Chapter 20
TWENTY
PRESENT
My hands shook on the wheel as I prepared to drive to Grant’s. I took out my phone to let him know I was on my way, but a message from him sat unread.
Grant
Don’t come looking too pretty, I want to be the pretty one tonight.
Me
No promises.
I’m on my way. See you soon.
I had a feeling this date would be the most vulnerable and intimate because we’d be having dinner alone at his place instead of out in a public restaurant. There was still so much I wanted to know about him. I wanted to know him down to his soul.
I parked my car in front of Grant’s house and approached his door.
Before I had the time to even ring the doorbell, the front door flew open.
I was the one who was blown away once I saw him.
He had a navy-blue button-up shirt with the two top buttons undone: chest hair poking through.
He wore snug black jeans, accentuating his toned thighs and ass.
His hair had been in a bun or ponytail the last couple of times I’d seen him, but tonight he had his mid-length wavy hair flowing freely, making me weak in the knees.
We stood there staring at each other frozen in time.
“Wow, Serenity. You look… I don’t even have words. Stunning,” he said, moving away from the door to allow me inside.
“You took the words right out of my mouth,” I said with a wink.
“I was trying to be on your level, but you always have the upper hand in the beautiful department.” He grinned widely. “Come on back to the kitchen, food is about ready.”
I followed him to the kitchen. He walked over to the stove, where he began stirring the contents cooking in the pan.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, as he brought a garden salad out of the fridge to set on the table.
I took a seat at the dining table. “You really went all out tonight,” I said.
He looked over at me kindly. “Only the best for the best,” he said with a wink. He took a bottle out of the fridge and poured the liquid into two champagne flutes.
“What are you pouring?” I couldn’t see the label on the bottle from where I sat.
“Do you want to take a guess?”
I pondered. “Is it one of those 'healthy' sodas?” I asked, making air quotes around healthy.
He laughed. “No, nothing like that. I knew you liked apple juice, so I hope you also like apple cider. Please tell me you do.”
I smiled big. “I love apple cider, thank you,” I said genuinely.
“I’ll bring us bowls for the salad while the main dish simmers for a few more minutes.” I took a drink of apple cider, and it was simply divine.
“What’s the main dish?” I asked, taking in the scent of the kitchen. It smelled a little like my great aunt’s kitchen when she made enchiladas or tostadas.
He took a deep breath. “I’m kind of nervous to tell you.”
“It’s not seafood, is it?”
He chuckled. “No, it’s actually Mexican food—or rather a Mexican dish.”
“You made me—a half Mexican Latina—Mexican food when you are zero percent Mexican?” I asked challengingly.
“I did,” he said, laughing. “It’s not even a little authentic, but I’m hoping you like it as much as I do. He sat down and handed me a bowl for the salad.
“So, what exactly is simmering under there?” I asked, taking a bite of salad. The salad was a simple garden salad, but the vegetables tasted fresh.
“It’s my take on enchiladas but cooked in a pan on the stove rather than in the oven.”
I scrunched my eyebrows together. “How exactly does that work?”
He finished his bite of salad, put his fork down, and put a stray hair behind his ear.
“I use ground turkey, so I cook that first. Then once it’s cooked, I add cut-up tortilla strips, black beans, onions, and mild enchilada sauce.
I let that simmer for a bit so everything can soak up the sauce.
Then once that’s all done, I add the cheese and let it simmer once more until the cheese is all melted, then bon appétit. ”
I sat wide-eyed, because it honestly sounded good.
We sat in silence for a bit longer while we finished our salads.
The silence wasn’t awkward, it was comfortable, unlike anything I’ve ever felt with anyone else.
I always had to fill the silence because sitting in the quiet with anyone else made me anxious.
Then, when I became anxious, I became chatty.
Exes loved to remind me how annoyed I made them from my incessant chatter.
“It should be ready. Are you ready to try it?” he asked, bringing me back to the moment.
I gave him a sly smile. “I am dying to try it.” I dragged out dying and fluttered my eyelashes.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a little bit of a brat?”
I laughed. “Maybe once or twice.”
He brought us our plates, and the concoction looked how he described.
“Here’s the moment of truth,” he said. “You take a bite first, so if you hate it, then we can order pizza and forget I even made this.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a little bit dramatic?” I raised my eyebrows at him.
“Actually, never,” he teased. “Probably because I’m not.”
I rolled my eyes and took a bite. The pan enchiladas were mouthwateringly delicious. I quickly took another bite, and I let out a small moan.
“That good?” he asked.
I finished my bite. “This is so good. I don’t like the ones my great aunt makes very much because they’re so spicy. These are perfect!” I exclaimed.
He gave me a soft, genuine smile and let out a breath. “Thank goodness,” he said. “I have been low-key stressed about this all day. I may have wanted to make a good impression or something.”
“Well, color me impressed,” I said with a wink.
“So, since this is our official second date, should we dive into the deep stuff?” He took another bite and looked back up at me.
“Where should we start?” I asked.
“The beginning,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “I do want to preface that I'm not quite ready to discuss my family, but I’d be okay talking about some of my childhood.”
