Chapter 5
Chapter five
“This don’t make no sense,” I mutter, flipping the wannabe slat of wood in my hands.
While sitting on the floor of the unfinished nursery, I scan for any indication that this is the L piece.
L. The manufacturer couldn’t label the pieces with stickers or even helpful numbers.
Nooo, they had to go with letters in the faintest color of gray, which is almost impossible for these twenty-eight-year-old eyes to spot.
I drop the board onto the carpet and ball my fist before I’m tempted to throw it against the wall.
I am a family lawyer who’s handled paternity cases messier than the likes Maury Povich has ever seen, navigated ex-spouses with storylines juicier than The Bold And The Beautiful, and set up custody schedules that could pass for NASA launch protocols.
None of that, apparently, qualifies me to assemble a crib.
“Morning,” Grant’s deep voice sounds from the doorway.
I brace myself before slowly turning around to find him looking deliciously rumpled while watching me through half-lidded eyes.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
I pick up the instructions packet again to give me something to look at other than him, squinting at the diagram. “I’m putting together the first crib. I told Braxton I’d have the nursery ready by the time they got home.”
Grant folds his arms across his broad chest and lifts a brow. “That’s funny. When I spoke to him last night, he asked for the both of us to do it.”
I wave my hand. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it handled. I figured with everyone gone, you’d want to head home anyway.”
Grant shakes his head while pushing off the doorframe and turning to walk away, but not before I hear him say “I knew you were going to do this.”
I chew on my bottom lip and look after him for a moment then turn back to the crib.
I’m not claiming the guilt trying to work its way into my chest at his absence.
The moment between Grant and me from last night, when I was emotional and therefore vulnerable to his charm, is over.
I’m fully in control with a renewed purpose and plans.
“Aha!” I exclaim when I spot the piece I was looking for.
I’m in the zone, finally making progress on the crib when the enticing scent of chocolate hits me.
I immediately perk up, then wish I hadn’t when I spot Grant freshly showered and groomed, strolling back in with a steaming mug.
I hold in my gasp when I see marshmallows spilling over the top. He made my favorite—hot cocoa.
Which he keeps close as he walks right on past me.
“Hey, you don’t have to do that,” I say sharply he sets his mug on the windowsill like he owns the place and begins opening the other boxed up crib.
No answer. Is this man really going to ignore me?
“I said I’ll take care of the nursery. You can go back home.”
Picking the mug back up, he finally meets my glare. “I heard what you said. I’m good over here.”
His head tips back as he takes a healthy sip.
How dare he.
How dare he stroll on in here like I’m invisible. How dare he try to insert himself where he’s not wanted nor needed.
He sets the drink back down with a satisfied “Ahh,” then wipes the corners of his full lips.
Seriously, how dare he not even offer me a taste. That is, not offer to make me a cup. That’s my dad’s mug he’s using after all.
I watch Grant for another five seconds as he rips into the box and pulls the materials out like it’s so easy. Puh-lease. If I had muscles like that, I could Hulk out on the box too.
Teeth gritted, I turn around. If Grant wants to set up one of the cribs, fine. I won’t waste my breath arguing. Besides, the sooner he finishes the sooner he can leave.
Pointedly ignoring the man behind me, I access my work. It looks… okay. I just need to make it so that all of the slats lay flat instead of awkwardly on their sides. Yeah, I’m sure that’ll make it look better.
Even though Grant messed up my flow, I get back to work, resolved to act like he's not here. Grant, however, makes it impossible. Every thirty seconds I hear a slurp.
Slurp.
Slurp.
Slurp.
By the twenty-third time, I’m ready to hurl a wood slat his way. I don’t even understand how he still has any hot chocolate left. Is the cup bottomless? Did he walk in with a secret stash he's using to refill it?
I whip around, ready to rail into him, then snap my mouth shut.
His crib is complete.
It’s only been like forty-five minutes. The manual says it takes an hour. I’m at ninety minutes and counting and still adjusting slats, so how did he finish so fast?
