I shrugged. “It’s your wine.”
He poured himself a generous measure, then topped up mine without asking. Bold move, but I wasn’t about to complain. The wine caught the dim light, a deep, velvety red. Expensive, no doubt. The kind of bottle you saved for important moments. I was using it to recover from assembling baby furniture and managing a driver’s fragile masculinity.
Griffin leaned against the counter opposite me, a safe distance away. “Quite a day,” he muttered, swirling his glass.
“Yup.” I took a sip.
The wine was excellent. Velvety and complex, with notes of cherry and darker undertones I couldn’t place. Far better than the cheap bottles I usually shared with Cleo and Imani during our Friday night catch-ups.
Griffin studied the glass like it might contain answers to questions he hadn’t yet asked.
“So,” he said eventually, “I realized something today.”
I raised an eyebrow, waiting.
“We’re living together, and I know almost nothing about you.” He took a sip, studying me over the rim of his glass. “Beyond the obvious.”
“Which is?”
“Julian Carter’s daughter. Baby whisperer.”
I snorted. “Baby whisperer?”
“You knew exactly what to do with Hazel.” He gestured vaguely with his free hand. “Like you memorized an instruction manual.”
“Hardly.” I traced the rim of my glass with one finger. “Just experience. And a degree.”
“You have a degree in childcare?” He looked shocked.
“Psychology. My master’s was in early child development.” I shrugged, downplaying it. “I spent the last few months working at a children’s center in Tanzania.”
His brows lifted. “As in Africa?”
“That’s generally where it’s located, yes.” I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips. “I got back three weeks ago.”
“And here I thought you were just Julian’s go-fer.”
I stiffened. “I’m nobody’s errand girl.”
“Clearly.” He raised his glass in acknowledgment. “So, Tanzania. What was that like?”
The question caught me off guard. Most people barely asked, and when they did, they didn’t really listen to the answer. My father certainly never had.
“It was... intense.” I searched for words that wouldn’t sound trite. “Beautiful, heartbreaking, and exhausting. The children there have so little, but they’re incredibly resilient.”
Griffin’s expression softened, something genuine replacing his usual guarded look. “That sounds amazing.”
I nodded and took another sip of wine, surprised by the lump forming in my throat. “I miss it, actually. The simplicity of it. The purpose.”
Why was I telling him this? Griffin Michaels didn’t need to know what I missed or why I’d come back.
“And now you’re stuck here with us instead.” His tone was light, but guilt flashed in his eyes.
“It’s different,” I said carefully. “But Hazel needs help, too.”
Griffin nodded, his gaze dropping to his glass. “She deserves better than I can give her right now.”
The raw honesty in his voice surprised me. This wasn’t the cocky driver who dominated headlines with his exploits both on and off the track.