I nodded. “Perfect, because same.”
“I told you my mom wasn’t fit to be a mother, so my grandma raised me.
It was just me and her for most of my childhood.
She was literally my best friend. My mom had another baby, whom my grandma took in when I was ten.
Once my sister was going to school and I was driving, I took over a lot of the caretaking responsibilities while my grandma worked.
” He paused, lost in memory. “I never felt like I missed out on anything, not having parents or not having some of the freedoms my friends had. I think our little family was the happiest in the neighborhood. We never yelled or disrespected each other.”
“I love that,” I said. “What was your favorite treat she’d make for you?”
His eyes lit up. “That’s an easy one, snickerdoodle cookies—hands down.”
I smiled at him. “Grandmas always make the best cookies. Or so I’ve been told. I didn’t have grandparents around growing up.”
“What about you? What was your childhood like?” he asked.
I sat and contemplated. I had such a complicated childhood with unresolved trauma, and I wasn’t ready to unpack. “I was raised by a single mom. My dad died when I was still a baby...”
“At least we’re both part of the no-dads club,” he interrupted.
We both laughed. “Anyways, we started moving a lot when I was in the fourth grade, but before that, she and I did everything together. She even volunteered in my classrooms at school because we had always been close. The other kids would ask if I was embarrassed to have my mom at school, and I wasn’t because I loved having her there.
But she was promoted a few times and started traveling for work, and having questionable relationships.
At first, I stayed with my great aunt Benita, but then we moved away from my great aunt when I reached an age my mom felt comfortable enough leaving me alone. ”
“What age was that?” he asked.
I hesitated. If I said the age out loud, it would expose a piece of my trauma. “I was eleven,” I finally said, waiting for his look of pity. But the look never came.
“Maybe we were so drawn to each other because we were both forced to grow up too fast. Perhaps we can help each other heal our inner child.” He smiled shyly at me.
I gave him an equally shy smile back. “I like that thought.”
“The next date can be at a park. Let’s see who can swing the highest.” He let out a chuckle. “Or race each other down the slides. You know? Kid stuff.”
“Could you teach me how to play Hackie Sack? I always sucked at it when I was young.”
He gave me a sly smile. “I was much better at games where I used my hands.”
I winked. “I bet you were.” I smiled so big my cheeks hurt. I liked him. I really liked him.
When we both finished our food, Grant stood up to gather the plates and bowls from the table. He instantly started washing the dishes. “I can help with those,” I said.
He turned to look at me. “You can help by sitting there and looking pretty,” he said with such confidence I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
“Fine,” I said, dragging out the word. He finished doing the dishes, drying his hands.
“What's on your mind over there? Your thinking is quite loud.”
I didn’t want to lie. If we had any potential to become something long-term, I wanted to approach us with true honesty and transparency.
“I enjoyed tonight and don't want it to end, but I promised myself I would take things slowly with you, unlike I've done in the past. However, if I don't leave soon, I’ll be tempted to break the promise to myself.”
He smirked. “Is that so?”
I laughed. “It’s not funny.”
“No, of course not,” he said sarcastically. “Just know, I'd never pressure you to move more quickly than you're comfortable with, okay?”
I appreciated him so much. “Honestly, once sex had been put on the table in previous relationships, nothing else seemed to matter. I obviously have some trauma to work through, but your patience has been a breath of fresh air.” Unfortunately, his patience was also sexy.
“You're all that matters right now, Serenity. Sex is the least of my concerns, so don't feel like you owe me anything. Your presence is enough.”
I stood up and started to gather my things. “This really was a special night. Thank you for dinner and for telling me a bit about your upbringing.” I quickly hugged him and walked toward the door, heading out to my car.
“You know I’m walking you to your car, right?” he whispered next to me. I didn’t even hear him follow me out. “You’re welcome for dinner, by the way. You didn’t really give me a chance to respond before running out the door.”
“I didn’t run,” I argued.
“You definitely speed walked at the very least.”
I laughed and looked back at him as we approached my car.
“I want to commit to taking things slow with you while we’re healing and truly getting to know each other, so when we do jump in, we’ll both know it’s because it's something undeniable. That we are undeniable,” I said, pointing between both of us.
He smiled at me, leaning down to wrap me in a bear hug.
We hugged each other for a long time. “I want us to be excited about the aspect of pursuing another relationship with each other after both of us had been burned. I want us to continue to be open and vulnerable with each other, so by the time we put the label on it, we’ll already be ahead of those who rush into it.
Take your time, sweet girl. Like I said, you’re worth waiting for. ”
“So are you,” I responded. We said our last goodbyes, and I drove away.
I couldn’t help but regret not letting him kiss me.
But I knew myself, if we became more intimate, I’d end up rushing it, seeking the validation I thought sex provided.
I couldn't tie my self-worth to sex anymore.
I was done making the same mistakes I had always made in relationships.
I was ready for a fairytale love. Grant would be the perfect prince.
Before I even thought about having sex with Grant, I needed to work through some of my sexual trauma with my therapist. I buried so much abuse, but I needed to take control of my life. I wouldn’t let my trauma continue to dictate my life anymore. I couldn’t.