Chapter 25 #2
I take a bite of a hush puppy and look out the window. When I return my gaze to him, he’s waiting for my answer. His fingers grip his fork.
“We are,” I say. “I was being so stubborn. I can’t believe I almost let you go.”
His shoulders drop. The harsh lights of the diner illuminate the dark circles under his eyes.
“You just needed time. And that’s okay.”
“I did,” I say quietly. “I missed you so much. You have no idea.”
It’s not a huge admission—I mean, he knew that, right?—but his face changes, his eyes widening, and he bites his lip like he’s trying to keep himself from smiling. He rubs a hand over his jaw and then he does smile, a broad, open beam that snaps any last piece of resistance I’m hanging onto.
“That’s . . . interesting,” he says mildly, though his eyes crinkle at the corners. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this expression on him—delighted, carefree, and smug all at once.
I’m thinking of throwing a french fry at him, but I smile back instead. “I want to get to know you again. We can reset.”
“All right.” He crunches on a piece of ice from his drink, and for some reason it strikes me as adorable.
I’ve got it bad if even his chewing is somehow cute.
“So let’s start.” He leans forward, and his eyes sparkle.
“I’m going to pose a question you posed to me before.
Tell me something I don’t know about you. ”
“Hmm.” I tap my foot against the tile floor.
“I sang at a friend’s wedding once,” I tell him.
His gaze is riveted on me. “Well, more of an acquaintance, really. She was a friend of one of my coworkers at the time. Drove all the way to Pikeville for the wedding. She paid me thirty bucks for singing, which is fine. I don’t do that kind of thing for the money.
But then she left her husband three months later, and I get a call from her, asking for her thirty dollars back.
I guess she sold her wedding dress and all that, and she was trying to recoup some of her investment. ”
“No way.” Grant’s laugh lights me up inside, like there’s actual voltage flowing from him to me. “So what did you do?”
“What else could I do? I gave her the money back. It’s not like I’ve never been in need of thirty bucks.” I spear a piece of his macaroni, and he makes a show of hoarding it for himself. “Your turn.”
“So, we’re going low stakes.” He rubs his chin. “When I was in med school, one of my classmates had an affair with one of our professors. The professor’s wife showed up in class one day and screamed at him. Apparently, my classmate felt guilty and told her. It was a shitshow.”
I nearly spit out my drink. “You call that low stakes? Jesus.”
He shrugs. “It was entertainment for most of us. I felt bad for the guy’s wife, though. Not to mention it was really unethical for him to sleep with a student.”
“He get fired?”
“Well, yeah.” He pushes food around on his plate. “Speaking of, I gave George some hell after he confronted me about us. I think he’ll be leaving it alone now.”
“Yeah?” I smile.
He nods. “Either way, we didn’t really do anything wrong. I wasn’t your boss. And we’ve known each other for a long time.”
My brows pull together. “There’s some power dynamics at play there, I guess.”
“Well, as a resident, I feel pretty low in the hierarchy.” He leans in toward me and lowers his voice. “I let you have power over me, anyway. If you recall.”
My face warms. “You been thinking about that?”
He holds my gaze. “Always.”
Wow. I sit back in my chair. The flush from my face has spread throughout my body. I inhale and catch a whiff of Grant’s cologne, something kind of peppery.
His expression is so full of lust I can almost feel it on my skin.
“It’s hard to have a conversation when you look at me like that.”
He chuckles, then blows out a breath and sits back.
“I want to do this right. I want to know everything about you.” He plants his elbows on the table.
The laminate is peeling on the top, and the condiment holder hasn’t been changed since the ’90s, but it’s one of the best damn chicken sandwiches in town.
“Tell me something more real then. Honest.”
I’m going to let myself be vulnerable here.
I owe him that. “I’m independent to the point of it being a character flaw,” I say.
“Though you already know that. I think part of what scares me with you is the idea of relying on someone else, because I’ve had so few people in my life I can really lean on.
But I’ve realized I should hang on to any support I can get.
” I clutch a napkin in my fist, then let it go when I realize how tightly I’m gripping.
“I mean, isn’t that what got my family into our situation in the first place?
This every man for himself attitude? The system failed me. Our community failed me at times.”
Grant nods. “You learned not to count on others. I get that.”
