Page 22 of How to Date a Younger Man
“Took you guys long enough,” Kristen says as we climb out of the truck, pulling me in for a congratulatory hug.
“There was an accident on Sunset. Thankfully, my driver here handled it like a champ,” I say, smiling gratefully at Griffin, who simply nods in response.
“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart!” My mom squeals, wrapping me in the tightest hug she’s given me since I graduated from law school.
I hug her back, stifling an exasperated groan. “Thanks, Mom.”
When I told her I was moving, she insisted on helping me move in, no matter how many times I told her it wasn’t necessary. She’s been itching for grandkids from the moment I got my first period, and it’s no secret she’s heartbroken that her only child is still single and childless at thirty-six. That being said, her sadness over my situation has recently turned into full-blown pity, hence the reason she insisted on being here to help me decorate. I know she means well, but my mom can be fucking depressing sometimes, even when she’s trying to be upbeat and supportive.
Regardless, I won’t let that dampen my spirits. I still can’t believe I bought my own home. There’s a sense of accomplishment about it.
Truthfully, I just thought it was time. I didn’t need a husband in order to buy my own house. And a few months later, I’d gotten a mortgage, and a realtor. Now, bam, here we are today.
“Griffin, if I’d known you were going to be here and so helpful, I would have brought some leftovers for you to take home,” my mom says after letting me go, turning her attention to an equal parts charmed and amused Griffin.
“That’s all right, Mrs. A. I’m not a college student anymore. I can forage for myself,” he replies with an easy smile that immediately wins my mom over.
“Well, from what I hear, you’ve got a new woman to cook for you. Coral? Clara?”
“Cora,” he says, his smile fading slightly. “She’s not much of a cook either, actually, but we’re both experts at takeout and ordering in.”
“Just like my Layne,” my mom says, wrapping her arm around my waist and giving me a gentle squeeze.
I laugh along with her, but judging from the look on his face, Griffin isn’t too pleased with the comparison. He forces a small chuckle, then gets to work unloading boxes from the back.
We work straight through the rest of the morning, getting everything out of the truck and into the house before I start directing them to the different rooms where each box needs to end up. It’s trickier work than I imagined, even without doing any of the heavy lifting. The mental gymnastics is work enough, trying to decide what should go where, and figuring out what items I still need to make the place feel finished.
I’ve never had so much freedom in a living space, both in terms of square footage and ownership. And while I love having the ability to do whatever I want, whether that means which rug to place on the Mexican tile or painting the guest bathroom hot pink, after two hours of decision-making, I’m totally wiped out. It isn’t until my stomach starts to growl that I realize it’s time for lunch.
But before I can ask if anyone else is hungry, Griffin appears in the doorway, bulging plastic bags in hand. From the smell alone, I can tell he went to my favorite sandwich shop, and my mouth immediately starts watering.
“When did you leave?” I ask as Kristen and my mom wander in from the other room.
“Not long ago. You guys were busy with the master bedroom, so I figured I’d sneak out and get lunch.” He leads us into the dining room and lays our food out on my brand-new mahogany table.
“Wait, Griff, did you put the table together?” I can’t hide the shock or appreciation in my voice. “Why didn’t you ask for help? It looks amazing.”
It does look incredible. It’s been months since I ordered the table, and even longer since I saw it in the store, so seeing it now in my very own dining room is making me all kinds of emotional.
“Like I said, you guys were busy. I wanted to surprise you.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal.
“Wow, Griff, you outdid yourself,” Kristen says, slapping him on the back.
My mom shakes her head, tears welling up in her eyes at the sight of the table. “Oh, Layney, it’s beautiful. You’re doing such a good job with this place.” She sighs, dabbing at the corners of her eyes.
“Well, I had some help from my favorite interior designer,” I say, nudging Kristen in the ribs.
“All I did was tag along to the furniture stores you dragged me to.”
My chest warms with pride and happiness, and before we all totally collapse into emotional messes, we agree it’s time to eat. Griffin hands out bags of chips and sandwiches, clearly proud of himself for being so on top of it.
