“Unless you don’t want me to.”
I almost take a knee.
At first I can say nothing. Can she really ask that after I’ve given away everything?
I shake my head. “I didn’t say that.”
It’s only when her expression hardens that I realize how that sounds. As if I don’t care either way. It’s almost laughable.
“I-I mean, of course, Iwantyou to stay.” And because that feels too bald and maybe I’m also a coward, I tack on, “Andtheywant you to stay. They want a chance to get to know you.”
Greta sighs through her nose, and the sound sets me on edge. Well, even more on edge. Because I don’t know how to do this.
I’m crazy about her.
One look at her on that Zoom call, and it was like stepping in front of a bus. I was done for. Denying the attraction, putting distance between us, inventing complaints and faults that were never there—those were my best defenses before Josh left. And after that, telling myself we could just be friends seemed doable. Occasionally.
But now?
I want to be with herall the time.
Yes, the longing is constant. The ache is torture.
But when she’s in my sight, it’s not blood in my veins.
It’s bliss.
Of course, I want her to stay. My foolish heart was pounding like a beast when she met Mom and Dad. Because I was proud. And nervous. And hoping like hell that they would like each other.
I wanted to say, “Mom, Dad, this is Greta. She’s everything.”
I wanted to say, “Greta, these are my parents. Anything good in me came from them.”
Which really meant:
Please love her.
Please love them.
Because I want us to be family.
And, even now, that is terrifying because if I want Greta and my parents to love each other, then—
Then I am in love with Greta Ste. Marie.
Shit. I don’t know how to do this.
And I’m incapable of not making this weird.
“Please stay,” I finally croak.
She holds my gaze for a stretch of several seconds, her eyes giving nothing away. And just when I think she’s going to toss her shot of gin in my face, she grabs the squeeze bottle of honey and squirts a jet of it into each of our glasses.
All I can do is watch. Because I’m in love with Greta Ste. Marie.
And if I do anything or say anything in this moment, it’ll inevitably be the wrong thing. Too much or too little.
Once our drinks are mixed, I follow her out, and we pull up chairs next to my parents. And, call me an idiot, but it’s all too easy to view this scene through a different filter. Me introducing her to my parents, but not just as my business partner.
