Chapter 6
Chapter six
The dryer buzzer goes off, but instead of heading straight for the laundry room, I grab the paper I’ve been scribbling on all afternoon.
My mind hasn’t stopped replaying Grant’s words. I’m done letting you push me out.
As if he can just bulldoze his way into my life more than he already has and I’m just going to sing Christmas carols and take it. No sir. If he’s staying, then I’m putting him to work.
Slam!
Grant’s fork clatters to the table as I slap the paper down, pie crumbs landing on his shirt and his eyes going wild like he’s under attack.
“Woman, what are you doing?”
“I’m showing you my plan.” I plant my hands on my hips and raise an eyebrow. “Since you’re determined to stick around, you can help me get the house ready for Ivy and the babies.”
“And Braxton.”
“And Braxton.”
He leans back, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “A plan, huh? This feels like a trap. What, are you going to ask me to get something from outside in the middle of the night in nothing but my Christmas boxers, then locking me out?”
My brain short-circuits, picturing Grant in tight boxers covered in Rudolph heads with glowing red noses. Is that what he sleeps in?
I shake my head to get rid of the image. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a simple list. But if you find it too daunting, don’t feel obligated to stick around.”
Grant picks up the paper, studying my words like they’re evidence in a courtroom. “Bake cookies twice?”
I cross my arms. “I’ve never made these cookies before.
It was always Dad and Ivy, so I need to do a practice batch…
or three, to make sure mine come out perfect.
” Grant already knows the kitchen and me don’t get along, but my cheeks still burn explaining the why of it.
“You know what? Don’t judge my methods.”
“Trust, I’m judging,” he says before singing, “She’s making a list, checking it twice…”
I resist the urge to snatch the paper back. The list is organized into three phases: baby prep, house prep, and Christmas prep. It’s thorough and maybe even a little on the ambitious side, but I need to make sure we don’t miss a thing.
Going by Grant's narrowed his eyes, it might be too extensive for him to handle. And if it is, good. He can go home and leave me to it.
“I’m pretty sure this list is just your way of bossing me around,” Grant grumbles.
“Hey, you know I run a tight ship.”
“Of that, I am aware.” He laughs low and easy, and something flutters in my chest. I used to roll my eyes at that laugh, the way he seemed content with his laid back, go with the flow routine.
Staying out late, sleeping in. I always wondered how someone who seemed to thrive on little planning and structure could be a successful basketball player turned financial advisor.
Grant’s never been like Eddie, who appeared disciplined, always turning in early, especially when he was out of town, claiming he needed rest for work.
Of course, I turned out to be wrong about Eddie.
The dryer buzzes again and I march to the laundry room, eager to shake both the memory of Eddie and the warmth from Grant’s laugh still prickling my cheeks.
Grant follows, munching on another bite of pie. “So, Your Honor, what’s first on your grand plan?”
I decide not to comment on the old nickname he uses. He knows full well I'm no judge but thinks it's a funny way to call me bossy.
“Laundry,” I say, then begin transferring clothes from the dryer to the basket.
When it's full, Grant shoves his plate at me and grabs the basket before I can. We move to the living room and station up at the couch, Grant on one side, me on the other, and the basket of clothes on the ground between us. I’m too far from the trash so Grant’s plate goes on the coffee table. Then we get started.
When I grab a onesie, Grant follows suit, and for a while we fall into an easy rhythm, folding the small clothes into even smaller rectangles. I blindly reach down and my hand lands on a pink sock that so tiny it doesn’t even span the palm of my hand.
“It’s hard to imagine anyone being this small,” I say and Grant hums in agreement.
I find the sock’s sister and fold them over each other before reaching for a white long-sleeved onesie. Before folding it, I bring it to my nose and inhale. It smells light and soft, making me think of soft fur and warm kisses.
I’m so happy Ivy has the family she always wanted, but I can’t help that persistent ache in my heart while folding clothes for her babies instead of my own.
