Page 44 of Between Us

Pushing one of the milkshakes toward her, I scoot forward in the booth and tease, “You’re not a dumb girl, Blake. So don’t act like it.”

Her face flames and she nibbles on her bottom lip. The one that isn’t smirking anymore. Yet there’s still a soft vulnerability that rarely comes out when she says, “I’m not a glass half full type of person, Adrian.”

“I know that. But I’m willing to prove I’m someone you can put your trust into. I wouldn’t spend time with your family or bring you to meetmyfamily if I was messing with you. If anything, please believe I have more respect for you than that.”

For some reason, that more than anything has brought Blake to a speechless state. She looks like she’d believe a starved great white shark wouldn’t bite her before she believed that statement. So it leaves a sour taste in my mouth when she impassively replies, “I believe you.”

I don’t push it, though. I’ll show Blake what I think of her, and what I think we could be together if she gave us a chance.

Both God and I know that she’s been the only thing on my mind recently, especially during those private moments late at night or during my morning showers. Except I don’t want only that with her.

Blake is so much more than a fling. Not to get ahead of myself, but she is easily wife material, and I’ve never met another woman I thoughtthatabout. And we’re both young. So I’m not in a rush to tie her down but I don’t want to wait too long for someone else to catch her attention either.

To my surprise, she’s the one to break the silence. “So, that’s your grammy,” Blake muses with a small smile. She’s looking at me again as if she’s seeing me in a whole new light. One she likes, I hope.

“That’s her,” I nod.

“I like her.”

“She likes you.”

With a smile, she takes a big slurp of her milkshake. “So, you’re not only close with your godmother—Maria—but her entire family.”

Taking a sip of my drink, I nod and tell her, “Yeah, I am. Even before I started staying with Maria while my parents were working, I’d always been treated the same as Grammy’s biological grandchildren. And that goes for her kids and my mom’s parents as well.”

“That’s how I feel about Bonnie, my mom’s best friend. She lives in the house behind us. I’m not very close with her kids anymore. They’re all older than me. So, you know how that goes…” She trails off with a sad shrug but doesn’t pause long enough for me to ask her about it. “Bonnie’s basically my second mom though, and her kids probably feel similarly about my parents.”

“I get that,” I tell her in comfort. “I’m not reallyclosewith my cousins either—Maria’s nieces and nephews, I mean. We’re close in age but we grew up all across California and Arizona, so we didn’t spend a lot of time together.”

Seeming to think through something, she takes another drink and looks out the window. A few seconds later, she asks, “Do you ever regret it?”

My brows furrow in confusion. “Regret what?” I ask with a shrug.

“Not trying harder, to be close with them. Now that you’re older.”

“Oh.” I’m a little taken back by her question. “I’ve never really thought about it like that. Maybe it was just the circumstances, but even if we had lived in the same city, there’s no real guarantee that we all would’ve been best friends. And I don’t think it would be too late to bridge that gap if any of us wanted to.”

“You… don’t want to?”

“I’ve just never thought about it,” I repeat with a shrug. “Not being close with someone doesn’t mean you’re on bad terms with them.”

“That’s a good way to look at it,” she mutters before focusing on her shake again.

“Do you regret it?” I ask, my tone gentle. “Not trying hard enough with Bonnie’s kids?”

She has a sad, helpless expression when her eyes find mine again. “Honestly? I think about itallthe time, and I have no idea how I feel about it. It depends on the day, usually.”

As I take a second to find the right words for her, Grammy comes back with our food, setting a cheeseburger down in front of both of us and a basket full of chicken tenders and fries in the middle. There’s ranch, ketchup, barbecue, buffalo, and honey but no mustard. There’s no doubt Grammy will mark down which ones were used, in case Blake visits again.

I really hope she does.

“Thank you…” Blake trails off, realizing she doesn’t know what to call her. She looks at me, but I helplessly raise and drop my shoulders, knowing exactly what she’s going to tell Blake.

“Just Grammy, dear.” She leans over and pats her cheek. “Enjoy.”

Blake smiles as she watches her walk away, stopping at another table of regulars along the way. She picks up a chicken tender and dips it in the buffalo then the ranch before taking a bite. With a quiet hum of approval, she takes another bigger bite and does exactly what my Grammy told her to do.

After a few seconds of silence, I finally break it. “Hey, Blake?”

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