Chapter Eight
Grayson
I knock twice and stand on the porch in the late afternoon dusk of winter. A moment later, she opens the door with a flurry of cinnamon warmth. Her hair is a wild mess, an apron in place over a Christmas sweater.
“Hey! Come on in.” She wipes her hands on her apron. “I saw you left the money for that banana bread last night, so I thought I’d get started on it. You want to try some?”
The door clicks shut behind me as my mouth salivates. “Don’t have to ask me twice.”
“Good.” She smiles and makes her way toward the kitchen, slicing off a piece of warm bread from a cooling rack. “This was a test loaf. I wanted to make sure I put in the right amount of chocolate chips before I made the whole order.” She hands me a plate. “What do you think?”
I bite into the soft and spongy bread. “Damn,” I groan. “It’s perfect.”
“Dangerous, right? I could eat a whole loaf in one sitting.” She nods toward her son lying belly down on the couch watching Frosty the Snowman next to a small unlit tree. “He’s already had two pieces, though he’s not the best critic.”
“Well,” I take another bite, streusel topping spilling onto my plate, “there’s nothing to criticize. It’s perfect, which is sort of why I’m here.”
She tilts her head to the side and slides a crumb into her mouth. “What’s up?”
I set the plate down, suddenly more focused on her than the bread. Her lips are still parted from the bite, her fingers lingering near her mouth, and I have to drag my eyes back up to hers before I forget how to speak.
“That book that we had appraised, A Christmas Carol.”
She blinks. “Yeah?”
“The guy that appraised it contacted a buyer he knew that didn’t seem to care that the binding had been restitched.”
Her brows lift. “Okay…”
“This particular buyer doesn’t make traditional purchases. He likes imperfect books because he’s often able to get valuable art on trade.”
Her brows lift. “Trade?”
I nod. “We’d give the buyer the book, and he’d offer you any vehicle on his lot.
” I pause for a moment letting that sink in.
“I stopped over there today. His lot has a lot of old RVs, which might not be your thing, but there’s one vehicle I think you might be interested in.
” I pull out my phone and flip the screen toward her to show her the photo I took.
She stares at me, stunned. “It’s a little food truck.”
I nod, my voice low as I say, “It doesn’t have a full kitchen, but you could bake at home like you do now and sell on the truck. I know half a dozen guys who’d paint this custom for you if you tuck their card into every bag of bread.”
She laughs, a little breathless, a little disbelieving. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“Say you’ll take it, and I’ll help you with everything.”
“Why?” Her brows crinkle inward as she stares toward me. “Why would you want to help us? You’ve only known me for two days, Grayson.”
I tilt my head to the side and stare toward her, my heart thumping. “Haven’t you ever seen something and known right away it was special? I knew that the second I saw you.”
She rolls her eyes and turns back toward the kitchen, her walls back up. “I have to think about my son. I can’t get into a relationship on a whim, let my son get attached to you, then watch you run away in a year because this is all too much.”
I nod, stepping toward her. “I know you’ve got a kid to protect, and I don’t intend to come in overnight and mess your life up. I’m just asking for a chance. A chance to prove that I can be what you need. A chance to prove I’ll stay.”
She turns toward me and swallows hard.
“Let me help you carry the load.”
Silence stretches for what feels like forever as the credits begin to roll for Kade’s show. A moment later, I feel the tug of a small hand on my jeans.
I glance down, and there he is, Kade, wide-eyed and sleepy, clutching a toy in one hand and pointing with the other toward my phone still lit up on the table.
He ambles toward it, pressing his little fingers to the screen. “Truck?”
I crouch beside him. “You like that one?”
He nods, rubbing his eye as though he’s still tired. I glance up at Holly who’s staring toward us like something is cracking open inside of her.
“He likes trucks. That doesn’t mean anything,” she says, handing my phone back to me.
“I appreciate the help,” she lifts her son into her arms, and I feel the walls locking down again, “and I’ll have your order ready by the end of the day tomorrow.
Thank you for all your help. You can tell your buyer I’m not interested. ”
I nod slowly, letting the silence stretch before turning toward the door, my heart in my hand.
I understand where she’s coming from. I can’t force her to do anything she doesn’t want to.
I want her to want this as badly as I do.
This is going to take time. I can’t expect her to flip her life on its head overnight.
“Grayson.” Her voice is quiet and soft.
I stop and turn back.
“I’ve been doing this alone for a long time. I… want to let you in, but I’m scared.”
I turn back, our eyes meeting softly. “I get it. We don’t have to have all the answers tonight. Maybe right now, we just start with the easy stuff,” I glance toward the undecorated tree in the living room, “like the tree.”
“Like the tree.” She nods, staring at me as though she’s wound caution tape around her heart. “The tree and some cocoa.”
“I’d like that,” I say, voice steady as I try to convince myself to go slow, to move at her pace, to give her the space she needs to let this develop.
I’ve faced harder things than waiting, but none I’ve wanted as badly as this.