I stare at Greyson.
Did he just say okay?
He’s coming to dinner? At our house?
“Great,” I say with a well-practiced Southern smile. “We’ll see you at six?”
He stares at me in that intense, unreadable way of his and nods. “Six works.” Then he repeats his previous offer. “What can I bring?”
Mom says, “Just yourself,” at the same time as Mia practically shouts, “Something really yummy … and sweet!”
Greyson shifts his eyes away from mine and smiles down at Mia. Yes. He smiles. At my daughter. The man is smiling. My brain doesn’t have a file where I can place items labeled, “Greyson smiles warmly at my daughter.” The fact fliesaround like a paper in the wind inside the tornado that is my brain right now.
“How about chocolate chip cookies?” Greyson offers calmly. He’s all cool and collected, as usual. Then, as if he wasn’t causing a supercell windstorm in my heart with the way he’s treating Mia, he adds, “With vanilla ice cream, of course. That way we can make ice cream sandwiches.”
“Yes!” Mia thrusts a fist in the air. “But you better get Neapolitan. It’s better for that kind of thing.”
He chuckles softly at her, but his face resumes neutrality when his eyes lift to mine. “Is ice cream okay? I should have asked first.”
“Ice cream’s fine,” I manage to say.
“See you at six, then,” he says. “Text me the address, okay?” His words flow out with the calmness of a lake on the most non-windy day ever.
“Yeah,” I say, grasping at something more to say, but apparently the inner gust of Greyson’s kindness has blown the English language completely out of my reach. “Sounds good. See you at six.”
Greyson turns back to the meat case and grabs out a small package of chicken and another package of two steaks. He sets them in his cart, nods at me and my family and walks away toward the front of the store.
And, for the first time ever, I picture Greyson outside work and off the ball field—living alone, eating alone, shopping alone.
As much as I occasionally lament my overcrowded, overly busy life, I can’t imagine that level of solitude. Give it to me for a few days, please. Yes, please. But on a neverending loop, I would definitely be lonely.
Is Greyson lonely?
I’ve never even considered it.
He doesn’t act lonely. He acts … neutral and hard to read.
Except when he’s talking with my daughter and that particular brand of warmth sneaks out like the sun from behind a cloud. He’s always so serious at work. A tiny ray of that same kindness came out when he stooped low to address Cletus.
I know one thing for certain. Greyson won’t be lonely tonight. If anything, he’ll practically be running out the door after a strong dose of Mom, Mia and Henry Cavill.
“Well now,that’sa pleasant surprise,” Mom says as soon as Greyson is out of earshot.
Or at least I hope and pray he’s out of earshot.
“Coach G is coming to dinner!” Mia says excitedly. “Better get a few boxes of au gratin potatoes.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “We’d better.”
We make our way through the store. My main list for the week is practically abandoned. I’m mainly focused on pulling together everything we’ll need for tonight’s dinner. He’s just one extra person. You’d think I was hosting a party for the whole crew by the time we reach the checkout.
Back home, I prep dinner, placing the ribs in the Crock-Pot and then showering. Yes. I already showered this morning, but for some reason, I feel the need to shower and do my hair now.
It’s just Greyson.
I repeat the reminder to myself.
Mom’s no help.
