Page 19 of Nice to Meet Boo
Heidi loops her arm through his and steers him toward the door. “Great idea, babe. You two… talk.”
Before they leave, Seth gives Grant a look so stern, it almost makes me laugh.
The door swings shut, leaving us in the hum of low light and clinking glassware. Grant shifts, heavy boots scuffing the floor.
“I owe you an apology,” he says.
“For what?”
“For this morning. For… shutting you out.” He meets my gaze, steady but vulnerable. “The truth is, I’ve been wearing a mask. Not just a costume last night. For a long time. It’s easier to be the guy who works, who keeps moving, who never stays long enough for anyone to really know him. Easier to hide behind that than risk being left again.”
I swallow hard. “Left?”
He nods once. “Fiancée. Years ago. Told me I was too much trouble to love. Since then, it’s been… safer not to try.”
He drags a hand through his hair. “But then you show up in angel wings, boss me around on Main Street, make me laugh when I haven’t in months—and suddenly safe doesn’t feel worth it anymore.”
Tears prick my eyes, stupid and soft. “Grant…”
“You’re the first person who’s made me want to be seen. Really seen. And I don’t want our night to be just one night.” His voice roughens. “If you’ll have me.”
I press the halo to my chest, breathing past the lump in my throat. “You’re the first person I’ve wanted to really know in a long time.”
The air shifts, warm and hopeful. He steps closer, close enough that I feel the heat from his body, but not touching until I nod. Then his hand slides over mine, grounding.
“Let’s start then,” I say, voice shaking but sure. “Rapid fire. Getting to know you.”
He smirks, the kind of smile that makes my stomach flip. “Hit me.”
“Favorite color?”
“Green.”
“Favorite food?”
“Steak. You?”
“Pasta. Specifically mac and cheese.”
“Movie that makes you cry?”
His mouth twitches. “Not telling.”
I poke him in the chest. “That’s against the rules.”
“Fine. It’sField of Dreams. Don’t repeat it.”
My heart squeezes. “Mine’sYou’ve Got Mail. Always and forever.”
He nods, thoughtful. “Dream vacation?”
“Florence. Pasta, art, wine. You?”
“Cabin in the Rockies. No people, just quiet.” He hesitates, then adds, “Unless you came too.”
I smile so wide it hurts. “Okay. Last one. What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”
He goes still, studying me. Then, softly: “Hopefully eating too much pie. With you.”
