Oh, right.
They’re on the road for the next game, and Grant will be gone for a few days. I’m sure there’s a rhyme and reason to his game schedule, but I haven’t figured it out yet.
As I turn on the lights and walk across the kitchen to the coffee machine, something on the table catches my eye.
Car keys.
My car keys.
Abandoning the coffee for now, I walk over and scoop up the keys, holding them up and squinting against the bright kitchen lights so I can verify that yes, they really are the keys to my car.
And there’s a note beneath them in what I can only guess is Grant’s handwriting. Unsurprisingly, his penmanship is nearly perfect, with precise letters and straight lines that put my own writing to shame.
Heather—
I was up early to pack for the road, but had a little extra time to pick up your car from the shop this morning. They put in a new radiator hose and gave the whole vehicle a full inspection. The keys are here on the table and the car is in the driveway.
The invoice is paid and you don’t owe me anything.
I hope you and April have a great day.
Grant
I have to read the note twice for everything to fully sink in. After coming home late from a game, he woke up early—probably before dawn—and drove to the auto shop, pulled who-knows-what kind of strings with the mechanic to have my car delivered back here, then paid for the whole thing himself.
All while I was still sleeping like a rock upstairs, completely oblivious to anything else that was going on in the house.
I sink down onto one of the kitchen chairs, still holding my keys and the note. I can’t remember the last time someone took care of me like this. The last time someone anticipated my needs and just handled everything.
Probably because that’s never happened before. Not since I became an adult, anyway.
I need to thank him. Right now, before I get busy with breakfast and April and the rest of my morning.
ME: I can’t believe you picked up my car. And paid for it. I don’t even know what to say except thank you, but that feels completely inadequate. Also, congratulations on the win last night. Sixteen saves! Not that I was counting or anything.
I hit send before I can overthink it, then get up to finally pour my first cup of coffee. My phone has already buzzed with his reply by the time I sit back down at the table.
GRANT: You were counting my saves?
ME: Maybe. I wanted to make sure you made it through the game without any injuries, since our crazy day cut into your practice and warm-up time.
GRANT: No injuries. And you’re welcome for the car. It wasn’t a big deal.
ME: It was a big deal to me.
GRANT: Good. That’s what matters.
The rest of the morning flies by in a whirlwind of getting April ready for school, making sure she has everything she needs for the day, and listening to her excited chatter about possibly joining the reading club.
But through it all, my phone keeps buzzing with messages from Grant. They’re mostly just little check-ins and random observations, but it’s more than we’ve ever texted before, and it only takes a few back-and-forth messages before I’m looking forward to each new one in a way that surprises me a little.
By the time I get to work, we’ve exchanged more texts in one morning than we usually do in a week.
GRANT: How’s your day going?
ME: Busy. I have this event I’m organizing for work. It’s our annual fundraising dinner. This is the first time I’ve been in charge of something this big.
GRANT: Are you nervous?
