“Coffee is always a yes.”
Instead of sitting down, I move to the coffee pot and open the upper cabinets in search of a mug. I score on the second try and pull down a blue mug with a Music City Troubadours logo on it before pouring the coffee and going in search of creamer.The refrigerator is surprisingly well-stocked and I wonder if it’s only because I’m moving in or if he always cooks at home.
“Would you mind getting the butter and eggs out while you’re in there?” Grant asks, plating the last of the pancakes.
I set them down beside the stove and finish making my coffee, then take a deep sip, closing my eyes and moaning at the heavenly creation. When I open my eyes again, Grant’s heated stare is the first thing I see.
He clears his throat and starts cracking the eggs into a mixing bowl. As he finishes cooking, I make myself at home, pulling out plates and silverware and setting the table for our feast, and when he joins me at the table, it feels like I’m right where I was always meant to be.
It’s only been one night, and I already don’t know how I’m going to last living in the same penthouse as Grant before I snap. After breakfast, we cleaned up together and every brush of his hand against mine as I passed him a dish to put in the dishwasher had me on edge. Then he gave me the full tour of his place, letting me pick my room on the opposite side of the penthouse from his room.
“Don’t you just love a man in baseball pants?” I ask Ivory and Gabby as we watch the visiting team take the field for the Sunday matinee game from our usual seats behind home plate and I’m doing everything I can to not think about Grant and the vision of him in the king-sized bed in his master suite that he conveniently included in the house tour despite the fact that I willnotbe going in there.
“I sure do love my man in baseball pants.” Ivory gives a finger wave to Preston in the batter’s circle. He’s looking at her like he always does before an at-bat.
“How are things in the office now that Dickardo and Douche are gone?” I ask, once Preston steps up to bat.
“HA,” Ivory cackles. “Those are the best names ever. Good riddance if you ask me.” She raises her beer in a salute and we drink together.
“Hard to tell honestly,” Gabby says. “I’m still trying to dig myself out of the mess he left, plus deal with the disciplinary board for Chase and the weekly status meetings with the District Attorney.”
I feel bad for not checking in with her more. With the way she and Chase are sneaking looks at each other, there’s obviously been a development in their relationship since I told her to show up at his condo in a trench coat after the meet and greet earlier this week.
“His charity idea is great,” I say, attempting to get her to open up about what’s happening between them.
“Preston is excited about it too. You know he loves an excuse to volunteer.” Ivory claps and yells when Preston gets a hit in the gap between third and short.
“It’s nice of them to adopt Chase into the fold.” Gabby says.
“Are you kidding? They love him. It’s only a matter of time before they invite him to the house for one of our cookouts.” Ivory smiles wide at the idea of hosting. “I’m honestly surprised it hasn’t happened yet. I should plan something the next time they’re home.”
“They’re off on the twenty-fourth. We should do lunch,” I offer absentmindedly, not taking my eyes off the field.
“You would think you live here at the rate you’re in town,” Gabby says, giving me a side eye. Fuck, this backfired. I hesitate, but she continues before I can answer anyway. “And where are you even staying? Because it’s not my guest room.”
“It’s not?” Ivory asks, looking between us. “It’s not mine either. Where are you staying?”
Think fast, Taylor. How are you going to explain that you haven’t been staying with them because you don’t want to feel like an inconvenience and oh yeah, because you’re nowliving with your husband.
"Grant had the team put me up in a corporate apartment since I’ll be planning Bark in the Park.”
“He did, did he?” Gabby looks unconvinced. When Ivory looks back at the field where Miller is stepping into the batter’s box, I make a slashing motion across my throat.
Gabby winces and I know my time is running out to tell them the truth.
But how do you break it to your friends of almost fifteen years that you’ve been married to a man they never met until recently?
“Honey, I’m home,” I call out as I drop my keys in the bowl by the door. Since Taylor moved in last weekend, we’ve settled into a routine. Each morning we have coffee together before work. Sometimes we leave at the same time for the office, other times separately—never driving together because Taylor is adamant that no one sees us coming and going together.
When she’s not working with Mary in the communications office on the first floor, she’s working at the conference table in my office or in my home office. She stayed home today to get some work done for her other clients, and I’ve been ready to come home since I left this morning to simply be with her.
“What smells so good?” I ask, walking into the kitchen and opening the oven to peer inside. The aroma of tomato sauce and garlic waft out, making my mouth water. “Lasagna?”
“I wanted some comfort food tonight,” Taylor speaks from the corner of the couch where she’s huddled up with a book. She looks a little pale and it’s not like her to be so quiet at the end of the day.
“You okay?” I step closer and press a hand to her forehead, noting she feels a bit warm.
“It’s almost time for my period and I’m not feeling well. I’ll be okay though. Dinner should be ready in about thirty minutes.”
