Chapter 20 #2
George places his fork beside his plate, sitting back in his chair. “I used to sneak out every Sunday night, run the five blocks to her house, and hop the back fence just to see her. I’d throw pine cones at her bedroom window.”
Caroline’s face lights up as she listens. “Why every Sunday?”
“Couldn’t wait to see her at school Monday morning,” he says simply.
The corner of my lips lifts, and I can’t help but cast my gaze to Caroline, catching a flicker of something like understanding in her eyes when they meet mine.
“Nancy would always tear a strip off me for taking the risk,” George continues. “Risking waking up her parents, that is. But I could tell she was just as happy to see me as I was her.”
“See, but that’s romantic,” Caroline says, propping her chin on her fist. “Sounds more sweet than mischievous.”
“Oh, don’t give me too much credit,” he cautions, picking up his fork again. “I also enjoyed getting a glimpse of my girl in her nightgown, if I’m honest.”
Caroline’s jaw drops. “Grandpa!”
I point at George and throw a knowing look her way. “See? Boobs.”
She knees me under the table and I flinch. “Hey!”
We return to our food, exchanging a few casual comments between comfortable silences. It’s nice having a family meal like this. Jude and Olena have me over for dinner often enough, but sometimes I feel like a third wheel—or like they’re trying to check up on me by inviting me around.
“How did you know Grandma was the one?” Caroline asks George out of nowhere.
Don’t say boobs. Don’t say boobs. Don’t say boobs.
“Oh! Well…” he starts, taking a moment to think before he finally says, “I suppose I just knew, darling. No question in my mind. It was easy with her. I was always happiest when we were together and, when we were apart, well, I was always thinking about her.”
“So, you two were together a long time, then,” I say, doing some rough mental math. “If you got together in high school, that’s what—?”
“Seventy years.” He nods. “Sixty-five married.”
“Wow,” I say, raising my brows in genuine awe.
“My first love and my only love.” George straightens in his seat.
“When you find a good thing, you don’t let it go.
Even during hard times, you make it work.
You know, when I was stationed in Korea, we’d write to each other every chance we got.
I carried a picture of her in my breast pocket.
Told her in my letters she had me on cloud nine…
when, really, I took her up to cloud nine with me. ” He pats his chest, giving me a wink.
Catching his meaning, I ask, “Air Force?”
He nods. “Flew an F-86 Sabre in ’52.”
Under normal circumstances, I’d have a thousand questions about what it’s like to be a fighter pilot, but all I can do is give him a small smile—hoping like hell my face doesn’t give me away. That it’s not obvious I’m thinking about his granddaughter.
When you find a good thing, you don’t let it go.
“I know you miss her.” Caroline reaches out to squeeze George’s hand. “I do too.”
The emotion in her eyes is raw. I can’t know for sure what’s going through her head right now—whether her grandfather’s words have also hit her on a deeper level—but the only thought running a loop in mine is: I don’t want to let her go. I don’t want to fucking miss her.
Stuffing another bite of spaghetti into my mouth for something else to focus on, I try to let them have a moment. Try not to stare.
Gus had called me out just this morning for staring at Caroline across the gym, reminding me not to let him drop the barbell on his throat when I was spotting him on the bench.
I told him to fuck off, of course—but he wasn’t wrong.
He could tell from the dopey look on my face what I’ve been trying not to admit to myself: I’m gone for this girl. So fucking gone.
Caroline excuses herself to use the bathroom and I stand to clear our plates, almost grateful for the interruption so I can get a handle on my thoughts.
I’m busy rinsing a few dishes at the sink when George sneaks up on me.
“Oh, hey, I got this,” I say. “You didn’t need to get up.”
“Nonsense. I may be slow, but if I sit around all day like a lump, I’ll go batty.” He parks his walker and shifts his grip to the counter beside me. “Now, you pass me whatever you’ve got there, and I’ll load the dishwasher.”
“Okay,” I start, then pause when I realize I’m not sure how to word what I want to say next. “Uh, this might sound weird, but you seem so… different… than Caroline’s mom.” I pass him a dripping plate. “I mean, from what I know of her, anyway.”
I’d only briefly crossed paths with Valerie at the fundraiser, but the impression I got has been tough to square with this sweet old man offering his help with the dishes. It’s easy to forget she’s George’s daughter—especially knowing she chose to marry a judgmental ass like Pete Brennan.
“Yes, well…” He slots the plate between the prongs on the lower rack. “My daughter was born for the finer things in life. Finer things than we could give her, to be frank.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, yes. Always had stars in her eyes, that girl. Wanted the latest fashions, the most expensive shoes. When Pete came along… well, he was able to provide something we couldn’t. She went headfirst into that life and never really looked back.”
“You two close at all?” I ask, remembering Caroline saying things are often strained between her and her mother. But there seems to be a kernel of love between them despite it all; Valerie had been shocked and upset—and rightly fucking so—when she found out about the fire on Halloween.
“Wish I could say we were,” George says.
“But I’m glad she’s found something that makes her happy.
At least, I hope she’s happy. I’m not sure sometimes, to be frank.
” His expression is a bit sad. “But I’ll give credit where credit’s due: she looks after me.
She’s a good daughter, even if we don’t relate much, you know? ”
“Of course.”
“And she gave me one very special treasure,” he adds, leaning in slightly. “I know I’m not supposed to have a favorite grandchild, but,”—he pats a weathered hand on my arm—“between you and me, Caroline’s had that title since she was knee-high to a grasshopper.”
I grin, dropping my gaze to the dish I’m holding before passing it to George.
“She’s always been easy to love,” he adds—like it’s an afterthought.
My amusement falters.
Shit, a little warning before you drop that mic next time, George.
