Chapter 8 - Emma
Chapter eight
Emma
I miss you, Grandpa.
~ Three Weeks Later / Mid-December ~
“Come on, Little Tulip. Time for bed. Daddy’s going to be up in a minute to say goodnight.” I carry Gracie from her private bathroom into her room after a fun bath of blowing bubbles at each other.
I put a new diaper on her bum and zip her into a cute beige pajama onesie with mini giraffes all over. Then I sit in the rocking chair by the window and lay her in my arm with her last bottle for the night.
It makes four nights in a row that she hasn’t woken up at an ungodly hour for a feed.
Greyson and I both woke up out of habit at 3:00a.m. the first night and rushed over to Gracie’s room, thinking we had somehow missed her hunger cries.
When we found her sound asleep, we were both shocked and had no idea what to do.
Greyson ended up calling Silas in the middle of the night to know if it was okay to let her sleep or if he should wake her to drink.
Silas reassured him that it was perfectly normal and that it was a good thing if she was starting to sleep through the night.
I had told him the same, but he didn’t seem to trust my judgment. I get it, it’s his baby girl.
I pick up a storybook from the shelf beside me and begin to read a story about a princess finding her prince to my Little Tulip.
Greyson shows up by the door ten minutes later, arms crossed at the chest, leaning against the frame as he observes us. Gracie is already sound asleep as I place the book down. He walks over and takes her from my arms, kissing the top of her head and setting her down in her crib.
We stand by the entrance of her room, watching her sleep from a distance, each on either side of the open door.
“You’re really good with her. How?” he asks.
I smile at his question. “I used to babysit my neighbor’s kids when I was still living at home.
She had a set of five-year-old twins and a newborn.
It wasn’t always easy with the older ones full of energy and a baby who needed constant attention.
But I finally got the hang of it after a few days.
Let’s just say my craziness came in handy with those two rascals. ”
He snorts and shakes his head. “I’m sure it did.”
We gaze at each other for a moment. His light amber eyes roam over every inch of my face before they dip lower to my neck, shoulder, and finally my exposed arms. He reaches forward and delicately traces his thumb over my biceps where my bruises used to be, my skin breaking out in goosebumps with the simple touch.
“They’re all gone now, Grey. No need to keep worrying.” It took them a little over two weeks to fully heal and disappear completely, but still, I find Greyson always looking at my arms like he’s expecting them to show up again.
“Just making sure.” His hand drops as he pushes off the wall. “You want to grab a drink before we head to bed? I haven’t cleaned up down there yet,” he asks quietly.
“You don’t need to clean anything. I can do it. You should rest, you have practice in the morning and a game tomorrow night.”
“I’m not really tired yet. Come on, Bunny. I know you’re going to sneak down for a glass anyway, so why not do it together while we tidy up?” His tongue peeks out and swipes over his bottom lip as I trace the movement with my eyes.
I look away as I feel heat forming deep within me. “Sure, why not?” I play it off and turn away from the door. “And I have no idea what you’re talking about. I do not sneak down for a glass at night.”
“So, the bottle I opened last night for dinner that we didn’t finish magically emptied itself and ended up in the recycling this morning?
What about the random half-empty bottle that showed up in the morning on the counter last week?
” he asks with a hint of amusement while following me closely down the steps.
“Darn it,” I curse myself as I reach the main floor. “I knew I forgot to put that one away.”
“You can’t hide these things from me, Bunny. I keep a close watch on my wine,” he calls over his shoulder while heading to the wine cellar.
Greyson comes back a few seconds later and pours us a glass each, leaving the bottle open on the island while I tidy up the living room. I store all the toys and rearrange the throw pillows and blankets as he fills the dishwasher, then washes our special mugs by hand.
I’ve bought him a new one every week, and his cheek twitches every time. But he still hasn’t gifted me with that smile I know must be mesmerizing. He now has a growing collection of three, starting with the bunny cup.
The second is a brown poop-shaped mug that reads, ‘Coffee makes me poop’.
And the one I got him last week has a red and black flannel shirt printed on the ceramic, with a bare muscular arm sticking out as the handle.
