“I want to take you somewhere for lunch,” Greyson says. “It’s this little spot off the beaten path.”
“Oooh, an adventure! Yes, please.”
We drive a little way in the opposite direction of Waterford. I check the time. Forty-five minutes drive plus lunch. If we eat in less than an hour, I’ll still be good.
“I’ll get you back on time,” Greyson says, practically reading my mind.
“Okay.”
“I won’t come between you and Mia, Hallie. She matters.”
“I …” I blow out a breath and stare out the window as Greyson pulls into a little parking lot of this small roadside grill out in the middle of nowhere.
He turns off the engine, but he doesn’t exit the car. He just waits for me to say whatever’s on my mind.
“I wish it could be different,” I say, my lips thinning.
“Bit by bit,” he says, reaching across the Jeep and holding my hand. “Today, we’re having a day date.”
“We are. So, this is a date?”
He cocks a brow.
I smile, leaning across the console and cupping his jaw in my hand. I tug his face toward me and kiss him. Then I softly whisper, “Bit by bit.”
He smiles one of those smiles that feels like a gift—half full, content, easy. And something settles inside me.
Bit by bit.
That’s all I have to give him for now.
And he’s okay with it.
When we enter the diner an old man greets us—well, he greets Greyson–by name. The place is old and quaint with booths along the windows and a bar countertop with built-in stools along the center of the room with a kitchen behind it.Not a soul is in the place except the old man. There are some noises in the kitchen, so there must be more people back there.
“Greyson! ’Bout time you came ’round here,” the man says, putting his hands on his hips. “I was fixin’ to send a search party out after your sorry self. You think I got time to wrastle up a search party? I’m tryna run a business out here.”
“Hey, Mo,” Greyson says, chuckling softly.
“And who do we have here?” Mo asks. “Wheweee aren’t you a beauty. What’s yer name, sweetheart? And blink twice if you’re here under duress.”
I blink—just for fun.
“That’s what I thought,” Mo says. “Heaven knows this ol’ grump couldn’t catch himself a looker like you without some sort of kidnappin’ involved. Well, find yerselves a seat and I’ll be right with ya.”
I smile. “I’m Hallie,” I tell Mo.
“Hallie, I’m Moses. But my friends call me Mo on account of the fact that Moses never did make it into the promised land. I love my mammy but I sure don’t know what possessed her to name me after a man who lived on wafers and quail and never got the job done. She couldah named me Joshua. Or Caleb. Those two made it in. But no, I’m named after the stutterin’ man who didn’t.”
I giggle.
Greyson picks up a menu off the booth table we’ve slid into.
“Yeah. Yeah. Go on and laugh.” Mo shakes his head. “Anyway, don’t pay any mind to the menu. It’s not always accurate. Today we’ve got grits. Hot and creamy. Butter’s from the dairy down the road. Biscuits are fresh. Gravy’s a family recipe. I promise I don’t spit in it, but I can’t say much for my cook. Take your chances on that. We’ve got all sorts of eggs. And pancakes that are fluffier than a down pillow. I gotsandwiches too. Pulled pork. Hot chicken. But you really ought to have the biscuits. What sounds good?”
“All of it,” I admit.
“You have to have his grits,” Greyson says. “Biscuits are pretty amazing too.”
