Page 43 of Sidelined By Love

Thank God for Kenna, who almost immediately speaks up. “Do you have orange juice?”

Gladys nods. “Small or large?”

Kenna’s blue eyes dart toward her uncle in an unspoken question. He replies with nothing more than a tip of his chin. It’s a strange interaction, so silent. Almost formal. But Kenna knows she has permission to get what she wants. “Large.”

Gladys gives me one more knowing stare before scurrying toward the kitchen. When she’s well out of earshot, I lean across the table toward where Grant is spreading out across his bench. “Thank you.”I only mouth the words, but I see the appreciation in the crinkles around his eyes.

“For carrying you up a mountain? Or for just now?”

My glare comes on quick and direct, and it only makes Grant chuckle. “I could have made it myself.” If my shoe wasn’t flopping off my foot.

“Yeah, but you didn’t.”

Before I can counter his argument, Gladys is back, carrying three cups. With a practiced move, she sets them on the table and slides them into place. “Need a minute?”

“Yes, please.” Grant picks up his two-sided menu and gives her a guilty grin. “Haven’t even looked at it.”

“Take your time,” she says as she strolls away.

I immediately pick up my menu too, but Kenna is enamored with the drink sitting in front of her. It’s got to be close to twenty ounces, and only her eyes eclipse it.

“A bit of a treat?” I ask out of the side of my mouth.

“Momneverlets me get a large drink. She says it’s a waste when water is free.”

I realize in that moment that I have no idea what Kenna’s homelife was like before she moved in with Grant. That’s temporary too—but I imagine Kenna has moved around more than would be easy for a girl her age. More than would be easy for anyone.

Wherever her dad is, he doesn’t seem to be in the picture. And people serving in the military are woefully underpaid.

I make a note to ask Grant if I can help Kenna and her mom out, so they don’t have to pinch pennies. I may not know where my next paycheck is coming from or when it might arrive, but I’m a lot of years away from having to worry about that—at least according to my business manager.

Grant winks at her. “Don’t tell your mom I let you order whatever you want.”

Somehow her eyes get even bigger. “Whatever I want?”

He nods just as Gladys returns. “Ready? What can I get you?”

She looks right at me, and I scramble to read the menu. “I’m not sure . . .”

Wasting no time, she points to Kenna. “For the young lady?”

Kenna orders some pancake concoction that a middle schooler’s metabolism can handle. It sounds fruity and sweet and like it’ll feel like a rock in your stomach when you’re done. I’m so tempted to order the same thing.

Gladys swings to Grant, who points at his menu. “Let’s go with the Philly steak breakfast burrito, ham and eggs, and um . . . a Belgian waffle.”

Totally unphased, Gladys asks, “Do you want the Belgian waffle breakfast with eggs and a breakfast meat?”

Grant hems and haws a bit, glances in my direction, and then nods. “Sure. Add the eggs and bacon.”

Gladys is scribbling down the order as I cross my arms, my pulse pounding in my ears.

He didn’t just order for me, did he? No. He wouldn’t have.

But he ordered three meals. Threefullmeals.

I only said I wasn’t sure, not that I couldn’t make up my mind. Just that I hadn’t yet. But . . .

“Have you decided?” he asks, interrupting my internal argument.

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