The front of the shirt is open, showing chest hair and a message that says, ‘Channel the flannel’.
They don’t have any real meaning behind them, but I found them pretty funny while I was browsing online. Despite Greyson seeming annoyed with my antics, he uses them daily. I know he secretly likes them.
I finish folding the blanket in my hands and bend to place it in the basket beside the couch when I feel his presence behind me. The brush of his fingers against my bare skin catches me off guard, and a silent gasp slips from my lips as I stay in my position, frozen by his touch.
“What is this?” His finger delicately pushes against the fabric of my dress on the side of my rib cage, exposing more of my naked back.
Ever since Grey found me in my retro dress, he’s been encouraging me to wear more. He even goes as far as taking one out of my closet and placing it on my bed while I’m in the shower. It’s strange, but also really thoughtful of him.
I still don’t wear any in public, but around the house I let loose, feeling free in my own skin for once. I also enjoy the way Greyson’s eyes settle on me more often with that intrigued look when I wear them.
Today I put on a checkered beige and white halter-neck retro dress with three big white buttons on the front and a knee-length flaring skirt. A heart-shaped neckline sits on my chest, with two straps tied behind my neck, showing off my upper back down to below my arms.
“I didn’t know you had a tattoo.” Once he’s uncovered my hidden art, he traces the outline of the tiny sunflower that I always keep hidden.
The only people who know it exists are Cecilia and those who have seen me naked.
And when I go swimming, I make sure the back strap is wide enough to hide it.
Not even my parents know about it. I don’t even want to think of how my mother would react if she ever found out.
Having tattoos, to her, is viewed as disgraceful, whatever the hell that means.
He puts my dress back in its place once he’s done with his examination and places his hands on my waist, spinning me to him. His eyes bore into mine as he keeps me in his hold. “Why do I feel like I don’t really know you?” he whispers.
“I keep asking myself the same question,” I answer as he responds with a hum.
Time eclipses as we watch one another, as if a simple look could divulge all our secrets. We’ve been having more of these moments, moments we don’t seem to understand. Moments I find myself craving with each passing day.
But I know I shouldn’t. My breakup happened only a month ago, and as over as I am with Tommy, jumping into another relationship or whatever this is between us isn’t the answer. I need to focus on myself, that’s what I should be doing.
“How about we change that? You tell me things I don’t know about you, and I do the same,” I say on a whim. I might not be ready to explore a new connection, but I definitely won’t pass up the chance to learn more about Greyson.
He seems hesitant for a second but finally nods. His curiosity regarding me wins the battle. We make our way to the kitchen and settle down next to each other. I turn in my seat to face him as he does the same and reaches out to grab our wine glasses, passing one to me while he takes his first sip.
“So, what do you want to know? I can see your eyes sparkling with questions.” He lifts a brow and sets his drink down.
There are a lot of things I want to know about Greyson, but there’s one thing in particular I’ve been dying to know. Something he hasn’t talked about. “Tell me about Gracie’s mom.”
His gaze drops from mine as he sighs loudly. “Her name was Stephanie. She was struggling with depression and took her own life. It’s how I got Gracie. I didn’t even know she had a baby, let alone that she was pregnant. She left a note with Gracie saying I was her father.”
He looks back up at me with heartache in his eyes.
“That’s literally all I know about her. She was just some girl I picked up at the bar after being in a shitty mood.
We got a hotel room and went our separate ways the next morning.
I can’t help but feel guilty about it all.
Just knowing that one day Gracie will ask me about her mother, and I won’t even be able to tell her anything, fucking devastates me,” he admits.
I place a hand on his thigh. “I’m sure there are people out there who knew her. People who will be able to fill in all those unanswered questions.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right. The day it happened, Stephanie left Gracie with her best friend. She gave me her number just in case I ever needed it. I’m guessing that’s what she meant by that.” He shrugs and picks up his glass again.
“That was kind of her.” I smile warmly before leaning back in my barstool and removing my hand from his lap. “Okay, your turn. What do you wanna know?”
He waits a beat before shifting his head toward the drying mugs. “What’s the story behind the mug?” Shit. I should have known he’d be curious about that.