Page 129 of The Sweetest Obsession

Letting another one strike so close to home would be too tragic—and definitely too soul killing to ever live down.

14

ONE SPICY DINNER (OPHELIA)

Iwonder if Grant still likes his meals slathered in sriracha.

I stand in the grocery store aisle, studying a few bottles from different brands.

Hot sauce was a staple back when we were kids. First the good old Louisiana pepper sauces, then the more exotic options that started trending and seems designed to make you cry.

Ethan and I couldn’t handle the spicy stuff—but Lord knows we pretended to keep up and gave into stupid kid food dares—while Grant could probably eat a mouthful of Carolina Reapers whole without blinking.

I remember the first time Ethan brought his new best friend home for dinner. Grant brought his own freaking hot sauce and offended my mom mightily by dumping it all over her cooking.

Eventually, she realized that’s just Grant, and the insult turned into an ongoing joke that never failed to make us laugh.

Oh, if Mom could only see me now, staring at these neon-red bottles of hot sauce and wondering if there’s anything I can cook that will be fiery enough for that giant grump.

He found you pretty fiery last night, at least.

Oh, God. That’s terrible.

Laughing at my own dumb joke, I cover my mouth with one hand.

Yeah, I’m a flustered wreck right now.

Grinning for no good reason, blushing every other minute, and all I’m trying to do is pick up groceries.

I certainly didn’t have 'domestic goddess' on my coming home to Redhaven bingo card, yet here I am.

Is it really just this easy? Is anything?

Grant and I just falling back into each other, only it’s ten times better than just being friends.

Because now all my girlish dreams have come true and then some.

I just wish Mom and Ethan were here to see it.

I wish they could give me endless crap about it, teasing me up and down.

I’d kill to hear them tell me my stubbornness paid off, this hopeless girl mooning after an oblivious moose of a man for a flipping decade.

That’s pretty sobering.

So is the grim fact that Mom’s more likely to see Ethan again than her waking up and seeing me with Grant.

My laughter dies and the butterflies in my stomach go dormant again.

The bottle of eye-burning sriracha in my hand blurs. With a hurt breath full of the broken shards of my heart, I drop it into my cart, turning away.

I want to believe what he said—that my mother’s too stubborn to let go when she’s beaten this disease before.

But if this round of ultra-experimental chemo and its induced coma doesn’t work, I know what’s next.

I can’t think about it.

Struggling to breathe, I turn away, gripping the handles of my shopping cart—only to draw up short as a voice behind me calls my name.

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