Grant: But I’ll also go along with pretty much eighty percent of the names you want.
Grant:Not Phyllisby the way.
Layla:Good. This was a test and you failed miserably. You almost agreed to call our maybe-daughter after an STI.
Grant: Won’t happen again.
Layla: What about Chad?
Grant: No.
Layla: Chandler?
Grant: Go to sleep.
Layla:Make me.
I stared at the screen, grinning. A second later, it lit up and Grant’s name flashed across it. I swiped to answer. “Yes?”
“Are you in bed?”
“Yes.” It was after nine thirty on a weekday. Where else would I be?
“Good. Get comfortable, because I’m going to read youMoby-Dick.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s very sleep inducing, trust me. One of my favorite books, but boy, some parts test your ADHD threshold.”
I laughed. “Don’t you have better things to do with your time?”
“No, not that I can think of.” I heard the smile in his voice. “Why, do you have better things to do with your time?”
“I mean, I was planning on scrolling through Instagram and see where the wind takes me ... girl dinner tutorials or heart-wrenching videos of a woman saving a wingless bee and building him a bee mansion? Who knows where I’ll end up?”
“I’ll take that as a no.”
“You will be correct.”
“Okay, all tucked in?”
“All tucked in,” I confirmed.
He read fifteen pages to me before I fell asleep. I woke up the next day, drooling all over my phone screen.
Chapter Twelve
Layla
Grant: I left you groceries at the door. They didn’t have the coconut boba you wanted, so that’ll arrive via Prime tomorrow morning.
Grant: And took the full trash bag out.
Grant: Also signed us up for a birth course.
Layla: Thank you, thank you, and I mastered the art of breathing, which is all they do there. I don’t think I need any pointers.
Grant: You sure? You might feel differently when a watermelon-sized human plows its way out of a place in your body usually too narrow to host my dick.
