I’m wearing black cigarette pants and a soft gray sweater, my hair down in loose waves. Put-together but not trying too hard.
Grant appears beside me, his hand finding the small of my back. "Hey. You made it."
"Barely. The subway decided to stall between stations for ten minutes."
He frowns. "You should have let me send the car."
"Grant—"
"I know, I know. You're perfectly capable of taking the subway." His thumb traces a circle on my back through my sweater as he gives me a kiss. I take a deep whiff of his cologne and feel myself relax.
Inside, the restaurant is bright and airy, all natural light and greenery.
We sit down and the server appears, asking about drinks. Grant orders sparkling water and starts to ask about the lunch specials when a woman interrupts.
“Dad…? What are you doing here?”
I look up to find Samantha Cross standing next to our table. I glance at Grant and the look of shock on his face is almost comical.
He stands up quickly. “Samantha… baby… how are you? Why aren’t you in school?”
She rolls her eyes at him. “I finish early on Wednesdays. I already told you about it. It’s a new thing they’re doing.”
He nods. “Right, right, I remember now.”
Samantha glances down at me and Grant bites on his lip for a moment. “You remember Emma, right? It’s been a while since the two of you have seen each other.”
Samantha Cross is beautiful. She has Grant's coloring but with delicate features that come from Victoria—high cheekbones, full lips, dark eyes framed by thick lashes. Her hair is styled in effortless waves, and she's wearing designer jeans and a cashmere sweater.
She glances at me now and narrows her eyes. “Yes, I remember Emma. Why are the two of you here together?”
Grant hesitates a moment. “That’s a great question. Have a seat for a minute and I’ll explain.”
Oh my god, he’s going to do this. Right now.
Samantha sits down. "You're sleeping together. That’s pretty obvious. Is that what you wanted to tell me?"
I feel my face heat. Grant's jaw tightens.
"Yes," he says carefully. "Emma and I are in a relationship."
"A relationship." Her eyes move between Grant and me. "How long has this been going on?"
"For about six or seven weeks now. We ran into each other in Florence and got to talking. And, well, here we are…” He looks at me and I can see the panic in his eyes.
"Florence. Right." Something flashes in her eyes. "How old are you, Emma?"
My mouth goes dry. "Twenty-four."
"Twenty-four." She repeats it slowly, like she's tasting the words. "And you're what, Dad? Forty-two?"
"Samantha—"
"So she's closer to my age than yours." Her smile is sharp, cutting. "That's not weird at all."
Grant's hand finds mine under the table, squeezing gently. "Samantha, I understand this is a lot to process. But I'd appreciate it if you'd be civil."
"Civil." She laughs. "I'm being perfectly civil, Dad. I'm just trying to understand the situation. You're dating someone who's barely older than me. The daughter of your best friend. Forgive me for having questions."
