Page 2 of Giving Grace

There’s a knock on the closed bedroom door. Too sharp and heavy to be Molly. Since Cari and Patrick are still on their spontaneous weekend getaway, it can’t be either of them.

So that means it’s Ryan.

Seriously? Because tearing me up last night wasn’t enough? Now he’s—

“Just open it.” Molly’s muffled voice comes through the door, popping my eyes open. “It’s not a surprise if we wake her up.”

“I’m not going to just open it. What if she’s…” Instead of opening the door, Ryan sighs and knocks again. “Grace.”

I hate the way he says my name.

Like it means something to him.

Like I mean something.

Which makes it a lie.

Every time he says it.

“It’s getting heavy.” Molly again, her declaration followed by a rattling sound and another knock. This one softer and accompanied by my other name. “Mom?”

Because my daughter is standing in the hall with him and even though I can admit to myself that I’m a coward, that doesn’t mean I want her to know it, I sit up in bed and swipe at the tears on my face. “Come in.”

The door opens almost immediately to show Molly standing in its wedge, Ryan behind her, holding a tray.

“We made you breakfast,” Molly announces, bouncing on the balls of her feet a few times before tipping her head back to aim a look up at Ryan who is staring at me like I have two heads and six eyes. “Give it to her.” She loud whispers it at him as she side-steps herself out his way.

Even though he looks like he wants to throw it at me and run, Ryan drops his gaze, focusing on the tray to keep it steady while he shuffle-limps his way across the room to the bed. “It should be safe,” he mutters, gaze still aimed down while he settles the tray on my lap before stepping back. “We both ate it and lived.”

I look down at the tray and instantly feel those stupid tears stinging the back of my eyelids again. Trying to shove their way up my throat.

French toast with sliced strawberries. Coffee. Orange juice. And bacon.

The man made me bacon.

What the fuck?

I mean it.

What the actual fuck?

Like I said it out loud, Ryan’s face collapse into a frown before aiming it at Molly. “We forgot the fork.”

“I’ll get it.” She flashes a grin at me before bolting out the door.

As soon as she’s gone, I look up at him. “What is this?”

“It’s French Toast.” Still frowning, Ryan leans against the bedroom wall, as far away from me as he can get before shoving his hands into the front pockets of his borrowed jeans. “We Googled it.”

“No shit, Captain Obvious,” I hiss back at him, barely resisting the urge to shove the tray off my lap. Or throw it at him. Maybe I should throw it at him. “I mean what are you doing?” This time I practically shout it at him, the hard tone of my voice leaching the color from his face. “Why would you—”

“Grace. About…” He sighs, pulling a hand free to swipe it over his face. “I didn’t—”

“It was my idea.”

We both look over to find Molly standing in the doorway, fork clenched in her fist, her little face tight with worry. “I’m sorry, Mom.” She shakes her head while her chin starts to wobble. “We do it for Gran all the time. I just thought… I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“You didn’t make her mad, Moll.” Pushing himself off the wall, Ryan leans over to pluck the fork from her grasp. “I did. Last night—I said somethings I shouldn’t have.” Shuffling-stepping his way toward the bed, he slaps it into my hand before looking at her over his shoulder. “So, how about you go make your bed or something so I can apologize to your mom in private.”

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