“I hated accepting help, but I think I’m looking at it all wrong. I think it’s okay to need help. To need people.” I prop my chin on my fist. “To need you.”
Grant’s jaw slackens. “I meant what I said. I would do anything for you,” he says.
“I believe you.” I reach across the table to squeeze his hand. “What about you? Do you have something real to tell me too? I feel like I just poured my heart out.”
“You were talking about how people failed you,” he says.
“I think my parents failed me in a lot of ways. I know now that our relationship might never be the same. Not to mention the rest of the town. They propped me up because I was good at football, and my parents are prominent members of the community, but no one held me accountable.”
“We’re pretty messed up, the two of us.” I sigh and push my plate away. “I wanted what you had in high school, but maybe I shouldn’t have.” I look out the window, where the cold wind has sent a sign swinging. “I always wanted to take you down a peg.”
“Well, mission accomplished there,” he says quietly.
“I’m sorry for how harsh I’ve been.” Somewhere along the way, I stopped trying to mess with him and started to just enjoy my time with him.
He waves a hand in the air. “Oh, I deserved it. I know that.”
“Not anymore you don’t. You’re a good person now, Grant.” His eyes shine a bit as I talk. “Plus, it’s hard to bring you down too much. You’re ridiculously hot. And good at everything. It’s fucking annoying.”
“I’m not good at everything.”
“Name one thing you’re bad at.” I aim a challenging stare in his direction.
“I’m not very creative. Anything involving arts, music, writing—I’m not good at that stuff.” He starts ticking off on his fingers. “Going with the flow. Change. Understanding why anyone wants to live in our hometown for the rest of their lives.”
I laugh.
“It’s you who is good at everything,” he says.
“You clearly haven’t seen me play basketball.
” I gesture to my body, and he tracks it with his gaze.
The heat in his eyes makes all my nerve endings sing.
“I got the height without the basketball talent. It’s unfair.
” I watch him as he looks down at the table, as though he has to pull his attention away from me with monumental effort.
“And I’m compassionate, but sometimes I think I’m too direct to be nurturing.
My mouth has gotten me in trouble a lot in my life.
” My voice lowers in volume. “It’s part of why I’m undecided on kids. ”
He crosses his ankle over his opposite knee and leans to the side. The movement pulls his sweater taut over the muscles in his chest, and I stare him. Everything he does, all his little mannerisms, even the sound of his voice, draws me in.
“There’s nothing wrong with being undecided,” he says.
“What about you?” I gulp. “You dead set on kids?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. I’m undecided too.” He smiles. “Something I’ll talk about with my future wife, I guess.”
My future wife. My heart thumps. The way we look at each other now is intense. I can tell we’re both thinking about it, about forever, and it doesn’t scare me at all.
I glance out the window. It’s fully dark, though the parking lot is illuminated by streetlights and the glow from other businesses around.
“Should we get going?”
“I like hearing you say ‘we.’” Grant’s ears turn a little pink. “Let’s go.”
We walk to his car together. Before I walk to the passenger side, he cages me against the side of the car and plants his arms on either side of me.
He leans forward and captures my lips, pouring every emotion of the last few weeks into this connection between us, pressing against me like he can’t bear to let an inch of space between us.
“You promise this is real?” he murmurs against my lips.
“It’s real,” I tell him.
Over the next few weeks, we go on more dates, meeting for dinner, coffee, whatever we have time for.
His schedule is absolutely ridiculous, but he seems to be making time for me.
My schedule, for that matter, is busy with work and friends, but residents are on a whole other level when it comes to their time.
He sends me flowers, and texts me throughout the day. I call him on my way home sometimes. We share jokes and little stories about our lives. It’s real romance, in a way, and I feel wooed for the first time in my life.
I message him on Sunday afternoon. A barren tree limb taps against my bedroom window with the wind as I sit at my desk.
Me
I know you’re at the hospital. I’m just saying hi.
Me
If I texted you every minute today until you are able to respond, would that bother you?
Me
What if showed up there and followed behind you?
I giggle to myself, imagining the lazy smile that will spread on his face when he reads what I’ve sent him. I lay the phone facedown so I’m not tempted to stare at our message thread, but I’m surprised when it buzzes a few minutes later.
Grant
Trust me, I would much, much rather be with you right now.
My cheeks ache with my grin. I suck in a deep breath.
Me