“And I eat my cereal in two separate bowls—one for the Kellogg’s and one for the milk.”
“I always wanted to be roommates with a psychopath.”
That made me laugh. He was relentless.
“Any other warnings?” he inquired.
I shook my head. “What do I need to know before living with you?”
“I wake up every morning at five twenty-five to jog. I drink way too much coffee. I snore when congested—and I’m always congested. I have dinner with my mother every third Sunday of the month. Oh, and the last Saturday of the month, I have a D&D quest thingy with my med school buddies.”
“God, you’re such a dork. It’s so hot.” I rolled my eyes.
He rubbed the back of his neck, a small smile on his face. “So? Are you in?”
“I’m in.”
“Wait right here, okay?” Grant stood up before dashing toward the foyer with childlike enthusiasm. I remained seated, feeling like a sixteen-year-old on the brink of becoming the prom king’s girlfriend. He returned from his bedroom with a small silver box. He handed it to me. “Open it.”
“It’s not a ring, right?” I tapered my eyes at him.
“No. I learned from my first spontaneous proposal. Which was still one hundred percent a joke, by the way.”
I popped the jewelry box open. There was a small piece of paper there, with the numbers 1206*. And a key.
“What’s this?”
“The code to my mechanical lock, since the apartment doesn’t have a key. But the other one is to the mailbox.”
“You prepared this beforehand?” I bit down my smile.
“Well, yeah.” He shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Since you told me you were pregnant, actually. Is that too much?”
No. It wasn’t too much. It was just perfect. And if I weren’t pregnant, and there wasn’t so much at stake, I would probably try to date Grant for real. He was so easy to love that trying not to fall in love with him felt like an uphill battle.
“Nope. Not too much at all.”
“Good. Let me know when you want to start packing, and I’ll take a day off. I’ll do the heavy lifting.”
And it was funny, because he really had done the heavy lifting without lifting a single finger.
Because in the way he treated me, he’d singlehandedly restored my faith in men and humanity.
Chapter Eleven
Layla
Grant: How do you feel about George?
Layla: Washington, Clooney, Carlin ...? Can you be more specific here?
Grant: No, George as a name. If it’s a boy.
Layla: Oh. No. Too serious. If we have a boy, it’ll probably be a Tristan or a Kaleb, you know? Something fun and attractive.
Grant: I don’t like Kaleb.
Layla: Rude. He’s not even out yet.
