40. Josie
FORTY
JOSIE
The city feels louder than normal, but maybe that’s just me. It feels different here. The familiar hum of traffic, the blur of people moving along the sidewalks. Everyone’s carrying on like everything’s normal, while I can’t stop thinking about who I left behind in the Hamptons.
My grip on Mouse’s cat carrier tightens as I step out of the town car in front of my childhood home.
My shoulders relax the moment I see it.
Home. Finally.
The front door opens before I even reach it.
“Josephine,” Heather, one of my favorite staff members at the house, greets, her voice warm.
“Hi,” I respond, letting her pull me into a hug before I step inside. I slip off my shoes at the door without thinking.
“Your grandfather has hopefully finally made his way out of the kitchen and is in the dining room,” she tells me, taking my overnight bag and Mouse’s cat carrier from me.
She immediately lets him out, used to his wandering the house.
He takes off immediately, off to explore and get into trouble, I’m sure.
I laugh as a sense of calm runs through me. That sounds just like Pop. He’s always where the food is. Nan used to swat him out of the kitchen with a kitchen towel.
“I’ll go find him,” I tell Heather, making my way to the formal dining room. The sound of the kitchen staff filters out, familiar and comforting.
As I pass the sitting room, I can’t help but stop and take in the grand piano in the corner of the room.
Nan’s piano.
For a moment, it’s like I can almost hear her; I can picture her sitting right there. The soft notes drifting through the house in the evening, the sounds of her mumbled curse words when she messed up and thought none of us heard her use a swear word.
My chest tightens as I force myself to keep walking.
I miss her.
“Pop?” I call, nearing the formal dining room.
“In here, sweetheart,” he calls.
Relief loosens in my chest at the familiar sound of his voice. I round the corner and find him already sitting at the table. A glass of wine sits in front of him as he leans over his tablet. His reading glasses are perched low on his nose as he looks something over.
The moment I step into the room, he looks up and meets my gaze.
“There’s my best girl,” he notes.
My chest tightens, and my eyes sting at the sight of him. I cross the distance to him quickly, leaning down to wrap my arms around his neck as I press a kiss to his cheek. “I missed you,” I manage to get out through the thickness of my throat.
He lets out a sigh before patting my arm. “You saw me last week.”
“I can still miss you.”
“That’s true. I’m easy to miss.” He pulls back enough to look at me. “And I missed you too.”
I can’t help but smile, taking in the sight of my grandfather. He looks the same as he always does, and something in my chest relaxes at seeing him again after not seeing him for a week.
I press one more kiss to his forehead before sliding into the seat across from him. I sit down just in time, because right as I take a drink out of my own wine glass, dinner’s brought out. It’s beautifully plated—something Pop’s picky about—and smells so good that my stomach growls.
I’d been so busy writing after I left Tyson’s this morning that I never ate lunch.
“Something smells amazing,” I note, my gaze taking in the food on my plate. Steak—Pop’s favorite—along with mashed potatoes, charred carrots, and a side of soup that looks like some kind of seafood bisque.
“The food is good. I made sure of it.”
“Nan would’ve approved of this,” I note, remembering how much she loved steak. It was always her favorite too.
Pop’s face shifts, just slightly, but I still catch it. “She always did love to request steak for dinner, didn’t she?”
I nod. “Yes, and you never argued because you spoiled her.”
“Couldn’t help myself,” he replies easily.
After that, we fall into easy conversation. Pop catches me up on the drama with his friends and fills me in on what’s happening with work.
He stabs a piece of his steak, his gaze finding mine. “I’m waiting for you to tell me how work’s going,” he says, his white, bushy eyebrows raised. “Has escaping to the Hamptons helped?”
I hesitate for a moment, my chest feeling hot at his question. How much do I want to tell him?
“It’s better,” I admit. “A lot better,” I finish, unable to keep much from Pop.
“Good. That’s a change.”
“I know.”
He takes a bite of his steak, his stare still pinned on me. “What happened to make it better? The scenery change?”
I don’t answer right away because I don’t know how to explain it to him. Escaping to the Hamptons definitely helped, but it’s also what—or who—I found in the Hamptons as well.
How do I tell him that I met someone who makes everything feel right, so now I’m able to write from experience instead of my imagination?
Instead of getting into that with my grandfather, I just shrug. “I guess being in a new spot…something just clicked.”
He studies me with a knowing expression. “Does this ‘something’ have a name?”
I try not to gawk at his question. I wasn’t expecting him to know anything about Tyson or the reason behind my sudden inspiration. Heat creeps up my neck.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
I laugh. “You’re impossible. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about Tyson Bishop.”
Now my mouth does hang open. How does my grandfather know about Tyson? Does word really spread that quickly around here?
“All my buddies were talking about it over breakfast this morning,” he offers casually. “How you and Tyson were spotted together at Pembroke.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “You old men are a bunch of gossips.”
He shrugs. “Obviously. What else are we going to do?”
I can’t help but laugh at him and the mental picture of Pop and all of his friends during their weekly morning breakfasts together, all of them huddled in gossip like a bunch of teenage girls.
