“Where are you staying?” I asked.
Kellianne smiled bitterly. “A hostel on Times Square. I literally have Birkins in my suitcase, and I have to use communal bathrooms.” She barked out a laugh. “But it’s all good. I’m flying back to Texas to stay with my parents tomorrow. My mom already made my bed and the string bean casserole I’m obsessed with. I just really had to see you before I left.”
“You did?” I closed my empty lunch container and tucked it back into my bag.
She nodded. “I sent you the angry email not just because my wedding was ruined and I felt sorry for myself, but also because you forced me to see my relationship for what it really was. I apologize for the way I handled this. I understand all you wanted was to protect me.”
“Apology accepted.” I reached to squeeze her hand. “I’m so happy you’re making a run for it before it’s too late. I hope he didn’t break your spirit or make you swear off men in general. There are some good ones still out there.”
“Hard to believe right now, but thank you for the encouraging words.” Kellianne smiled. “Did you find your one at the end?”
“Yeah,” I said. No hesitation. “I did, and he was worth the wait.”
Chapter Sixteen
Layla
That day, Grant stayed late at the hospital.
He’d had a last-minute surgery, plus a ton of backlogged admin stuff. He texted to let me know that he’d be late, when I should expect him back, and that he’d DoorDashed me a Cinnabon because George and I had been very good about our low sugar intake all week and deserved a treat.
I didn’t care how stupid in love I was with this man—we were not naming our kid George.
The name aside, I loved that I was with someone who was transparent, reliable, and responsible. The exact opposite of Connor.
But was I really with him? Iwantedto be his girlfriend. Once I’d skipped past my insecurities hurdle, it became pretty clear to me that I wanted more than just coparenting with him. And he was clear about wanting more too. The only problem was that we’d have to do the long-distance thing. But I was actually positive we could figure it out. With Grant, things looked conceivable and even manageable.
Because, as he said, he always focused on what waspossible.
He got home at nine thirty and found me on the couch, reading a spicy book and devouring my sweet treat. I’d lefthim a Cinnabon on the dining table, along with salmon, wild rice, and some broccoli for dinner. And a glass of wine, just because I appreciated him a little bit extra today, after hearing about Connor’s latest bullshit.
“Baby, everything looks delicious,” he praised, but his eyes were on my bare legs in my pj shorts on the sofa,noton his food. I grinned, watching as he removed his messenger bag and hung it by the door. He rushed to kiss me, a long, lingering kiss, boxing me on either side of his arms, which were prepped on the headrest. He tasted like the bite of the sharp outdoor air, mint, and coffee. I whimpered a little as I scooped his face and nuzzled my nose against his.
“Please remind me why we haven’t done exactly this every day of every month of every year we’ve known each other?” I groaned.
“Because ...” His green eyes scanned my face. “You.”
Kiss.
“Were.”
Kiss.
“Adamant.”
Kiss.
“I work for it. And I did.”
He pushed up and walked over to the kitchen sink first, to wash his hands, before sitting down to eat his meal. I joined him, marveling at how his work was such a huge part of him. He washed his handsallthe time. A force of habit. His hands were always dry and a little rough, no matter how much body lotion I applied to them. And his touch was gentle but firm. There was a lot of confidence in it. I loved being touched by someone who knew the human body inside and out.
While he was eating, I caught him up on my lunch with Kellianne. He was floored to find out she’d shown up out ofnowhere to apologize, and that the marriage had lasted less time than the milk carton in our fridge.
“This goes to show that you underestimated our milk,” I tsked. “Guys like Connor are the reason baseball bats are sold everywhere across America. And, for your information, our milk is oat based. It could probably outlast the apocalypse.”
“You’re right.” Grant pushed his empty dinner plate to the side and slid the Cinnabon box toward him, breaking the pastry in uneven halves before handing me the bigger one with a smile. “You’re always right. And beautiful.”
Exasperated, I tossed my head back and groaned. “Jesus Christ, Grant, you’ll get me pregnant all over again before I even have George if you continue this way.”
