Page 71 of Sidelined By Love

“Not like that.” I swat at her with the tea towel that usually hangs on the stove handle. She giggles and gives my arm a playful smack.

“Don’t you know you’re supposed to respect your elders?”

“And don’t you know you’re not supposed to jump to suggestive conclusions?”

She tilts her head of white curls in something of an acquiescence. “All right. Go on. He washoldingyou.”

“More like comforting me. I was upset, and he was just giving me a hug.”

“And those arms—are they everything an old lady like me could dream of?”

Yes. But I’m not falling into her trap. “I told him about Knight. And Cyndi. And I was feeling . . .”

“Vulnerable.” She doesn’t bother posing it as a question.

But I bite my lip as I consider it. “I suppose. And like a ship without an anchor. If I’m not an actress, if I don’t have my career, what—who—am I?”

“Well, I have a few answers for that.” She places two white plates on the granite countertop, adding half a bagel to each. “But at the moment, you’re the girl who’s dishing up my breakfast.”

I do as she says, then follow her to the two-person table. The kitchen isn’t large by any standards, and there’s no room for an island of any sort. DIY shows would say it’s in desperate need of an upgrade.

But sitting on the vinyl-padded seat across from Nan, it feels like a castle. It’s safe from any external attacks.

Steam still rising from her eggs, she takes a dainty bite, chews, and swallows. “So, what did you do to run the poor boy off?”

The poor boy with the dream-inducing arms. Right.

“I . . .” I swallow the lump that wants to choke off my words. “I just told him the truth. That if he’s with me, the tabloids won’t leave him alone, he’ll get all the press he never wanted, and my dad will be ticked.”

Nan’s face twists, but before she can let out whatever is clearly boiling inside, my phone chirps from the front pocket of my hoodie. Her eyes go wide, her anticipation nearly palpable. I freeze for a moment. “Answer it,” she whispers.

When I finally pull it free, I glance at the screen. It’s Kenna.

My heart slams against my ribs. Maybe it’s the creative in me, but every possible worst-case scenario rolls through my mind like film on a reel. She’s calling to tell me that Grant was hit by a car on his run this morning. Or that he’s in a coma. Or that my dad sent a lacky to tell him to stay away from me.

All plausible reasons why Grant didn’t show up this morning.

Also completely ridiculous.

Nan kicks me under the table, and I jostle the phone as I swipe to answer and put it on speaker.

“Is everything all right?” I can’t stop the words from flying out of my mouth.

“Yeah. Isn’t it? Did something happen?”

And now I’ve gone and terrified a poor middle schooler.Good job, Zoe.“Of course not. No. I just wasn’t expecting a call from you today.”

“Well, I talked to my uncle a couple minutes ago. He said I should tell you—”

She talked with Grant.

I let out a long breath.

He’s all right. He’s fine. He just doesn’t want to see me. Which is completely understandable. And still smarts like a beesting.

“Uncle Grant said you’d want to know.”

“What’s that?”

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