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“Uncle Grey!” she says, holding up her arms.
He leans down and swoops her into his arms, airplane-ing her over his head—noise effects and everything—before he bends his arms and presses a kiss to both her cheeks.
“Bryce!” He shifts her easily onto his hip, like he’s done it a million times before. “Where have you been, girl?”
“Workin’.”
“Workin’ on what?”
“My computer”—she points to an iPad—“just like you and Daddy.”
“Are you CEO of your own company yet?”
“I am.” She nods proudly. “Can I be CBD of yours too?”
He laughs. Ford does, too, from his perch on the sofa.
“You must be a pretty chill boss, then,” Grey replies.
“She is anything but chill,” Ford says. “But you already know that.”
Bryce crosses her arms. “You gonna make me the boss or what?”
“Hm. What are your qualifications?”
Bryce rolls her eyes dramatically, letting out an aggravated sigh.
“Girls run the world, Uncle Grey.”
“Yeah they do,” Greyson says, looking at me.
I bite back a laugh while simultaneously fighting a joyous sense of what the ever-living fuck.
It’s obvious Greyson is very close with his niece. Again, no awkwardness, no hesitation. Just sweetness and warmth and familiarity. He’s literally radiating affection. Joy.
Not only that. He’s already talking to Bryce about owning businesses and being a boss.
He’s helping to raise a feminist in the making.
I mean. Stick a fork in me. I am done.
This isn’t me heaping praise on a man for doing what’s merely expected of a woman (and never, ever rewarded with said praise, by the way); it’s not me giving him too much credit for being an involved, helpful family member, or being good with kids.
This is me seeing a whole new side of him. The warmth beneath the corporate, cold-hearted veneer that I’ve gotten glimpses of but have never witnessed in such unabashed, unafraid glory.
This is how I was with my family. Because I loved them and they loved me.
Greyson loves these people. Loves them.
Fiercely.
I’m gripped by a fierceness myself. It’s a primal and possibly problematic longing, but it’s there. Lodged in the very center of my being.
I want him to love me like that.
I want to have this man’s baby.
Because I know he’s going to love Charlie Brown this way.
The thought of starting a family with him fills me with this brimming happiness. One day that’s going to be our baby on his hip.
One day our baby will be a part of this loving, tight-knit family.
I want to be a part of it, too. So badly it hurts.
Am I an idiot to even entertain the idea? I’ve known Grey for, what, six months? And his family all of six minutes?
But you can just tell. They’re close. They’re in each other’s lives and help each other out.
They love each other. Unconditionally.
They belong to each other, too.
“You tell ’em, Bryce,” Eliza cuts in. “And don’t you let these boys forget it.”
“She may not run the world yet, but she sure as hell runs this family,” Ford says. He smiles and gets up, coming over to give me a hug. “Hey, Julia. Glad you could make it.”
All this hugging. The toys. The sweating glass of deliciously sweet tea in my hand.
Amazing how I already feel right at home.
“It’s good to see you,” I say, tilting my head to look at Bryce. Greyson’s got her on his shoulders now. “And who is this?”
“This is my daughter, Bryce. Bryce, can you say hello to Miss Julia?”
“Hi, Bryce,” I say with a little wave.
Bryce looks at me for a full beat, brown eyes locked on mine. Serious and steady and smart. I struggle not to laugh. She’s got this intensity about her that I immediately recognize, because she shares it with Grey.
“Hello,” she says at last.
Grey grins. “Give her a little bit to warm up to you. She’ll get there.”
“Hey, boys, do y’all mind coming to help me outside?” Monty asks. “Time to put the steaks on.”
Grey puts Bryce back on the ground. Then the three of them grab their cocktails and head out back. I join Eliza in the kitchen, where she checks on a huge pot of mashed sweet potatoes and some collards simmering with bacon and sugar in a dutch oven.
“What can I help with?” I ask.
Eliza waves me away. “You just sit, honey.”
“Bryce is too stinking cute,” I say, turning to look at her. She’s playing quietly on her iPad, her wispy brown hair tucked neatly behind her ears.
“She’s got my boys wrapped around her little finger, that’s for sure.”
“Greyson clearly adores her.”
“Oh yeah. He’s been a big part of Bryce’s life since she was born.” She lowers the lid onto the pot of potatoes. Lowers her voice, too. “Ford’s wife died when Bryce was just a baby. Grey stepped up in a big way. We all did, but he took his role as surrogate parent very seriously. Same as he took his role as the responsible older brother seriously when they were growing up.”
