Page 35 of If My Wishes Came True
Grady beams at me. “You really are good at your job. You should be doing this on HGTV. I’ve got friends there; I can hook you up, if you’re interested.”
My gut clenches.
If I were to take him up on his offer, I’d have to be damn sure that I want to commit to being a designer for the foreseeable future. And lately, I feel less and less certain by the day. “That’s so nice of you, Grady. I’m just—I’m still trying to figure out what I want my career to look like long-term.”
“I get it,” he says with a knowing grin. “Once Lola Piper tweets about you, the world’s your oyster. Just keep me posted.”
“I will. Thanks,” I say casually. But I’m relieved he doesn’t press it further. What would Grady Brooks think if I told him I’m considering giving up my booming business so I can paint? He’d probably raise an eyebrow and say something like, “You’d rather be a starving artist than a star? I guess you really are a dumb blonde.”
Hmph. The Grady in my head sure knows what to say to make me question my own judgment. And he sounds an awful lot like me. I’ve been living with this chip on my shoulder since I was seven, after all.
Who would I be if I didn’t constantly feel like I had to prove myself? Will I ever be brave enough to find out?
“I think we’ve done enough work for tonight,” Grady saysbefore I get too lost in my thoughts. He straightens his family photos into a neat pile on the coffee table. “Are you hungry?”
“I am,” I say, eager to start dinner. If I make it home early enough, maybe I can call Charlie to thank him for the photograph. The fact that I haven’t responded yet has been weighing on my mind since I got here. I meant to reach out earlier, but this unexpected meeting with Grady distracted me.
At least now I know he really did seek me out for my design skills. He’s been a complete gentleman all evening—the polar opposite of the man who came on to me at that party three years ago. Grady’s changed. I could see myself being friends with him.
I follow him to the kitchen and sit at the island while he pulls a bowl out of the fridge. “I made a seafood salad,” he says. “Not the kind you’d buy at a deli…this is the real deal. Fresh lobster, calamari, scallops, and mussels.” I watch him plate the fish with lettuce, frisée, a perfectly ripe avocado, and various herbs he sprinkles over the entire dish.
“This looks delicious, Grady. Thank you,” I say as he hands me my plate.
“I hope you don’t mind it’s low-carb. I’m on a diet, as always,” he says, rubbing his hand over the ripples of abs I can practically see through his t-shirt.
“I’ll survive,” I say with a chuckle.
“You know what? I do have a nice bottle of wine, though. A sauvignon blanc that would pair well with this. Can I get you a glass?”
“Oh,” I say, a bit surprised. “I wasn’t expecting?—”
“A recovering alcoholic to have wine in the house?” He grins as my cheekswarm. “Normally I wouldn’t. But this was a housewarming gift from one of my neighbors. Honestly, you’d be doing me a favor. I’d feel bad throwing it out. Once a poor kid, always a poor kid, I guess.”
“You’resure? I don’t want to be disrespectful?—”
Grady shakes his head. “I don’t mind if people drink around me—it happens all the time. Not many Hollywood events are dry,” he goes on with a laugh. “And my grandpa has a glass of whiskey every night before bed. Doesn’t bother me one bit. I promise.”
I tilt my head. “Alright then. I’ll take a small pour, for now.”
“You got it,” he says, uncorking the bottle.
The meal is delicious, and we chat about his movies, mostly. Grady did a couple of rom-coms in the early days of his career—before he was branded as a “bad boy”—and I tell him about my favorite scenes, and ask him questions about his co-stars.
But something strange happens midway through dinner. Grady’s ocean-blue eyes begin to remind me more and more of Hunter’s. Maybe it’s because we’re seated so close to each other, eating and laughing like old friends.
Hunter wasn’t only my college boyfriend. He was my best friend. We used to stay up for hours each night talking—which, I guess, is what happens when you’re not having sex. He’d been raised in a religious household, and wanted to wait until we were married. I didn’t mind. I wanted to sleep with him, of course. He was so handsome. But it was nice knowing that a guy was interested in me for more than sex.
Hunter and I did eventually sleep together, but not until?—
“More salad?” Grady asks.
“Um, sure,” I say. “Thanks.” I gulp down what’s left of my sauvignon blanc, hoping it’ll take the edge off. And when Grady grabs the bottle and pours a little more for me, I don’t object.
I suppose it’s no wonder I’ve been thinking about Hunter Reed a lot lately. My intense feelings for Charlie have thrown me for a loop.
And now, here I am, reunited with a man who has the exact same eyes as the former love of my life. Is it a sign that I should stay away from Charlie? A reminder that I don’t deserve him?
What kind of twisted game is the universe playing with me?
