Page 8 of Keeping You

I head into the kitchen, grab two plates, and bring the food and coffee to the table. I usually sit at the kitchen island to eat, but I want to be able to look at Hannah to read her reactions. Her body language has always said more than she does. Don’t get me wrong, she’s not afraid to speak her mind, but she never says the vulnerable things.

When she comes out of the bedroom, she’s dressed in a light-blue sundress that lands just above her knees. The top layer of her hair is pulled back away from her face. She joins me at the table, saying, “Thank you,” as she hesitantly takes a sip of hercoffee. She looks surprised. I’ve known her for years now, of course, I’ve learned at least one of her coffee orders.

She picks at the muffin in front of her as she worries her bottom lip. This is a side of Hannah I haven’t seen before. Her body is stiff as she sits on the edge of her chair, like she’s ready to bolt.

“I’m off today, so I thought I could go with you to your place so you can pack some of your things,” I say.

Her head snaps back as her gaze meets mine. “I can do it myself.”

“Hannah, I don’t mind helping you. You’ll be here for three months. I’m sure you’ll need quite a bit. I’ll make room in the closet so you can put your clothes in there, and we’ll work with anything else you need. I’ll do everything I can to make you comfortable.”

She stares at me before she finally leaves the muffin alone and crosses her arms over her chest, leaning back in her chair. Her arms are crossed just under her breasts, pushing them up and providing me with a good look at them.

“Okay, Grayson, what gives? Why are you pushing this? Why are you asking for ninety days? Why won’t you just sign some fucking papers so that we can go our separate ways?”

I lean back and smirk, because there’s the little spitfire I know. She’s been too quiet, too agreeable.

“Because I don’t like to give up before I’ve actually given something a shot. I want to give this”—I motion between us—“us a shot. It might not be as bad as you think.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Right.”

I lean forward and brace myself on the table. “Because the thought of being married and divorced within the span of a week bothers the crap out of me. Besides, you and I agreed yesterday. We agreed that we’d give this a shot, and when time’s up, I’ll sign the papers. Are you backing out already?”

She holds my gaze for what seems like minutes before her shoulders slump and she lets out a breath. “No, I’m not backing out.”

“Good. So, why don’t I help you pack some things from your place?”

She nods before pushing away from the table. “Just let me grab my purse.”

I watch as she goes into my bedroom and comes back out with her purse and a pair of flip-flops.

“Let’s go,” she says.

I dump the remaining food into the garbage and our plates in the sink before handing Hannah her coffee. That earns me a subtle smile. It’s not the one she gives her friends where her entire face lights up and her eyes look as though little stars are dancing in them, but it’s something.

I lead her down to my car, and she types her address into my GPS as I pull out onto the street. The car is silent. Hannah won’t look at me, let alone talk to me, and her eyes are glued to the passenger-side window. I turn up the radio as some pop song fills the car. Her place isn’t far from mine, which doesn’t surprise me because of the location of the hospital.

She hands me a fob to get into the parkade, and I find an empty visitor stall. I follow her as she leads us up to her apartment. Unlocking the door, she holds it open as I trail in behind her. Her place is kind of a mess. She has clothes piled on a chair in her living room with an empty laundry basket on the floor beside it, her shoes are haphazardly against the wall of her entryway, mail is stacked on her kitchen counter, and water bottles are on multiple different surfaces.

She kicks her shoes off on top of her existing stack and moves to a door I assume leads to her bedroom. I move further into the living room and notice the lack of family photos. She has one with another woman who looks to be her mother from probablyten years ago and one with a man who looks to be her dad at her high school graduation. Every other picture is of her and her friends. I take in her overflowing movie collection, which looks like it’s probably eighty-five percent rom-coms.

She has three different books lying on her coffee table, each looks like a romance novel. Throw blankets lie on every sitting surface, and there’s a basket filled with more in the corner of the room. I shake my head at just how different our apartments are.

Mine is organized and mostly clean. There are times it gets a little out of hand, but my laundry gets put away within a day of taking it out of the dryer. I rotate between two water bottles while she has six just in the living room and kitchen and probably has more in her room.

I move to her bedroom door and lean against the doorframe. She’s standing at the foot of her bed in front of an open suitcase with clothes everywhere. I watch as she folds something and puts it inside the bag.

“Need help?” I ask.

She jumps a little before looking over her shoulder at me and shaking her head. “Nope, just grabbing my clothes right now.”

She returns to her folding, and I push off the door and move back into the living room. I collect her water bottles, dumping the water in the sink, and open her dishwasher, only to find it full. Shaking my head, I unload it, finding my way around her kitchen as I put everything away. When I’m done and I’ve loaded all her water bottles inside, I start folding her pile of laundry and stacking it in the empty laundry basket. As I’m finishing with the last piece, Hannah walks out with her suitcase rolling behind her and stops in her tracks, mouth agape.

“Did you just fold my laundry?” She looks around the room. “And clean up my water bottles?”

“Yeah. What else do you need to grab?” I ask.

“Ummmm, I have a few more pieces of clothes to grab and my books.”

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