I can only nod as I shut off the faucet. Wiping my hands on a tea towel, I try to figure out how to respond.
“What are you two talking about?” Caroline’s voice rescues me from over my shoulder and we both turn.
Between that flowy navy skirt, her striped T-shirt, and the little scarf thing she’s got tied around her neck, she reminds me of a flight attendant—in all the right ways. She’s perfect.
“And Grandpa,” she adds, “you don’t need to help clean up. Miles and I can—”
“Bah,” he says, waving her off. “It’s good for me to get off my duff. Plus, now it’s all done and you two can go enjoy the rest of your night. I’ll get out of your hair.”
She flicks a glance my way before returning her attention to George. “You gonna go read?”
“You bet.” He turns to me. “Thanks very much for dinner, Miles.” As he shuffles past Caroline to grab his walker, he nudges her arm. “This one’s a keeper.”
I drop my gaze to my feet and let my hips fall back against the edge of the counter.
If only I was.
My shame-filled confession on Halloween sharpens into focus, knotting my throat.
In my peripheral vision, Caroline moves away, clearly no more eager than I am to address the topic of whether we get to keep each other. Because we don’t.
When I look up, she’s wiping down the counter with a far-off expression on her face.
Gus warned me earlier to keep my priorities in check.
Sobriety first.
I know he’s right. And maybe I’m replacing one addiction with another, like Tiffany had said at the AA meeting. Still, something in my chest reaches for her—something that runs deeper than any craving.
I come up behind her slowly, closing my eyes as I graze my nose over her temple. “Leave it for tomorrow,” I whisper.
“It’ll only take a minute,” she replies, her voice slightly breathy. “I shouldn’t”—she inhales as I gather her hair in my hands, lifting it from her neck—“shouldn’t procrastinate.”
“Oh,” I rasp against her neck. “Don’t be so sure.”
She laughs and drapes the cloth over the faucet, then turns to face me.
I let go of her hair, brushing it back from her cheeks.
“Is that right?” she asks, arching a brow.
I cradle her face in my palms. “Trust me, I’m an expert procrastinator.”
“That another one of your ADHD things?”
“Yup. And I know we can find something better to do than fucking cleaning.”
“Well, then,” she starts, playing with the small buttons on my Henley, “you’ll have to tempt me away with something better than a clean kitchen.”
“Pffft,” I huff immediately, sweeping my thumb over her cheek. “Easy.”
But my teasing tone is a bluff, because what I truly want to offer her is anything but easy.
The easy version of me isn’t the one standing in front of her.
Not yet. Instead, I focus on what I can give her.
Leaning in close, I slip my fingers into the hair at her nape and grip tight, a slow smile spreading over my face when she gasps.
“How ’bout I make you come so hard you can’t remember the kitchen.” I let go and back away, sliding my hands down her arms until I finally let go of her fingers, one cocky eyebrow raised.
Yeah. Proud of that one.
Borderline cheesy but still pretty hot—and the look on her face is priceless.
I hold her gaze as I continue to walk backward, motioning for her to follow me. But the universe humbles me almost immediately, because I clip the sharp corner of the countertop. “Ah!” I buckle slightly and grab my hip as the impact zings up to my brain.
That’s gonna leave a mark.
“Shoot. You okay?”
Rubbing my hip to dissipate the pain, I play it off like the Black Knight in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. “It’s just a flesh wound.”
“Alright, smooth operator,” she deadpans, walking toward me with her lips twisting in obvious amusement.
I throw her a flirty smirk, still not turning around as I continue to back up because I never fucking learn. “Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t watching where I was going because I was so”—I whip out the finger guns—“distracted by your beauty?”
“Riiiiight.” She lifts her chin, clearly not convinced, and guides me to turn around and walk forward to her room. “It’s too bad I wasn’t filming that, actually, or your little yelp could’ve been the next viral mashup.”
“Little yelp?” I pull an over-the-top, incredulous face as we push through her bedroom door.
“What am I, a chihuahua?” I drop my voice deep.
“You mean great big manly guffaw!” With a growl, I spin to pick her up, booming cartoonish and increasingly ridiculous sounds of surprise between the kisses I pepper over her face and neck.
“Miles!” she pants between peals of laughter, wriggling in my arms and slapping at my shoulders. “Put me down!”
I toss her onto the bed and crawl over her.
Her eyes catch on the inside of my left arm, and she does a double take. “Wait, wait—”
“What?”
“Your tattoo…” She scrambles to sit up, pushing me back so she can grab my arm and shove my T-shirt sleeve out of the way to get a better look. “Is this a ham? How have I not noticed it before?”
“Uh, I dunno.” It’s small and blends in pretty well with the rest of the ink covering my shoulder and upper arm; I’m not surprised she missed it. I raise a brow. “Maybe, when I’ve had my clothes off, you’ve been a little distracted?”
“Yeah, but- but—” she sputters, searching my face. “You have a ham tattoo.”
“I do.” I grin at the wonder in her eyes. “For my Grandpa. Remember? He used to call me a—”
“Oh my God!” she laugh-groans, pulling me by the neck until we both topple back down to the bed. “You’re killing me here.”
“What?” I ask through a chuckle, though it’s muffled by the way she’s smushing my cheeks together.
“You have no business being this adorkable and sexy at the same time.”
I laugh again. “You’re one to talk, with all your oh dangs and, y’know, getting me hard just by existing and shit.”
Biting her lip, she runs her fingers through my hair, and I drop my forehead to her sternum, kissing her between her breasts through her T-shirt. She rests her arms lazily over my shoulders, and I lift my head.
As I smile up at her, two truths hit me at the same time: I’m deeply, painfully, irreparably in love with this woman… and losing her is gonna hurt like hell.