My eyes roam his face. The walls I put up ten years ago with Danny are still there, guarding my most vulnerable feelings. I wonder what would happen if I let just one wall down.
“Do you want to spend the night with me here?”
Nodding, Danny’s throat bobs. “But I can sleep on the couch.”
“If that makes you more comfortable, you’re, um, welcome to do that; although, it’s small. My bed isn’t a California King, but it’s more comfortable than the couch.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod slowly. “Platonically, of course.”
He clears his throat, before squeezing my hand. “Anything you want, Gracie girl.”
“Good. I think I have an extra toothbrush.”
“That reminds me. My bags are still in your car.” He stands up.
I really don’t want him to go anywhere. Now that he’s finally here, the idea of him leaving slightly unsettles me. My face heats, thinking about what I could offer him, not knowing whether or not I’m brave enough to mention it.
“You don’t need to leave, I have something you can?—”
“Grace, I’m sorry if this sounds like toxic masculinity, but I amnotwearing another man’s clothes.” His lips press into a thin line.
“No, it’s not that. I, um, actually have something of yours. One of your football T-shirts, from high school. I can grab it. I usually wear it to sleep, it’s just so comfortable…”
“You wear my old shirt to sleep?” His eyes darken with heat as he steps toward me.
“It’s not a big deal. Like I said, it’s very comfortable, and?—”
Looking smug, he throws me a toothy smile. “Great. I’ll take it.”
The pure joy on his face is contagious. My eyes crinkle at the corners as I walk to my room and pull his shirt out of my top dresser drawer. I peek out of the doorway and throw it to him, trying to catch him off guard, but—of course—he catches it, no problem.
Rolling my eyes and grinning, I head to the bathroom. “I’m going to wash up, okay?”
When I come back from the bathroom, Danny is sitting on the bed, wearing his Winfield High Football shirt and boxers. In his hand is my old walkie-talkie I keep in the nightstand. A ghost of a smile graces his lips as he brushes his thumb over the well-used buttons.
“I snooped.”
He stands up, still grasping the walkie-talkie, and comes around to meet me by my bedroom door. His arms envelop myshoulders, pressing my body to his. This hug isn’t romantic. It’s a hug best friends give, one that I have years of experience with but haven’t felt in awhile. My face is scrunched up against his chest as he murmurs into my hair, “I don’t think this will reach Brooklyn.”
My cheeks lift and my eyes well with happy tears, though none fall.
After a few moments, we climb into my bed, which barely fits both of us. His breath warms my face when we turn to face each other. He scoots down so his forehead is level with my collarbone. When he turns his head to the side, his ear is gently pressed to my chest, right over my heart. Wrapping his arms around my waist and curling his legs up, he listens to the beat of me. I run my fingers through his thick, wavy hair and dip my chin to rest it on his head.
Without moving his head, he releases one arm around my waist and reaches for one of my hands in his hair. He brings it down with his, laces his fingers through mine, and for the first time in a long time, we fall asleep as otters do.
Chapter 40
Grace
May
“Thank you so much! I love it, Morgan,” I shout compliment after compliment as the makeup artist waves goodbye. “I feel so fancy. You’re very skilled at your job! You should win a major award for this!”
“You are too sweet, Grace!” She giggles as she walks out the front door of Danny’s Brooklyn home.
I catch my reflection in the hallway mirror. My eyes look bigger than normal, framed with brown mascara and a softened wing of smudged, dark brown eyeliner. Morgan put a shimmery opal gel shadow on my lids, and I have a slight glow from a pearlescent highlighter on my cheekbones. My curls, swept up in a half ponytail, look shinier with some hair spray to tame the frizz. As I apply a coat of clear lip gloss, I feel absolutely perfect.
