My chest aches in that stupid grateful way.
We talk.
Really talk.
Not just jokes.
He asks about Wren—careful and curious—not pushing for the messy parts, but not avoiding them either. I tell him smallthings. The internship. The way Wren always comes back like sunlight. The way she can make me laugh, even when I’m trying not to.
He tells me about Owen without getting too heavy. Just the shape of him. The way he used to pick a show on his birthday and declare it a family hostage situation.
“The Office?” I repeat, laughing. “That’s criminal.”
Grayson’s mouth quirks. “He did voices.”
I choke. “No.”
“He did,” Grayson insists. “He’d do Dwight in the grocery store just to embarrass my mom.”
I laugh—a real, full laugh—and Grayson watches it like he’s collecting it. Like my laughter is a souvenir.
Halfway through dinner, my phone buzzes.
A text from Kai.
Kai: u good?
I stare at it.
Grayson doesn’t look at my phone. Doesn’t ask. He just lifts his brows slightly, a silent question.
I exhale and type back.
Harlow: Yeah. I’m good.
Kai: happy bday, harls.
My throat tightens.
I swallow hard and set my phone down.
Grayson’s voice is soft. “He loves you.”
I nod. “I know.”
Grayson holds my gaze. “He’s learning, or trying to learn, that loving you doesn’t mean he has to hold you so tight that you feel like you can’t breathe.”
I exhale slowly. “I know he’s trying, and I also know that it’ll take time for him to adjust. Forbothof us to adjust.”
Grayson’s eyes soften. “You’re doing good.”
“You know you don’t always have to say that, right?”
He smiles. “I do know, but I also know I like hearing it when I’m working hard at something, so I thought you would too.”
He might just be perfect.
By the time he drives me back to campus, the sun is long gone, and small stars are speckled across the night sky.