I stayed with Eddie for too long. Wasted so much time on someone who wasn’t all about me. And now, I wonder if I’ll ever have the life I dreamed.
I fold the onesie, tucking the sleeves back then folding it in half until it takes on the same square shape as the one before and place it beside me.
I look over to Grant’s side to see how he’s coming along and pause when I see him looking at me. I can’t fully read the expression on his face, but his eyes have grown soft in a way that makes my heart constrict.
“What?” I ask defensively when he doesn’t look away. Those eyes of his see too much, and it’s a battle not to hide.
“I just… nothing.” He trails off and places the terry cloth robe he’d been folding down.
I wait a few more seconds, giving him room to finish what he was going to say. But he doesn’t so I go back to my clothes, aware of every movement I make and watching Grant from the corner of my eye.
So I got a little sentimental over some baby clothes. God forbid a girl mourn the life she thought she was going to have.
“Did you see the packet of hangers anywhere?” Grant asks.
“Hangers? I’m pretty sure I saw some in the closet.”
“I’ll be right back.”
He gets up and goes to the nursery upstairs and a minute later I hear his footsteps coming back down the steps.
“We can use these for their dresses,” he says while holding the hangers out. Like everything else, they’re small and appear even more so in his big hands.
“Of course,” I say, wondering why I didn’t think of that.
It’s such a simple, no-brainer idea, and yet Grant had to be the one to point it out.
“Where did you pick up all this knowledge about babies? You’re supposed to be the guy who knows about running plays and numbers on and off the court.
Now you’re talking about changing table locations and folding swaddle blankets like a pro.
That’s the kind of stuff you learn when you are an actual parent. ” I pause. “Wait—do you have kids?”
Is Grant somebody’s daddy? He was only in the NBA a few years before rupturing his ACL and retiring, but who knows what he got up to during that time. We never discussed his love life during game nights.
One side of his mouth curves and he shakes his head like he’s aware of my thoughts and suspicions. “No, I don’t have any kids.” He places a purple dress with an overlay of glitter tulle on a hanger then looks at me from the corner of his eye. “At least not any that I know of.”
“You are so unserious.”
He chuckles. “No, but really. No kids. Destiny came to live with me when she broke up with Todd. She was six months pregnant, so I helped her with pretty much everything for a while.”
Destiny, Grant and Braxton’s baby sister. She lives out of state so the only time I met her was at Ivy and Braxton’s wedding. I remember her hair full of curls, her infectious laugh, and her adorable toddler.
“You’ve got first-hand experience with newborns because of your sister, and not because you’re hiding away any kids,” I tease. “I’ll file that under ‘Things I Never Knew About Grant’.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he shoots back.
That playful grin is gone, and he watches me expectantly, inviting me to ask more questions.
I know there’s more depth to him than simply being the easy-going guy who cracks jokes and lives to get under my skin, but I also know feeding into my curiosity would put me on a slippery slope.
In just the past couple of days we’ve spent together, the jumble of emotions I normally get around him has faded, the attraction ramped up.
But what if I get too close, misjudge his easy laughs like I misjudged Eddie’s virtue, and end up the worse for it?
With effort, I shrug before tearing my gaze from his and focusing on the clothes in my lap.
Grant sighs. “Aiden.”
I shoot him a quizzical look. “Excuse me?”
“Since you won’t ask about me, even though I know you’re dying to know, I’ll tell you more about my family.
My nephew’s name is Aiden and he’s four.
He likes Legos and always beats me in Nerf gun fights.
I keep my phone stacked with the latest games because Little Man shakes me down for it every time I come around. ”
My lips twitch at the thought of big ol’ Grant having to surrender his phone to someone who doesn’t even rich his hip.
“I’m sure the games you download for him are strictly for educational purposes,” I say. Clearly, he’s not going to stop talking so I may as well indulge him.
His eyes flash with a pleasure that makes me feel warm all over. “Of course. Nothing but the best.”
