Chapter 16 Taylor
Stupid.
This is stupid.
Colossally stupid.
The most stupid decision I’ve ever made.
Okay, not the worst, but it’s up there.
Yet, it doesn’t stop me from clearing the last of my clothes from the closet in my hotel room. It doesn’t keep me from removing each article of clothing from the hangers. Nor does it prevent me from meticulously folding them before placing them in my suitcase to move upstairs.
To move in with my husband who I haven’t lived with since I was twenty-three, even though we barely lived together at all.
We met in July when I was twenty-two, married in November, he left for spring training in February, and by the next August I was moving to Los Angeles.
We barely survived a year the last time, and my mind is spiraling with all the ways this is a terrible idea.
Not the least of which is that I’m still in love with him and living together brings me that much closer to heartbreak all over again.
Yet, I can’t help myself. He basically challenged me, hinting at the idea that we couldn’t live together without something happening between us, and I’m not one to back down from a challenge. The gauntlet was thrown and I need to prove him wrong.
Sure, keep telling yourself that, my stupid inner voice pipes up.
I couldn’t deny the feelings he stirred up, awakening things in me I thought were dead a long time ago.
Yet, he seems so sure that this is the right move for us.
I see it now for what it is. This whole time Grant has been methodically laying the foundation for our second chance with acts of service front and center.
Cornering me in the hallway at Preston and Ivory’s wedding to get a read on my reaction to his presence and make sure I notice the ring on his finger.
Asking me to help the team with PR for Chase’s image rehab, which kept me in Nashville and in contact with him almost daily.
Inviting me to dinner under the guise of celebrating in order to get me on a date.
Taking care of the travel arrangements when I unexpectedly needed to go back to LA, showing me he still cares. Breaking down my walls until I asked him to dinner, and then taking me to his favorite bar in Nashville, which is coincidentally reminiscent of our bar in the Bronx.
Then there’s the challenge to move in—and the declaration that he wants us to be an us again—and he wasn’t giving me the chance to talk myself out of it after I texted him and conceded to his request.
Grant was bound and determined to chase me until I stopped running, and I was getting tired of running.
A loud rap on the hotel room door makes me jump. Crossing the room, I look out the peephole and see the bellhop standing in the hallway. The eyeroll I give is second nature at this point. I open the door to greet him. “Hey, Will,” I say, reading the kid’s name tag.
“Ms. Baker. Mr. Davenport sent me to make sure you didn’t need any help.”
“I’m not quite ready yet, but you can leave the luggage cart and I can take it from there.”
“No can do, ma’am. I was given specific instructions to take your bags upstairs for you and anything else you may need help with.”
Sighing, I step aside and gesture for him to come into the room. I know a losing battle when I see one. “Come in. I was finishing folding my clothes.”
Will navigates the rolling rack into the room as I hold the door open for him.
“Is this bag ready to go?” he asks, pointing to the second suitcase loaded with my toiletries, shoes, and other miscellaneous items. I’d already cleaned out the bathroom and dresser and packed those away.
The last remaining items were in my closet and anything in the kitchen or lounge area.
“Yes, that’s ready. I still need to pack up the kitchenette. Do you happen to have a box?”
“I’ll go grab one and be right back.” He jumps to attention and is out the door before I can stop him.
ME
I didn’t need a chaperone.
G
You made me sweat it out so I wasn’t taking any chances.
ME
I was already packing.
G
Good, now he can help get your things in one trip.
ME
You’re exhausting
G
You spelled determined incorrectly
ME
Don’t think I did
G
Wish I could be there to help.
ME
It’s not like I’m moving in for real
G
We’ll see.
ME
Grant
G
Wife.
The one word—the single syllable—has my heart panging in my chest. The ownership. The possession. The desire for both of those things.
G
See you when I get home.
Home.
How long has it been since I felt like I had one of those?
Since you were with him.
That traitorous voice speaks up again.
By the time I finish packing my last suitcase, Will is back with a box for the kitchen, and we work in silence to make sure the room is cleaned out before he guides the rack out of the room and to the elevator down the hall.
Waving the key card in front of the reader, he pushes the button for the penthouse and passes me the card.
“This is for you,” he says. “Only you and Mr. Davenport have access to this floor.”
“Thank you.” I take the card from him. Rather than the plastic material of the usual hotel key, this one is heavy and feels like one of those black card credit cards.
Billionaires. I shake my head at the pretentiousness of it.
The smell of bacon and pancakes assault my senses when I open the door to the penthouse and help Will get the luggage rack into the foyer.
“Ring the desk when you’ve unloaded everything and I’ll come back and pick up the rack.” Will ducks back out the door before I can say anything else.
