Grant stared at the floor. “My father passed a few years ago.” His jaw clenched. “I wish I didn’t remember him.” Whatever his relationship with his dad, I was definitely not getting happy-go-lucky vibes.
I tipped my head and watched him as tense air seemed to be pressing down on him. I raised my hand for a high-five. “No-dad club?”
It was crass, but it worked. He rolled his eyes and gave me a soft high-five.
“You don’t have to sit with me. I won’t bother anyone.” I crossed my heart. “I’m sure you are busy.”
“I’m pretty sure my staying with you is in everyone’s best interest.” He shook his head. “You terrified Mr. Hanen last time.” Heflashed me his dimple with his carefree smile. The man needed a permit to be flashing it about, it was so disarming.
I looked up to the ceiling trying to remember Mr. Hanen and stop gawking at Grant. “Was he the one who asked to see my feet?”
Grant’s eyes pulled wide. “Someone asked to see your feet?”
I tried to stop the giggle. “Yep. Like my bare feet.” I mimicked vomiting.
“Huh.” He shook his head. One corner of his lips pulled up in a mischievous grin. “So, did you show him your feet?”
“Gross! No!” I swatted him on the shoulder.
“Just checking.” He laughed.
“Okay, it’s your turn.” I tucked my hair behind an ear and crossed my ankles.
“My turn to what?”
“Tell me about you.” I gestured for him to talk.
Grant leaned back and rubbed his hand through his trimmed beard. “Hmm, okay. Let me think.” He tipped his head back. “I have spent far too much time and energy trying to get this business off the ground. I like hard eighties rock like Metallica and AC/DC, salt over sugar,” he paused, “and I have never been called a gold digger.” His lips split into a wide grin, pleased at his joke.
I rolled my eyes.
Wait…
“You like salt over sugar?!” I shook my head in mock sadness. “What kind of monster are you? We can never be friends now.” I held my hand to my heart.
“I think it could work.” Grant shrugged. “I get to eat all the salty and you all the sweet. Seems better that way, then we don’t have to share.” He smiled.
My mouth dropped open. “Huh?” My mind blanked. “I never thought of it that way.”
Grant raised his eyebrows. “See, maybe we could be friends after all.” He winked and folded his hands behind his head and leaned back, closing his eyes. Effectively straining thesleeves of his button-up shirt against his biceps. He obviously left out the part about the gym, I enjoyed the view of his arms as he relaxed.
“Mr. Kelly?”
I startled at an angry voice behind me. I turned and saw Darian Cole, mouth clenched tight and anger radiating off him in waves.
“Mr. Cole,” Grant stood. His back was ramrod straight as he stepped toward him, holding out his hand for a firm handshake. “Good to see you this evening.” All the calm that possessed Grant leaked out of him and he was replaced by something colder and less personable.
The older man returned the handshake, and unless I was mistaken, Cole seemed to tighten his grip as hard as possible.
Grant didn’t flinch.
“I thought we had an understanding?” Mr. Cole gestured in my direction.
I blushed and looked away.
Grant nodded. “Mr. Cole, this is Emma Woods; she is waiting to give her mother a ride home.” Grant gestured to me. “Emma, this is Mr. Darian Cole. He is the man who owns Kismet Silvers.” Grant’s voice was icy.
I wasn’t sure what had shifted in him, but I didn’t like it.