“How often do you get to see him? They live in North Carolina, right? Or was it Florida?”
“Florida. And not as often as I’d like. Maybe once or twice a year now. That’s where I was on Halloween, in case you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t, but thanks for the info.”
“Uh huh, sure,” he murmurs, unconvinced.
Fine, I did wonder why he hadn’t tried making an impromptu visit while we were running birth plan drills. Grant’s the kind of guy who’d unabashedly knock on the door and show up with something ridiculous like a red clown wig and shiny grill. Or a scandalous firefighter costume.
“And this is where you share something about yourself,” Grant says, breaking the silence.
“What? Why?” I ask, startled coming out of my ridiculous fantasy. My mind is running too wild.
“Because I want to know more about you.”
I slowly fold the pajamas in my lap, trying to keep my movements casual. “You already know about me.”
“I know about the woman who’s merciless at Uno but can’t play Spades to save her life. I know about the woman who always brought a store-bought cheese board to each game night because she usually came straight from a meeting with clients.”
“Charcuterie board. And trust me, bringing that instead of subjecting y’all to my cooking was an act of kindness.”
His eyes dance, but he doesn’t let up. “I want to know more.”
His voice is smooth like velvet and my cheeks heat, pulse races. Not Grant making me all flustered.
I force a laugh. “I’m not that interesting.”
“Try me,” he challenges.
I roll my eyes. One thing Grant will do is keep pushing no matter how much I try to hedge him.
“Like your nephew, I also like building Legos,” I say, feeding him an obscure but safe fact while adding the pajamas to my pile. “Remember those Legos we made for the wedding? They were my idea.”
From the corner of my eye I see Grant nod slow and carefully, like I said something weird…oh. Of course he’d remember the Legos and subsequent kiss I laid on him.
Flustered, I shove my hand into the basket for more clothes, only to instead grab something warm... which just happens to be Grant’s hand.
Milliseconds feel like hours as I look down at our hands. My smaller one holding his larger one; almond brown mixed with honey. A quiet spark humming beneath our skin.
His thumb shifts slightly, like he’s tempted to hold on, but I pull away.
“Sorry about that,” I say, willing my pulse to calm way down.
“Why? I’m not.”
My cheeks burn. I grab the nearest onesie and fold it with jerky motions, pretending his words didn’t just curl through me like smoke.
“You know,” Grant says after a long moment, “I used to think I’d have this by now.”
I glance up cautiously. “Have what?”
“A family. A few kids.” His holds my gaze. “A wife making me pies every day.”
“Do not even,” I laugh, but the intimacy of our hands touching has me breathless.
“I didn’t say what kind of pie. Shoot, I’d take some of those microwavable chicken pot pies.
My girl Marie Callender can throw down.” He tilts his mouth into a grin then he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees with his arm brushing mine.
“It would just be nice to have someone to share it with.”
His closeness is dizzying. His scent, warm and faintly spiced, wraps around me. I don’t see him shift, but now his leg presses against me too and he doesn’t bother to move away.
Neither do I.
It’s that slippery slope again, and I’m heedless to the warning signs.
Maybe if Grant would simply keep with the jokes and pie stealing it would be easy to push him away.
But I saw the real yearning in his eyes at his admission.
And now that he’s opened himself up, the least I can do is reciprocate by giving him something real.
“I thought I’d have it all too,” I admit, my voice soft. “I loved my little life here with Dad and Ivy, and always wanted a family of my own.”
“You still can, you know.”
I stare at the onesie in my lap, my fingers curling tight in the fabric. Grant’s nearness makes it too easy to imagine. His hand on mine again. His arm around me. A future with no fear where I get to keep him.
I can’t. I can’t let myself drown like that.
I fold the onesie with sharp precision and shove it into the basket. Then I stand quickly, putting distance between us.
“No,” I say, not looking at him. “It’s too late.”
The feel of his leg pressed against mine lingers long after I race upstairs, wondering how he keeps slipping under my defenses and how to get it to stop.