Page 135 of Return To You

“I like your C.O.”

I like him too, and not just because of the extra time. He’s got this sense of humor that just makes the hardest things easier to handle. “Don’t get too excited. He wants me back in a couple days.”

She goes stone cold in my arms, then takes a breath and says, “Yeah, I kinda expected that.” Then she lifts her beautiful face to me and kisses the corner of my mouth. “Are you hungry? I have some leftover lasagna Mom made, and a bottle of wine, and a slice of apple pie your mom dropped off yesterday.”

“Boy, aren’t you the hostess,” I tease her.

She gives me a big smile. “I know! Working on it, with both our mothers’ help.” Then she turns serious. “You know, I make a mean quiche.”

Now my stomach is rumbling. “I did not know that.”

She nods. “Chris taught me.”

“Must be pretty good, then.”

“It’s the bomb.”

“Will you make me one?”

“Sure. Not tonight, though. Tomorrow, since you’re leaving soon. Wait—you’ll be going to the farm, right? And—”

“Wherever I’m going, you’re going,” I say, nipping in the bud that nonsense about “taking things slow.” Then I scissor upright on the bed. “And right now, I’m going to heat up that lasagna. You coming?”

I nearly trip on Damian as I come out of the bedroom. He jumps at me like he’s a puppy and follows me around in the kitchen, Grace right behind us. “What’s with the yoga pants?” I ask her as I take two plates out of the cupboard.

Pulling the lasagna from the fridge, she plucks a small piece of cold crust and nibbles on it. “I don’t eat with my butt naked.”

“I seem to recall very differently.”

She gives me a shy smile, the same memories flooding the two of us. “Breakfast doesn’t count.”

“I see. You have standards.” Looking outside to the deck and seeing the new furniture, I add, “Oh wow. Totally hostessing. The whole yoga pant getup makes perfect sense now.”

She slaps me playfully on the chest, then proceeds to nuke the lasagna.

Minutes later we’re outside on a large, low sofa, our feet on a matching ottoman. Grace wasn’t hungry, but she’s still nibbling from my plate with her fingers, her head on my shoulder.

I tell her what I can about work, which isn’t much.

What I don’t tell her, is that my enthusiasm to go to Brussels has all but vanished. Problem is, this is what I’m good at. And I’m too unsure of how I feel about my future to even bring this up with Grace.

I’m sitting there with too many thoughts on my mind, and Grace’s light weight on my body, when I feel her jerk slightly as she falls asleep against me. Setting my plate on the floor, I lift her in my arms.

“I can walk,” she says, popping her eyes open.

“I know you can. Been dying to carry you to bed, though. Okay?”

She perks up in my arms, her hair tickling my face. “Okay.”

“I’m gonna put the food away and get my stuff from the bike,” I say while I set her on the bed.

“I made you some space,” she says cryptically as she nests deep under the covers, her big fat yawn calling me to sleep.

I tidy the kitchen and get my stuff. Then I turn the lights off, close and lock all the doors, throw my bag on the bedroom floor, and crash in bed, scooping Grace against me.

forty-three

Grace

---