turn my gaze back toward him.
There’s that trained part of me that doesn’t want to tell him.
Telling him might make him feel bad, and I’m accustomed to keeping it all in so that I don’t upset anyone.
But when I look at his sweet face, his sparkling blue eyes, and the tilt in his brows that shows his concern, I realize I’m sick of not speaking my mind.
Of not telling the world when I’m sad, or angry, or when I simply disagree.
“I had expected her to call me in the few days following that.” I reach for the napkin next to my plate, unfolding it to swipe at the corners of my mouth.
“It might sound selfish, but I had expected her to call me back after she was feeling better. I thought she’d be curious about why I was so upset. ”
“That’s completely normal to think that.”
“Except, she didn’t. I normally give in first. I'm always the one to break the silence, but this time…I guess I wanted her to care, to feel some sort of guilt for how she spoke to me.”
"That's valid," he whispers, waiting for a beat before realization hits. “So, you haven’t spoken to your mom in almost four months?"
I shrug my shoulder again. “Wouldn’t be the first time. We’ll not talk for a while, then I’ll give in, call her up, and we’ll make small talk, have a shallow conversation about whatever is going on in her life and pretend that she didn’t hurt me. Life will go back to normal.”
He pushes his chair back, scraping the wooden legs against the floor.
And then he’s up, taking one step to close the distance between us before he reaches for my forearms, pulling me up to stand.
I can barely register what he’s doing, and no words make it out of my mouth before he envelopes me in a hug.
I squeeze him back, gripping my arms tighter around his waist the longer he holds me.
He doesn’t say anything—he doesn’t need to.
His body does the talking. His long arms are wrapped around me with his cheek resting on the top of my head.
We stand like that in a beautiful silence.
And for the first time in as long as I can remember, I let myself be cared for by someone.
“It doesn't seem like you've ever had anyone you can count on," he mumbles against my hair. "I won’t blame you if it takes time for you to trust me.” His arms clench tighter around me, and I nuzzle in. “Believing that I won’t hurt you likely won’t come overnight. But I’d like the chance, Holly.
Let me prove that I'm not like them, let me prove that I can help you put all the broken parts back together.”
Tears well in my eyes at his words. I can put myself back together—I know that. But it feels goddamn good to hear that someone else wants to help.
The sound of country music echoes through the trees, and Grayson loosens his hold on me at the same time I lift my head from his chest and look out the door.
I can hear her before I see her, but soon, there’s a cloud of dust as a cherry red Jeep rushes by with a hand out the window as Harper waves toward the house, honking twice.
With his arms on my shoulders, Grayson pulls me back to face him.
He swipes his palm over my cheek, moving my loose hair behind my ear and down the back of my shoulder.
“We don’t have to talk more about this now, if it upsets you.
” He swipes the pad of his thumb underneath my eye, catching the tear before it falls.
“But that doesn’t mean we’re going to ignore it.
Wanting to be your friend means I want to hear about everything, even if it won’t feel good to talk about. ”
“Friend?” I tease, sliding my hands down to rest on his waist as I fist his shirt. “Didn’t know we put a firm label on things.”
“I’m a really good friend,” he says, running his strong hands up and down my arms. “But we need to head to the main house.” He laces his fingers with mine, tugging me toward the door. “It’s time to introduce you to Banana Tuesday.”
***
There’s a swarm of goats surrounding the back of Harper’s Jeep.