Wandering deeper into the room, I catch the strains of Beautiful Crazy by Luke Combs playing and turn the corner into the kitchen to find Grant—a very shirtless, very sexy Grant—staring back at me with a grin that rivals the Cheshire cat on his stupidly handsome face.
His scruff makes me want to run my hands over it.
The glimmer in his eyes tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing when he walks over to me carrying a spatula in one hand and leans down to kiss my cheek.
“Welcome home, Tay baby.”
My skin prickles and I break out into a cold sweat. “I thought you were busy this morning.” I step around to the other side of the large kitchen island, needing the barrier to keep my wits about me.
“I am. Busy making you breakfast to mark the occasion and making sure you have everything you need. Did you really think I’d let you move in without being here?” He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind and turns back to the stove to flip a pancake.
“I hope you know you’re setting a precedent by feeding me breakfast on day one.”
He smiles back at me over his shoulder. The familiarity of it settles between my ribs. How can it have been so long since we’ve shared a breakfast together yet at the same time it feels like yesterday?
“Can I help?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Nope, sit your pretty little butt in that chair and let me know if you want some coffee.”
“Coffee is always a yes.”
Instead of sitting down, I move to the coffee pot and open the upper cabinets in search of a mug.
I score on the second try and pull down a blue mug with a Music City Troubadours logo on it before pouring the coffee and going in search of creamer.
The refrigerator is surprisingly well-stocked and I wonder if it’s only because I’m moving in or if he always cooks at home.
“Would you mind getting the butter and eggs out while you’re in there?” Grant asks, plating the last of the pancakes.
I set them down beside the stove and finish making my coffee, then take a deep sip, closing my eyes and moaning at the heavenly creation. When I open my eyes again, Grant’s heated stare is the first thing I see.
He clears his throat and starts cracking the eggs into a mixing bowl. As he finishes cooking, I make myself at home, pulling out plates and silverware and setting the table for our feast, and when he joins me at the table, it feels like I’m right where I was always meant to be.
It’s only been one night, and I already don’t know how I’m going to last living in the same penthouse as Grant before I snap.
After breakfast, we cleaned up together and every brush of his hand against mine as I passed him a dish to put in the dishwasher had me on edge.
Then he gave me the full tour of his place, letting me pick my room on the opposite side of the penthouse from his room.
“Don’t you just love a man in baseball pants?
” I ask Ivory and Gabby as we watch the visiting team take the field for the Sunday matinee game from our usual seats behind home plate and I’m doing everything I can to not think about Grant and the vision of him in the king-sized bed in his master suite that he conveniently included in the house tour despite the fact that I will not be going in there.
“I sure do love my man in baseball pants.” Ivory gives a finger wave to Preston in the batter’s circle. He’s looking at her like he always does before an at-bat.
“How are things in the office now that Dickardo and Douche are gone?” I ask, once Preston steps up to bat.
“HA,” Ivory cackles. “Those are the best names ever. Good riddance if you ask me.” She raises her beer in a salute and we drink together.
“Hard to tell honestly,” Gabby says. “I’m still trying to dig myself out of the mess he left, plus deal with the disciplinary board for Chase and the weekly status meetings with the District Attorney.”
I feel bad for not checking in with her more. With the way she and Chase are sneaking looks at each other, there’s obviously been a development in their relationship since I told her to show up at his condo in a trench coat after the meet and greet earlier this week.
“His charity idea is great,” I say, attempting to get her to open up about what’s happening between them.
“Preston is excited about it too. You know he loves an excuse to volunteer.” Ivory claps and yells when Preston gets a hit in the gap between third and short.
“It’s nice of them to adopt Chase into the fold.” Gabby says.
“Are you kidding? They love him. It’s only a matter of time before they invite him to the house for one of our cookouts.” Ivory smiles wide at the idea of hosting. “I’m honestly surprised it hasn’t happened yet. I should plan something the next time they’re home.”
“They’re off on the twenty-fourth. We should do lunch,” I offer absentmindedly, not taking my eyes off the field.
“You would think you live here at the rate you’re in town,” Gabby says, giving me a side eye. Fuck, this backfired. I hesitate, but she continues before I can answer anyway. “And where are you even staying? Because it’s not my guest room.”
“It’s not?” Ivory asks, looking between us. “It’s not mine either. Where are you staying?”
Think fast, Taylor. How are you going to explain that you haven’t been staying with them because you don’t want to feel like an inconvenience and oh yeah, because you’re now living with your husband.
"Grant had the team put me up in a corporate apartment since I’ll be planning Bark in the Park.”
“He did, did he?” Gabby looks unconvinced. When Ivory looks back at the field where Miller is stepping into the batter’s box, I make a slashing motion across my throat.
Gabby winces and I know my time is running out to tell them the truth.
But how do you break it to your friends of almost fifteen years that you’ve been married to a man they never met until recently?