Chapter 29 Grace
Grace
“So, that’s how I fell in love with Roger,” Janie finishes telling me about her long-term boyfriend.
We’re on the loveseat in the family room, enjoying the pear vanilla tea she brewed.
The cinnamon rolls, which are baking away in the oven, perfume the entire area with a sweet and spicy aroma. I wish I could bottle the scent.
“Wow, that’s amazing, Janie. I’m really happy for you. Finding love again, a son in the league, and a budding fashion designer daughter. You really crushed it at the whole parenting thing, huh?”
Janie laughs warmly. “I don’t know about all that, sweetie. My amazing kiddos, including you, kind of came out that way all on their own.”
I sigh. Janie is serotonin for the soul; life is just richer with her around. “Thank you for saying that, it means a lot to me.”
“It’s the truth. Even though we haven’t seen each other in forever, you’ve always been one of mine.
I look forward to our phone call on your birthday every single year.
Now that you’re back from Indiana, I’d love to see you more.
I know your animal clinic is downtown, but maybe you can swing by the suburbs sometime to meet Roger. He’s heard a lot about you.”
I start nodding before I realize I never told Janie that I opened my clinic in Columbus. “Have you been keeping in touch with Mae? I thought when we moved out of the neighborhood you two lost touch.”
Janie’s eyes twinkle. “Was it the mention of the animal clinic that gave me away? Sweetie, she was my next door neighbor for over five years! I couldn’t keep away once she moved.”
“Well, I’m glad to know you kept her company when I moved out of state. I always felt guilty that I didn’t go somewhere closer.”
She puts her hand on my lower arm and gives a comforting squeeze. “Oh, she was thrilled when you got into that vet school in Indiana. She was pushing so hard for you to live a little bit of life outside of Ohio.”
“I wonder why she never mentioned you,” I say absentmindedly, then realize how rude that sounds. Before I can explain, Janie cuts in.
“She never mentioned it to you for the same reason I never mentioned it to my son. You two weren’t ready to hear that we remained friends. We laughed over how stressed both of you would be if you found out that we saw each other every Tuesday night.”
“Tuesday nights! What the hell? She told me not to call Tuesdays because she had water aerobics class!”
Janie cocks an eyebrow and takes a sip of tea. “And you believed her?”
I giggle, and Janie does, too. Yeah, that one’s on me.
“After Mae moved to Ohio, she became one of my closest friends and confidants. We used to sit in the kitchen and gossip about you and Daniel. The two of you sneaking out at night was one of our favorites. Neither of you were as slick as you thought.”
My face heats. “But you, um, never said anything.”
“Of course we never said anything! We knew there was no stopping the two of you, even when you were ten years old. Might as well lean into the swerve, right?” Janie chuckles.
“Right.” I awkwardly clear my throat, tapping my fingers on the side of my mug. “And does Danny know that you, um, knew about us sneaking around?”
Janie smiles. “We’ve never spoken about it, but he must have suspected it. There’s only so many times you can climb down a drainpipe without ripping your pants. I had to patch up his favorites from time to time.”
I laugh, imagining Danny’s state when he reached my lawn. “Point taken.”
Janie sets her teacup down on the dark wood coffee table. I do the same as she turns to face me. She gently takes my hands in hers and says, “I know about the letter, kiddo.”
A combination of panic and sadness courses through me. I blink away tears and respond with a simple, “Oh.”
Janie’s expression echoes my own sadness, her eyes downcast. She heaves a sigh. “I’m assuming you haven’t given it to him yet. I’m not here to tell you what to do, but I want to encourage you to give it to him sooner rather than later.”
I shift nervously, clasping her hands a little tighter. “I know. It’s just so hard. And…I’m still processing.”
Janie nods thoughtfully. “Yes, it’s entirely your decision. All Mae and I ever wanted was for the two of you to find your way back to each other, in whatever capacity. If it’s friendship, perfect. If it’s more than friendship, that’s perfect, too.”
“Really?”
She gently pushes a loose curl back from my forehead. With a knowing gleam in her eye and a loving smile on her lips, she says, “Yes.”
Dropping my hand, she picks up her cup and drains her tea.
“Now, two things. First, I want to see and talk to you more often now—not just once a year. I don’t care what your relationship status is with my son.
I want our relationship to be strong. Second, I need to get out of here and give you two some space, huh? ”
A soft grin ghosts my lips and I exhale, easing some tension. I honestly don’t know if space for Danny and me is good or bad.
“As Mae always says, ‘Know when it’s your time to exit stage left. It’s usually sooner than you think.’”
We both dissolve into laughter.
“Away–ee-ay-ee-ay!” I loudly sing “Ocean Avenue,” my voice echoing off of Danny’s stock furniture, brought to you by the Cullen’s interior decorator. Yellowcard is blasting on full volume as I stir my homemade soup.
I’m an experienced chef. My father obviously wasn’t going to make me dinner, so I taught myself from kids’ cookbooks at the library.
I eagerly inhale, smelling notes of chicken broth, onion, and toasted bread.
Chicken and wild rice soup is my favorite.
One time, in high school, I made a huge batch, froze it, and ate it for an entire month.
“What do we have going on in here?”
I jump, almost dropping the spoon in my hand. “Don’t startle me like that; I thought you were an intruder!”
“You do know there’s a sophisticated house alarm system here, correct?” Danny says dryly.
