“Oh.” The smile on his lips drops for only a split second. “Makes sense. He’s a lucky guy.”
Then he taps the doorframe and begins class.
I reclaim my seat and process the last three minutes.
A single man, clearly ready for a relationship, just asked me out, and I turned him down because I don’t want to end whatever I have going on with a man who never wants to date.
Yep. That about sums it up.
I blow out a breath.
Hell, Greer, I sure hope you know what you’re doing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
SIMON
This past week, my writing has been on fire. Not only have I hit my word count every single morning before Greer showed up to watch Grey, but I’m ahead. New versions of books have been uploaded to sites, film decks for possible movies have been created and sent to either my agent or publisher, and next year’s synopsis for each book is ready for my editor to edit. Hell, I even have next month’s newsletters ready to go.
To say the past week has been motivating is an understatement.
I grab a tie from my closet and step back into my room to put it on in front of my dresser, but Grey comes in.
“Do I have to wear a tie?” he asks, holding one up that is now in a knot around his neck.
I chuckle. “No.”
He whips it over his head. “Good.”
Then he flops onto my bed and watches me in the mirror. His eyes are focused on my hands as they adjust my tie.
“Do you want me to help you with yours?”
He nods and grabs the one he discarded a moment ago.
I leave my collar flipped up before kneeling to help him.
“Who taught you to do this?” he asks.
“My dad—well, more so my mom. Grandpa worked a lot, and so whenever I had something for school where I had to dress up, she’d help me.”
He lets it sink in.
“Do you think Mom knew how to tie one?”
Although I did love his mother, our relationship was anything but typical. Everything happened so fast, and we never attended an event where we had to dress formally. So I have no idea if she knew how to tie a tie or not.
“She knew how to do a lot of things, but I’m not sure about that one.”
“What was she the best at?”
“Singing,” I answer without a second thought. “She loved singing, and she was good at it. She was even going to school for music when we met.”
“She was?” His face lights up. “What kind of music did she sing?”
I finish his tie and then mine. I’m not opposed to him asking questions about his mom, but he doesn’t do it often, so I’m a little thrown that he’s doing it today.
“She loved country music.”
