Page 78 of Moving Forward

She chokes on air and grabs blindly for her cup. Once she’s managed to compose herself, she gives me a grin that leans toward flirty, if not slightly mischievous. “You wouldn’t want that, now would you? Should we call up Matt and invite him to the town peep show?”

I throw my head back and bark out a laugh. “You’re dangerous,” I tell her, unable to take my gaze off her twinkling eyes. “But I get your point. Besides, that dumbass—or anyone else for that matter—doesn’t deserve to see you like that.”

“They don’t deserve to, or you won’t let them?” She points at me with her fork. “I think you might be a little greedy, Cain Hazelton, thinking only you can.”

“Well, Peaches, I won’t deny it one bit,” I reply, scratching my chin.

We eat our food, exchanging a few words here and there. The silence is comfortable, like we’ve been doing this sort of thing forever. Existing with her isn’t awkward or difficult—it’s easy. The little we do talk, it’s about her. Which is even better because she happens to be my favorite subject.

After we finish our breakfast, we head to the back to clean up. She washes the dishes and I dry them. While I wait for her to finish up the skillet, I pop a hip against the counter and cross my arms. This is all so domestic. I never thought I’d like it, but I do. “What was his favorite thing to say?”

She looks up at the ceiling. Her expression turns pleasant as she searches through a treasure trove of memories, which makes me grin in turn. “Bullarkey. Like bull and malarkey shoved together. That was how he always called us out when he thought we weren’t being truthful.”

“And were you? Not being truthful.”

She hands me the pan to dry. “Not really. Sometimes Ethan just didn’t like what he was being told.”

We work on finishing up the rest of the dishes. Occasionally I interfere to kiss her or mess with her hair. I can’t be near her and not touch her. Loving her is a routine I could easily fall into.

I tap her foot with mine. “I really like this you know? Me . . . you . . .”

She taps my foot back. “Me too,” she answers quietly. “This was really great. I mean, the food . . . gosh, you can cook for me anytime you want.”

“I’ll spend the rest of my life cooking for you if that makes you happy,” I tell her before can stop myself. Too much, too fast.

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying it. “I—”

Luckily, the back door opens, cutting her off. Or not so lucky, seeing how pale she gets. I know whatever she was about to say couldn’t have been good. We’ve talked about how we feel about each other, but not really about our long-term future. Spending a life together probably isn’t something she’s ready for—not when she’s still adjusting to a future without Ethan.

Grams walks in and doesn’t notice us until her hand blindly searches for the light switch, only to find it’s already on. She glances at us and jumps back, hand to her heart. “Hello there, you two.”

“Hey, Grams,” I say.

Max washes the soap suds off her hands and turns around. “Hi,” she says nervously, “I’m Max. We met a few weeks ago . . . but I’m Max.”

“Yes, you are,” Grams agrees, an amused glint in her eyes. “I’m glad to see you up and roaming around. I was worried about you.”

“Thank you.” Max’s shoulders relax. “Mom and Dad said you visited. That was really kind of you.”

“I figured I should make a good impression, seeing as you and my grandson are pretty close now.”

Max glances down at her feet as she pulls on the bottom of the T-shirt again, doing her best to cover herself. The whole thing is pretty adorable, but I can’t help feeling bad for her.

Grams grins, her dentures catching the artificial light. “Oh, honey, it’s okay. I’m a progressive grandmother. Even if I wasn’t, I’m just happy to see Cain finally has someone.” She gives me a sly look and leans toward Max, holding her hand in front of her mouth secretively, but not bothering to whisper as she says, “Besides, this means that I may be getting grandchildren sooner.”

Max gasps, which comes out more like a strangled shriek. Grams only laughs as she takes an apron off the counter and ties it behind her back. I wrap my arm around Max and kiss the top of her head, my glare locked on Grams. “Don’t tease her.”

Grams rolls her eyes. “It’s not teasing if it’s the truth. Don’t worry, I’ll make up for it later. Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight?”

Max sinks further into my side, saying, “That sounds nice,” like Grams asked her to try poisoning herself, not stay for dinner.

Grams claps her hands. “I’ll make up a chicken. Oh, and we’ll look through Cain’s baby pictures.”

“Grams . . .” I sigh.

“No ifs, ands, or buts about it. Well, there might be some butts.” She turns, heading over to the fridge. “But I’m sure you’ve already found out, or will find out soon, Max, that my grandson has the cutest butt in the entire world.”

“Grams!” I groan, burying my face in Max’s hair as she laughs. As weird as the moment is, I think it’s one of my favorites.

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