Page 4 of Faith Notes
“Grayson, is that you?” she calls, her soft voice floating down the hallway. “I’m back here.”
But she didn’t have to tell me that because my feet are already headed in her direction. It’s like when she’s near, my body senses it and leads me to her.
Reaching up, I grab hold of the knot at my neck and start loosening my tie, needing a little more room to breathe for the conversation we are about to have.
I walk through the hallway to the kitchen, where Georgia sits at the bar. Her laptop is in front of her, and her clothes are wrinkled from hours of wearing them. With her hair in a messy bun at the top of her head, she looks a little crazy, but still, she is the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on.
I don’t say anything, leaning my shoulder against the door frame, content to watch her.
But then she looks up at me, smiling, and I’m afraid my heart might fall out at her feet.
“What are you doing home so early?” she asks, standing up and rounding the bar to greet me.
I meet her halfway, wrapping my arms around her when she is finally within reach. She sinks into me, sighing.
This is my favorite time of day—when I come home, not to a meaningless house, but to her. She is my home. Wherever she is, I want to be, too.
She looks up at me, and her eyes give her away. I’m her home, too.
“I missed you, and I didn’t like how we left things this morning,” I say, lifting a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear.
Her eyes dart away from me, hiding.
And my chest turns to stone because I don’t know how to do this.
We don’t hide things from each other.
The question sits on the tip of my tongue but makes it no further.
If she is pregnant, I will be happy.
Ecstatic, actually, but I don’t want to have to pry that information out of her.
I want her to tell me when she is ready because Brooks is right—a fact that I will not be telling him anytime soon. It’s her body changing, not mine.
“I’m sorry.” Her words are whispered, and even though I can’t see her eyes, her voice gives away the fact that she is on the edge of crying.
“Hey,” I say, tilting her chin up to look at me, “everyone has their days. You were grumpy this morning. So, what?” I shrug, lifting the corner of my mouth into a smile. “If you ask Brooks, I’m grumpy all the time.”
That makes her laugh, and the sound loosens the knot in my chest.
Her smile lights up her face, and I can’t stop myself from staring at her in wonder.
She is my best friend.
No matter how close I’ve gotten with Brooks, Georgia still fills that spot for me. She’s the person I want to tell everything to. My dreams, my bad days, people who annoy me—she gets it all and listens with a smile on her face.
“You said it, not me.” She giggles.
I roll my eyes, a soft smile on my lips that’s only reserved for her. “I want you to know you can talk to me about anything,Peach. If you’re having a bad day, we don’t have to talk about it right then, but you don’t have to bear that burden alone.”
Her bottom lip slips between her teeth, chewing on it as her eyes well with tears.
“I know,” she croaks. “But I’m okay now. Promise.”
My eyes bounce between hers, studying her and giving her time to continue if she wants to.
In my head, I’m silently begging her to talk to me because sometimes she has a tendency to shut down.
