Page 15 of Not In The Christmas Plan
“And this is where you share something about yourself,” Grant says, breaking the silence.
“What? Why?” I ask, startled coming out of my ridiculous fantasy. My mind is running too wild.
“Because I want to know more about you.”
I slowly fold the pajamas in my lap, trying to keep my movements casual. “You already know about me.”
“I know about the woman who’s merciless at Uno but can’t play Spades to save her life. I know about the woman who always brought a store-bought cheese board to each game night because she usually came straight from a meeting with clients.”
“Charcuterie board. And trust me, bringing that instead of subjecting y’all to my cooking was an act of kindness.”
His eyes dance, but he doesn’t let up. “I want to know more.”
His voice is smooth like velvet and my cheeks heat, pulse races. Not Grant making me all flustered.
I force a laugh. “I’m not that interesting.”
“Try me,” he challenges.
I roll my eyes. One thing Grant will do is keep pushing no matter how much I try to hedge him.
“Like your nephew, I also like building Legos,” I say, feeding him an obscure but safe fact while adding the pajamas to my pile. “Remember those Legos we made for the wedding? They were my idea.”
From the corner of my eye I see Grant nod slow and carefully, like I said something weird…oh.Of course he’d remember the Legos and subsequent kiss I laid on him.
Flustered, I shove my hand into the basket for more clothes, only to instead grab something warm... which just happens to be Grant’s hand.
Milliseconds feel like hours as I look down at our hands. My smaller one holding his larger one; almond brown mixed with honey. A quiet spark humming beneath our skin.
His thumb shifts slightly, like he’s tempted to hold on, but I pull away.
“Sorry about that,” I say, willing my pulse to calm way down.
“Why? I’m not.”
My cheeks burn. I grab the nearest onesie and fold it with jerky motions, pretending his words didn’t just curl through me like smoke.
“You know,” Grant says after a long moment, “I used to think I’d have this by now.”
I glance up cautiously. “Have what?”
“A family. A few kids.” His holds my gaze. “A wife making me pies every day.”
“Do not even,” I laugh, but the intimacy of our hands touching has me breathless.
“I didn’t say what kind of pie. Shoot, I’d take some of those microwavable chicken pot pies. My girl Marie Callender can throw down.” He tilts his mouth into a grin then he leans forward, restinghis elbows on his knees with his arm brushing mine. “It would just be nice to have someone to share it with.”
His closeness is dizzying. His scent, warm and faintly spiced, wraps around me. I don’t see him shift, but now his leg presses against me too and he doesn’t bother to move away.
Neither do I.
It’s that slippery slope again, and I’m heedless to the warning signs. Maybe if Grant would simply keep with the jokes and pie stealing it would be easy to push him away. But I saw the real yearning in his eyes at his admission. And now that he’s opened himself up, the least I can do is reciprocate by giving him something real.
“I thought I’d have it all too,” I admit, my voice soft. “I loved my little life here with Dad and Ivy, and always wanted a family of my own.”
“You still can, you know.”
I stare at the onesie in my lap, my fingers curling tight in the fabric. Grant’s nearness makes it too easy to imagine. His hand on mine again. His arm around me. A future with no fear where I get to keep him.