“I don’t care how many robots run your house, Danny. I’m a thirty-year-old woman who watches serial killer documentaries.”
He chuckles and walks closer to the stove, peering into the pot.
“Are you making chicken and wild rice soup?”
“Well, I had nothing to do after Janie left your giant manor, so I ordered groceries and decided to make us something to eat.”
“Not tomato?” he asks innocently. Tomato is his favorite soup, but I wouldn’t be caught dead eating it. He smirks, probably knowing exactly what I’m going to say next.
Setting down the spoon, I put my hands on my hips. “Tomato soup is just marinara sauce propaganda, Danny. It’s not real. The people behind tomato soup are the best marketers in the world.”
“Uh huh.” He turns on the oven light and crouches down to look inside. “Do I smell grilled cheese?”
“Yep, they’re keeping warm in there. I added bacon, too.”
He stands up and leans against the island. “Thanks for doing this. I rarely get home-cooked meals. It’s really nice of you.”
I nod and resume stirring, adding pepper to the simmering pot. This line of conversation is feeling a little too domestic for me now, so I introduce a subject change. “How was your physical?”
“Passed with flying colors. No injuries to work on during the offseason,” he confirms, setting two bowls next to the stove.
I ladle the soup into the bowls. “That’s great. I’m sure that can be nerve wracking.”
Danny hands me an oven mitt, and I grab the grilled cheeses out of the oven. He brings the bowls to the island, and I join him with the sandwiches.
“Thankfully, it was a pretty light year for me. I didn’t have as many tough tackles or hits as previous years, and no concussions.”
My heart stumbles at the thought of serious injuries in his previous seasons—years I know absolutely nothing about. I want to ask, but all I can manage is a weak, “Concussions are so scary.”
He takes a bite of the grilled cheese, licking at a thin string of melted cheese stuck on his bottom lip. “Yep. Hey, this is so good.”
My cheeks warm with the compliment, and I mentally count the carrots in my soup to avoid sinking into his hazel eyes. “Thanks. I have a lot of practice. I eat this once a week at home.”
“I can see why.” He grins.
Soup is not a food that allows for much conversation, so we eat in silence for a few minutes. The clock on his kitchen wall mocks me. Instead of the usual numbers, all I see is a countdown to my flight tonight—and a conversation about the letter.
As if he’s in my head, Danny asks, “Hey, Gracie? Would you, uh, want to go somewhere with me tonight?”
My head tilts in soft surprise. “My flight leaves at six.”
“Yep.”
I blink a few times. “I’d miss my flight.”
“True.”
Leaning back in my seat, I study him with a healthy dose of suspicion. My throat feels sticky, like I’ve swallowed a handful of the pricing stickers they use at TJ Maxx. “Is this, like, a date or something?”
“It doesn’t have to be,” he replies casually, seemingly unbothered by my question.
I search his eyes, trying to determine his true intentions. “I don’t want to give off the wrong impression by being seen out with you when it’s—we’re—not like that.”
Danny shrugs. “I don’t care about what other people think.”
“I think I…do.”
He swallows and averts his eyes, hiding from me. What isn’t he saying?
“If you’re concerned about being seen with me in public, we can stay here. It’s not a big deal or anything. Just…I’m hoping you’ll stay a little longer.”
I blink a few times and determine that maybe I should stop overthinking his offer.
I haven’t seen much of New York, and there’s probably no harm in staying one extra night.
“I’ll need to reschedule my flight and call Elle to make sure she can hold down the fort tomorrow.
And I won’t be able to stay past tomorrow evening because I have a team meeting at the clinic on Friday that I can’t miss. Where did you have in mind?”
My heartbeat spikes, and I wonder what it’d be like to leave this bubble with him, beyond the confines of his home. When I refocus, Danny still hasn’t responded. Is he nervous, or…oh God. What is his idea of a ‘date’?
“I swear, Danny. If your idea of a good time is an escape room, the only thing escaping will be me, out this door, directly to the airport.”
“You think I’d take you to an escape room? On a da—erm, friendship hangout?”
Jesus Christ. Friendship hangout?
“I don’t know. Escape rooms are very popular. I just read an article about them that said there’s over fifty thousand of them across the world.”
Danny raises an eyebrow. “Wow. Sounds like you’re really into escape rooms. You sure you don’t want to go to one?”
I start rubbing my temples. “Tell me where we’re actually going.”
“Well, assuming you’re still into animal facts,” he says, breezily, “I thought we’d go to this place nearby. They have trivia Monday nights, and tonight is supposed to be animal themed.”
I try not to show too much interest off the bat.
The thing is, I absolutely love a scenario where I am a shoo-in to win.
Snooping and the burning desire to crush strangers in a battle of wits are my two most fatal flaws.
No one can beat me at animal trivia. It’s almost unfair, but it should make for a satisfying night.
“That does sound kind of fun,” I admit.
Kind of, my ass. This is my idea of heaven, and Danny knows it.
“Great, I’m glad it sounds ‘kind of’ fun. Maybe we’ll upgrade to ‘fun’ by the end of the night,” he tells me, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
“I’ll go call Elle. If she’s okay with it, and there’s a reasonable flight out tomorrow, we can go.”
I feel more pressure going into this non-date-friendship-hang than I did before my vet school exams, and I don’t want to analyze why that is. Instead, I take a deep breath and blow it out into the void, daydreaming about candles.