Touching Down(16)

I checked the time as I shoved off of the couch. “No.” I moved toward the door and checked the peephole. My breath left me in a rush when I saw who was waiting outside. “Or maybe . . . I am.”

“Who is it?”

Instead of answering, I unbolted the door and opened it.

“Speaking of . . .” Cruz made a clucking sound with his tongue.

“Hi,” I said, feeling shell-shocked that Grant was standing in front of me when I’d just been watching him on television. “You want to come in? Cruz and I were just having some tea, if you want some too?”

Cruz whipped his head at me and waved outside the door, like he was “subtly” trying to suggest we leave.

Grant was still staring at the ground, his forehead creased. “I’m sorry I left the way I did earlier. I’m sorry I said the things I did.” Grant stuffed his hands in his front jeans pockets and lifted his shoulders. “Everything just happened so fast, you know? You calling all panicked, me getting here and finding you in your bathrobe, figuring out what was going on . . .” His jaw locked up for a moment before he popped it loose. “You have every right to have a life. It’s been seven years, and I’d be a fool to think you don’t. I guess that realization just finally got around to hitting me this morning.” Grant’s head lifted just enough, and his eyes met mine. “I’m sorry.”

My head shook. “It’s okay. I should have stopped to think before calling you this morning. But I didn’t, and that’s life, so let’s just forget about the should-haves and move on.”

Grant seemed to consider that for a moment before nodding. “Okay.” He gave another nod as his eyes scanned the room behind me, almost like he was checking for someone else. “Did you still want to talk? I know it’s later than we planned on, but I’ve got eight hours before I need to be at the airport.”

From out of nowhere, Cruz appeared with my purse, a jacket, and dropped a pair of shoes at my feet. A true master of subtlety.

“But don’t you need to sleep sometime between now and then?”

Grant’s shoulder lifted. “That’s what the airplane’s for.”

As I slipped into my flats, I glanced at Cruz, who was back on the couch. “Do you mind?”

Cruz lifted his teacup and pointed it at the television. “I’ve got a terrible cup of hotel tea and six static-y channels to surf. Of course I don’t mind.”

Grant chuckled and stepped aside as I started to walk through the door. “If you get bored, you can play with my makeup.”

Cruz stabbed his index finger in the air. “Don’t tempt a diva, honey.”

Even after my laugh had come to an end, I hovered by the doorjamb, biting my lip.

“I’ve got it, Ryan.” Cruz sighed, waving at us. “Take as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

Thanking him with a smile, Grant and Cruz exchanged a good night before I closed the door and locked it. I waited outside the door until I heard Cruz get up and lock the chain locks too.

Now that it was just Grant and me, I had no idea what to say. What to do. Or where to go. This get-together had been all my idea, and I hadn’t planned a single part of it. Not to mention that after what had happened this morning, I’d been under the impression our meeting wouldn’t happen.

“Do you mind if we stop by Mickey’s?” Grant stayed beside me as we made our way to his truck parked in the lot. “It’s a tradition of mine to stop there every time I’m in town and pack as much grease as I can into my arteries, and I haven’t had a chance this trip yet.”

My relief was palpable. At least now we had a destination. “I feel like by saying yes, I’m signing off on your request to give yourself a heart attack.”

“But . . .” Grant nudged me gently as he came around the truck to open my door.

“But I haven’t had a Mickey Burger in seven years. I don’t care what health experts say, that just isn’t healthy.”

A soft laugh rumbled in his chest. “We’re all going to die someday. Might as well live it up in the meantime.”

My smile felt more forced than real. Hopefully it didn’t look that way. “Might as well.”

After pulling out of the motel, the drive to Mickey’s only took a few minutes. Growing up, Grant and I had made a handful of trips to the greasy burger-and-fry icon that had been around since the 20s. Aunt May had been the first to introduce us to Mickey’s, bringing us on our birthdays to celebrate. It had felt like such a special thing back then—getting to order food from a menu and tell the person behind the counter what you did or didn’t want on your burger. It was the first time I’d ever had a milkshake, and I blamed Mickey’s for my adult addiction to all things of a blended-ice-cream-and-milk variety.