“Don’t act so surprised people are talking,” Pop adds. “That boy doesn’t go unnoticed. Especially not at somewhere like Pembroke.”
I roll my eyes at him, but my cheeks are still hot from him calling me out. “We weren’t doing anything other than having breakfast.”
“Well, that didn’t stop everyone from talking.”
I groan as I scrub my hands over my face. “I’m learning that,” I mutter. First Scarlett and now Pop. Why is everyone suddenly so interested in my dating life?
Pop chuckles, clearly enjoying himself, before he takes another bite of his food. “So,” he gets out, mid-chew, “Tyson Bishop…” he prods.
I shake my head as I try to play it cool. “We just spent some time together.”
“Mm-hmm.” That’s all he says. Like he knows exactly what I mean, and he wants me to know he sees right through me.
“What’s that ‘mm-hmm’ supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re lying to your grandfather’s face and trying very hard to make it sound like nothing.” He sets his fork down and pins me with a stare that dares me to lie to him again.
I open my mouth to argue, but then close it.
I don’t have a good response to that.
After a few moments, he gives me a smile. “He’s a good man,” he offers before sitting back in his chair.
My eyebrows rise. “You know him?”
“Not really. But I know his father.”
I don’t miss the slight shift in his tone at the mention of Tyson’s dad. I wait and watch Pop closely, hoping he’ll elaborate more. He doesn’t. Instead, he looks back at me. “And from what I’ve heard, he’s nothing like his father.”
I don’t know much about Tyson’s dad—but after the way both Tyson and Pop have spoken about him, I have no desire to ever meet the man.
“Yeah,” I begin, my voice soft. “Tyson’s a good man.”
Pop studies me with a knowing look. “And you like him.”
It’s no use trying to dodge his statement, so instead, I opt for the truth. “I do.”
“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like…” He pauses for a moment, running a hand over his mouth as he thinks through my question. “Like you aren’t completely guarded. Like you’re maybe open to the idea of letting someone in.”
I mull over his words for a moment while the memory of what Tyson said last night pops into my mind.
“With him, it just feels easy. Things are new, and I don’t want to get ahead of myself, because it feels too soon to say any of this, but I can’t help it.
It just feels easy…it’s scary to say it out loud, but it just feels like I met him for a reason. ”
My words make Pop smile. He crosses his hands over his stomach and watches me for a moment with a thoughtful expression.
“That’s how it’s supposed to feel.” He pauses, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them to meet my stare again.
“I knew with your grandmother after the first day I met her.”
I still, his words hitting me right in the chest because maybe I don’t sound too crazy saying things feel right with Tyson after only knowing him for a couple of weeks.
“I didn’t know everything,” he continues. “But I knew enough. That first day, I knew we were meant to be.”
I glance toward the chair she always used to sit in without meaning to. He follows my gaze before looking back at me through misty eyes, finding me already staring back at him.
“With her, even the hardest things were easy.” His voice gets thick, and it makes my eyes immediately mist over. Even after she’s gone, their love is still so powerful. It’s the reason I write love stories.
Pop clears his throat—never one to love showing emotion. “That’s how you know it matters.”
The words linger between us. I know he means well by them—and they are a relief—but they’re also overwhelming in a way I don’t want to think too deeply into.
I nod, not trusting myself to say anything.
Luckily, he changes the subject as we finish dinner. Conversation shifts to lighter things, stories I’ve heard a hundred times but still love to hear him tell anyway.
He’s deep into a story about going snorkeling with Nan when he reaches for his wine glass. Right in the middle of pulling it to his mouth, his hand shakes, and the glass falls.
“Shit,” he curses, righting the wine glass on the table. I stand up to help him, but Heather rushes in before I can get around the table to help clean up the spill.
“Everything okay?” I ask, noticing how Pop keeps opening and shutting his eyes.
He nods. “Just getting old,” he jokes, but I don’t laugh.
Something about it isn’t funny. He seems different right now, like he isn’t completely with me. His hands still shake, but he tries to hide them in his lap so I don’t see.
“Have you been sleeping okay?” I ask, wondering if maybe he’s just tired.
He nods. “Always.”
“Eating?”
His eyebrows furrow. “Josie.”
“What?”
He forces a smile, but there’s something about his demeanor that’s changed. “I’m fine, sweetheart.”
I hold his gaze, trying to decide if I believe him. Or maybe I’m trying to convince myself that I do when my intuition is telling me something completely different.
My eyes move to Nan’s empty chair. It’s still untouched. Still hers.
And it hits hard that he’s been alone in this world without her. And one day, I’ll be alone in this world without both of them.
I look back at my grandfather, hoping maybe he is just tired or the wine spill really was just a silly mistake. “Okay,” I say, not wanting to pay any attention to the intrusive thoughts filling my mind.
For the rest of dinner, I let it go. I smile and listen when he talks and laugh when he’s being completely grouchy.
But something lingers at the back of my mind the entire time. It’s quiet, but there.
Unsettling.
And impossible to ignore, even as I lie in bed that night, my mind replaying dinner and whether everything’s okay with Pop.