During his all-nighter, he dug up some new information.
Like that Grey’s divorced, and it was ugly.
Accusations of cheating on both sides. Arguments over who broke which part of the prenup. A whole series of videos his ex-wife posted on social media about how to love a man who ignores you regularly. Grey’s sister going public, taking her sister-in-law’s side and calling him cold and uncaring.
Grey’s public defense going radio silent after that.
Cold and uncaringsticks with me.
That doesn’t jive with the man I met in Hawaii.
The man I met in Hawaii was funny and kind and all-in with doing good deeds with me.
And then there was an utterly killer text in the string of texts from Decker.Look at this dog. He had a dog. It’s fucking adorable. And his ex got it in the divorce. I’d be a cranky-ass bastard too if someone took this dog from me.
I clicked the last link to Instagram and instantly wished I hadn’t.
It’s a picture of Grey in sweatpants, jogging on a path with the most adorable chocolate lab, his tongue hanging out crooked, his legs all akimbo while he ran too, looking like a total goofball who would be so easy to love.
The dog, I mean.
Grey just lookshot.
The fuckingnerve. I prefer men that I’ve slept with who are now unexpectedly my boss—which hasneverhappened and I hope will never happen again—aren’t hot when I’m remembering that they were kind and funny and generous while I’m simultaneously being told there is astorybehind his divorce.
But the biggest kicker?
The dog’s name.
Duke.
He told me his name was his dog’s name.
And now my heart is melting a little more.
My phone lights up with a text as I’m staring at the picture.
Final thing, Decker says.Turns out Grandpa was at Carnegie Mellon the same time as both of GC’s grandparents. Guess Chandler and GC were both legacy admissions. Wonder if they knew that? And now I’m off to boycott all cereal and crackers that use the magic self-sealing bags. And to nap so I can write some words later.
I wish him luck and thank him for the info, then check the messages from Lucky.
Didn’t expect much, and that’s what I get. It’s just three GIFs of people falling asleep along with a message that he’d ask around his friend circle to see if anyone’s up on the gossip once he’s had enough rest to fully process the information he’s getting, and also that he’s pissed we went to Silver Horn without him.
And now I’m done with my text messages, and I have exactly one minute and thirty seconds to walk through the back door.
Time to get to it.
“C’mon, Jitter,” I say. “Let’s go shake it out and get inside.”
Yes, he should go to doggy daycare.
Yes, I’m shamelessly using him to continue winning over Zen and Grey.
No, I won’t apologize for it. Not when my family’s café is on the line.
My pup whines with excitement while we get out of the car, shakes himself off, does his business, and gets it all done in time for me to get to work right on time, down to the second.
I’m bracing myself as I go in through the back entrance, prepared for whatever today might throw at me, when I spot Zen where I’m half expecting their uncle to be standing.
