I walked home feeling not just grateful but blessed to know them—honored to be loved by Grant and his daughters. I stood outside and inhaled the cool spring air and gazed up at the stars I could never see back in LA, absolutely joy-filled at the hope and anticipation of not only what might be ahead, but the very day I’d just lived.
Mr. Bingley’s demanding yowl interrupts my moment, and I grin just thinking about his body no doubt shoved up against the sliver of open window in the living room. He sounds like he’s got a bullhorn to his grinning little mouth, which must mean it’s time for his dinner.
These small mundanities feel good, too. It all fits, this new life, and I’m borderline choked up over it.
So this morning, work feels joyful, too. I genuinely like working at the diner, exhausting though it usually is. I love seeing returning customers and lately, now that the mountains are thawing out and people are beginning to visit for spring hiking, occasionally a tourist excited to be here for the first time.
I have homework in my new class—quite a bit of reading,and I’ll have a test in a week or two, so I’d like to get a jump on that. Grant and the girls are busy, so I promised myself I’d buckle down and make a dent in my schoolwork so I’m free to join them whenever they’re ready for me.
The midday sky has darkened now that my shift has ended, so when I emerge from the diner, hair smelling like fried food and lower back and feet aching, it’s nothing like the cheery spring sun I expected. That said, it feels like it might rain. I’ve experienced a few rain showers here, and even snow flurries the first month or so, but when a bolt of lightning shoots across the sky, I pick up my pace toward Corner Coffee.
The other promise I made this morning was that I would treat myself to one of May’s specials before I head home so I’m not tempted to take a nap instead of conquering the assigned reading.
I feel a raindrop or two and shuffle inside, hoping it won’t be a deluge by the time I get my coffee and make it to my car. Even then, I don’t mind. It already smells glorious and fresh out there, and it gives me the perfect excuse to pull on sweatpants and snuggle into my couch for the rest of the day—after I shower off the diner, of course.
“There’s my girl! What are we having? What’s happening? When will you be my sister-in-law?” May swirls around, steaming milk and watching me when I stumble as I absorb her words. “Oh, is it too soon to be that honest? Fine, uh… Hey Sam, cool to see you, what is up and happening with you?”
She plunks an elbow onto the counter, bending unnaturally and blinking those bright blue eyes up at me.
A laugh tumbles out of me. “Why does this version of you sound like a short-circuiting robot?”
She scowls and whips the rag sitting next to her at me. It’s such a sisterly gesture, my insides squeeze.
“All I’m saying is, I’m happy you’re dating my big, responsible with a capitalR, brother. I think you’re great and great together, and I hope it works out, and you have babies and many happy years together.”
By the end of her speech, my eyes are wide.
It’s not that I’m not absolutely interested in a future with Grant. It just feels too bold to proclaim it like this, flinging out the words like they aren’t huge, life-altering wishes.
May’s cheeks pinken a touch and her wild, excited energy softens. “I mean it. I’m happy for you.”
“Thank you. I’m happy for me, too.” My smile, as usual when I think of Grant, is a little too big for my face.
“And just for that, it’s on the house.” She slides a large, lidded coffee over to me. “Honeycomb latte with two percent.”
“You’re an angel. Thank you. Though I’m happy to pay you—I feel like I rarely actually buy coffee here.” I inhale the delicious, sweet scent as she beams.
“Family discount.” She wiggles her brows.
My face burns with an instant blush. “Okay, I’m leaving, and I’m taking my free coffee.”
She winks. “Yeah, you are!”
I chuckle under my breath, speedwalking to my car and sliding into the driver’s seat right as the rain begins in earnest. Maybe it’s because I’ve spent all my life in drought-riddled California only to move to another drought-plagued state that I find the rain thrilling and a touch daunting. It’s coming down hard enough, I don’t sip my latte or take my eyes from the road for a second. I drive slower than normal,eyes wide, praying my three old tires hold out as well as my new one does.
Fifteen minutes after leaving, I arrive home.Home.I love my little apartment, and I love being so close to Grant and the girls. I even love that we’re a five-minute drive or a fifteen-minute walk to the Ryan farmhouse.
I hustle to the building entrance, jog up the stairs keeping my precious drink outstretched to save it from turbulence, and push open my front door.
It’s only after I close it behind me I realize neither door was locked.
“Hey there, beautiful.”
My stomach drops to my toes, and so does the latte. A man saunters toward me from his place on my couch—mycouch—and it’s no man I want to see.
I step back, hand searching the door for the handle, ready to run, and say the name I am so deeply tired of dealing with.
“Andrew.”
