Rm w/a Vu(85)

Toby’s the first to agree, not even pausing to think about it. “Hells yeah! Come on, Cal, it’ll be a lot of fun.” It takes a minute, but she decides to join in, and we begin to figure out what day might work best for everyone. I make a mental note to text Daphne later to find out her availability. She’ll be so excited when she finds out that the ball player she was drooling over will be there.

After lunch, Callie and Toby head home. Greyston walks them to the door while I clean up our dishes. I’ve just finished loading the dishwasher when I feel strong hands on my hips and warm lips on my neck. It’s hard to focus on washing the pot in my hands with Greyston’s fingers teasing the sliver of skin between my shirt and jeans, so I give up trying.

“Thanks for lunch,” he whispers, his warm breath tickling the skin of my neck.

“If this is how you’re going to thank me for cooking, I might just have to do it more,” I tell him, turning in his arms. When my eyes catch the time on the stove, I groan. “I guess we should probably go to the store for whatever it is you need for dinner.”

Greyston tucks a strand of my damp hair behind my ear, his eyes showing remorse. “I’m sorry.”

His apology confuses me. “What for?”

“This can’t be what you expected when you took the day off to spend with me,” he explains with a shrug.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You didn’t know I took the day off,” I remind him. “And besides, it doesn’t really matter to me what we do with our time together.”

“I suppose you’re right. Okay, let’s go. We’ll have plenty of alone time after dinner tonight.” He leans in and kisses me softly before whispering, “And I promise to make this morning up to you.”

Giggling, I meet his intense gaze. “Come on. If we don’t go now, then we won’t get this done.”

That mischievous gleam has returned to his eyes, and he reaches for me again. “Oh, I think we could.”

Laughing, I place my palm flat against his chest, holding him at arm’s length. “Down, boy.”

Thankfully, it doesn’t take much convincing to get Greyston out the door, and soon we’re at the store, wandering the aisles, filling our basket with fresh produce for a salad. We continue through the store, grabbing fresh buns from the bakery and cheese from the deli before paying and heading home. Greyston and I each take a bag to carry, and when we arrive home, we set to work in the kitchen prepping dinner.

Greyston is apparently against buying pre-formed hamburgers and makes his own. After the burgers are formed, he covers the plate and puts them in the fridge before moving onto the salad. Just as he begins washing the vegetables, there’s a knock at the front door. I inhale sharply, my nerves taking hold, knowing that it could be Greyston’s parents at the door.

Sensing my apprehension, Greyston kisses my temple. “Relax. You stay here, and I’ll go get the door. Keep yourself busy by starting the salad,” he suggests, handing me the very large kitchen knife.

I laugh. “You really think it’s a good idea to be giving me a sharp knife? I’m shaking like a leaf.”

Shaking his head, Greyston sets the knife on the counter. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Sure. Take your time. Don’t rush.” Once he’s out of the room, I carefully pick up the knife and begin slicing the tomatoes for the salad. I’m just finishing up when I hear voices approaching—all three familiar to me.

Looking up, I see Greyston enter the kitchen first. My parents are flanking him, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Mom’s carrying a bowl of pasta salad, and Greyston promptly takes it from her and puts it in the fridge.

“Hey, Mom. Dad.” They both smile my way before their eyes briefly drift down to the counter I’m chopping vegetables on…the very one they saw Greyston and I on last weekend.

“How’s your weekend been?” I quickly ask, diverting their attention. “Good? I hope it’s been good.”

“She been drinking?” my dad asks, nudging Greyston.

I roll my eyes. “Har har,” I deadpan. “You’re a real comedian, Pop.”

“Why don’t I give both of you the tour while Juliette sobers up,” Greyston teases, shooting me a wink.

“Oh, good. Side with him,” I tell him. “We’ll see how that works to your advantage.”

“Why don’t you guys go on ahead? I’ll stay with Juliette,” Mom suggests with a laugh, moving behind me and placing her hands on my shoulders in a show of support.

Before Greyston and Dad leave us alone, Greyston grabs Dad a beer and Mom a glass of wine.