Grant pauses from breaking down his discarded cardboard to look at me and my struggle crib. He must read the promise of death in my glare because he wisely goes back to what he was doing.
It takes me another thirty minutes, but I finally take a step back and look at my work with a smile on my face, relief in my heart, and exhaustion I can feel down to my bones. I really should have gotten more than a few hours of sleep last night.
“Done with these two,” Grant says casually.
When I turn around this time, he’s dusting his jeans off while proudly looking at the two changing tables he managed to put together.
I square my shoulders and lift my chin. “Let’s put one there,” I say, pointing to the right corner. “And the other by this crib.”
“Actually, I was thinking we should probably put one down in the living room.”
I blink. “Why would we do that? It’ll ruin the symmetry.”
“Because it’ll make their lives easier?” he says like it’s obvious. “If they’re downstairs with the twins, they won’t have to come all the way up to change them.”
He’s got a point, but I hate that him making sense is ruining my vision for a beautiful, double nursery.
Maybe it’s the lack of sleep making me cranky or that I’m cocoa-deprived or that I’ve spent the last two hours in this room smelling Grant and being aware every time he’s breathed, but I need him gone. For real this time.
“Look Grant, I appreciate your help, but I’ve got this. I can finish up the nursery for my nieces without your help. Besides, I’m sure you’ve got a lot that you could be doing back at your own home. In San Antonio.”
Grant lifts a brow. “In case you’ve forgotten, they’re my nieces too.”
I take a step towards him. “Well, this is my house.”
He crosses that middle invisible line that had been keeping us separated and scowls down at me. “Wrong. This isn’t your house anymore. It’s Braxton’s and I have every right to be here.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“It doesn’t matter. You’ve got it anyway.”
Even though I’m average height for a woman, my dad used to say the way I carry myself makes me seem bigger. So, while Grant may tower over me, I make my spine as straight as possible so it feels like we're eye to eye.
We’re standing so close, I feel the warmth of his body heat and the small puffs of air as he breathes against my forehead. I smell the chocolate lingering on his lips.
That’s all we do—breathe and stare until the air crackles with electricity that makes me feel dizzy and reckless.
And then Grant’s eyes dip to my mouth.
I can’t help but wonder, if he bent and kissed me right now, would it be one of those slow, exploratory kisses we shared at the wedding?
Where I’d been desperate for his connection yet still wounded from Eddie and afraid it wasn’t enough, that I wasn’t enough?
Or would we kiss like we’ve practiced a thousand times already? There's only one way to find out.
What am I doing?
I take a step back. It’s not nearly enough, but I think hurling myself against the wall to get away from him would be a bit of an overreaction.
“Look, Eve,” he says, his voice steady and firm. “I know you haven’t been comfortable around me since…”
My whole body starts to lock up at where I think he’s going with this.
“…everything,” he finishes. “But I’m not doing this anymore. I’m not going to just stay away from my family because it makes you comfortable. I care about my nieces, and Braxton, and Ivy just as much as you do.”
At his pause, I wonder if he’ll say he cares about me. Is it foolish to actually want to hear him say it?
“I want to be here for my family,” he says quietly, though the steel in his voice is unmistakable.
I inhale slowly. I could tell him that they aren’t simply family—they’re all I have left. Grant has another sibling. Grant has both parents. I only have Ivy. Now Ivy and Nia and Amani. And while this may not be my house anymore, it’s the one thing I can keep from falling apart.
The unyielding earnestness in his eyes, however, keeps me from revealing my stingy, desperate thoughts.
“So, Eve,” Grant says, inching toward me again.
“I don’t care if your plans include rearranging furniture in the whole house, cleaning the gutters outside, or watching a marathon of Christmas movies, I want in.
I’m done letting you push me out of the picture just because it’s easier for you.
” All I can do is blink up at him as he takes another step forward so that we’re impossibly close.
“I’m here Eve, and I’m not going anywhere. ”
He stares at me like he’s daring me to deny it. To deny him.
For once, I don’t know how.