“How on earth did you do that?” I ask. “He never listens to anyone.”
Greyson shrugs. “I guess it’s all the years I spent in the military.”
A flash of something travels behind his eyes—guilt? Secrecy? Embarrassment? And then it’s gone.
“You were in the military?” Mia asks.
“Army,” he says with a nod.
My hands are gripping a rib on either end. My face freezes over my food. Everything inside me stills. The Army? Those blue eyes. I take a bite, chewing slowly and studying Greyson. Could it be?
“Did you play baseball in the Army?” Mia asks.
I’ve never been more grateful to have a chatty daughter.
“No. I played before I left, though. In high school. I thought I’d go pro at one time, but I gave up that dream before I graduated.”
“Why?” Mia is clearly baffled at the idea of giving up a dream.
“I got injured, for one thing. But I could have pushed past that and still pursued it. I guess I just didn’t feel like I was good enough for the majors.”
“I bet you were,” she says with the childlike confidence one has in their heroes before life begins popping bubbles one by one.
“I was pretty decent,” he admits. “Not as good as you, though.”
Mia beams at his praise. And I smile too. Greyson doesn’t toss out compliments. He’s far too efficient. As a matter of fact, he’s never this open and talkative. Mia really does something to loosen him up.
We finish eating. More talk of baseball and Mom’s inquiry about how Greyson became a fireman fills our conversation. I study the man at my table, searching for familiar mannerisms or signs to confirm the suspicion growing inside me. A tingling warmth spreads behind my rib cage. Those eyes.
But wouldn’t he recognize me too?
If it’s him, he’s morphed into someone practically unrecognizable.
“Now! Ice cream sandwiches!” Mia exclaims as we’re clearing the dishes.
I pull the ice cream out—Neapolitan—and take the tinfoil off the plate of cookies.
“Did you bake these?” I ask Greyson.
“I did.”
“And he bakes!” Mom exclaims.
“Mom,” I chide her. Then I look at Greyson. “Excuse her. She just says whatever comes to mind.”
“It’s refreshing,” he says.
“That’s one word for it,” I mutter.
“Did you hear that, Hallie?” she asks. “I’m refreshing.”
“Like a glass of ice water to the face,” I tease her.
We make our ice cream sandwiches and take them out into the back yard. Mia and Henry run around. Henry tries to steal licks of the treat while Mia giggles and runs away from him. Mom and Greyson and I sit on the porch. The sky slowly darkens and the air chills by degrees.
My thoughts flit betweenIs he?orIs he not?to the point of nearly being distracted whenever Mom or Greyson tries to draw me into conversation. Thankfully, our attention stays mainly focused on Mia and Henry as our entertainment.
When we’ve finished our dessert, I tell Mom, “I need to get Mia to bed.” I look at Greyson. “It’s a school night.”
