“Bye, Mia!” I shout, pulling away from the curb and following the car ahead of me out of the drop-off line through the parking lot.
I check my face in the rearview mirror. Besides the extra pinkness in my cheeks, I look normal—like it’s any other morning when I’d be dropping Mia to school, running a few errands, heading home and coming back to get her in the afternoon.
Only today, instead of turning toward downtown or home, I veer toward the edge of town, driving the now-familiar road to Greyson’s.
I push the Bluetooth on my steering wheel. “Call Ace.”
Yes. I entered him in my phone as Ace. I don’t need my nosy mother or my sister reading texts or seeing my call history and figuring out that I’m constantly contacting my co-worker to tell him I’m thinking of him, or getting messages that tell me how beautiful he thinks I am and how he can’t wait to see me.
“Hello?” his deep, slightly scratchy morning voice comes through my car speaker.
“Good morning.”
“It is,” Greyson says with an uncommon smile in his voice. “Good morning to you too.”
“I’m on my way. I just wanted you to know that.”
“Is that right? You’re calling to tell me you’re on your way?”
“Why else would I be calling?”
“No reason. Except, I already know you’re on your way, so I think you’re just eager to see me.”
“What if I am?”
“Well, that will make two of us.”
“Are you on your porch?”
“I am.”
My smile breaks across my face. I love that he’s waiting for me.
“I’m bird-watching,” he says.
“Hmmm.”
“And itching to see you drive down my driveway.”
“You have no game, Greyson.”
“I never claimed to have game. Not even in Munich.”
“I don’t know,” I say, turning down the main street leading into his sprawling neighborhood, but not hanging up. “I thought you had a whole lot of game in Munich.”
“I just liked you.” He pauses. “And here you are.”
I look up through my windshield to take in the view. And by the view, I mean Greyson, leaning on his porch railing,coffee mug in hand, sweatpants and T-shirt on, casual and masculine, but that’s not what makes my heart tighten with the sweetest squeeze. It’s the way he’s looking at me.
I turn off the engine and climb out of the van. He walks down the steps toward me.
“I missed you,” he says.
“Zero game.”
“The only game I like is baseball. Other than that, I believe in saying exactly what’s on my mind.”
“No wonder you’re so stoic and quiet.”
