“Hello.”
Pause.
“Yes. I knew it was you. Who else would be calling me right now?”
Pause.
“I don’t know if I like it. How am I supposed to figure that out if you’re talking through it?”
Pause. She swishes her hand like she’s shooing me out the door.
“Okay. Okay. I’m putting you on speaker, but if you give commentary, or God forbid, a spoiler, you’ll hear a click on my end.”
Mom rolls her eyes at me, but there’s this giddiness right under the surface.
Jonathan’s voice comes through the line. “See that guy there, he owns the whole ranch. He’s the pivotal character.”
“I’m pretty sure I’d’ve figured that out on my own.”
Jonathan’s voice is soft and kind. “I’m sure you would have.”
Mom blushes. “Okay then.” She looks at me. “Excuse me, Jonathan. My daughter is here and she’s just staring at me like I’m a stuffed raccoon and she’s never seen taxidermy in her life.”
He laughs.
“Go on, Hallie. Get out of here,” Mom says.
I smile at her and silently mouth the words, “Have fun.”
She waves her hand, shooing me again.
“Bye, Jonathan,” I shout.
“Bye now, Hallie,” he shouts back.
I send Greyson a quick text that I’m on my way. He answers me that dinner’s almost ready and he can’t wait to see me. If cloning were a good idea, I’d make two of me. One to stay with him and the other to come home to Mia. I’m growing weary of the secrecy—weary of being torn in two.
I park my van and knock on the front door. Greyson answers in a button-up shirt. It’s burgundy and the color makes his blue eyes pop against the olive of his skin. He’s in jeans and barefoot. I stand there, taking him in, and he returns the favor, his eyes roving over me like a caress.
“I hope you like lasagna,” he says, running his hand through his hair.
“I love lasagna. It smells amazing in here.”
“That’s the garlic bread.”
I follow him through to the kitchen, he turns abruptly and I run right into him.
We both laugh a nervous laughter and then he cups my jaw. “I don’t know why I’m a bundle of nerves tonight.”
“Me either,” I tell him. “It’s just dinner.”
His eyes flit between mine and then his mouth brushes over my lips in the softest kiss. He pulls back and lets out a sigh as if kissing me brought everything inside him back into alignment.
His hands linger on my jaw. And he utters my name as if it’s everything. “Hallie.”
I’m butter in a pan, melting, soft, warm. His gaze is sheer intensity—a flame, burning low and steady.
He drops his hands, moving through the kitchen to cut slices of lasagna and bread, toss the Caesar salad and add some to each plate.
