Oh, Bryn, if he’s that handsome and charming, I’ll bethe has you falling in love in no time.
Oh, Bryn, wouldn’t it be wonderful if you fell in love and settled down with him? I wish you would. You need to find a good man to marry. A man who treated you like your grandfather treated me.
She sucks it all in, refraining from saying any of those things as she lifts her coffee cup to her lips, hiding half her oval face from me. It doesn’t prevent me from seeing her cheekbones rise or the smile that goes along with it. “Well, that’s nice. How?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t say anything else.” I take a sip of my coffee, waiting.
It’s only a moment before, “Did you ask?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Tilting my head to the side, I cock an eyebrow at her. “Someone interrupted me and wanted to know what the text said.”
Exasperated, Gran rolls her eyes with a heavy sigh, setting her cup down. “Message her back. Find out.”
“I will.” But instead, I pick up my half-eaten piece of toast smeared with cheese whiz and raspberry jam Gran made from the berries in the backyard. “Eventually.”
She picks up her own piece of toast with the same spreads on top. I learned it from her and my grandpa, after all. “I’m never going to see my great-grandkids, am I?”
“You have three. From my cousins.”
“Yours, Bryn. I want to meet yours.”
“Because I’m your favorite?”
“I’m not supposed to pick favorites.” She’s about to take a bite but pauses and looks over the piece of bread at me with a devilish smirk. “But yes.”
I give her the answer I always do. “You’re my favorite too, Gran.”
Tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, I watch as the fire truck backs into the bay at Station Nine. It’s been hours since Quinn text me this morning, and when I finally put Gran out of her misery and replied, Quinn ghosted me.
To be fair, she’s probably been busy with calls. I thought maybe I’d get lucky when Nate texted me and said they were on their way back and I could meet them at the station, but Quinn and Hailey’s ambulance is nowhere to be found in the bays.
I should have texted her back immediately this morning. It’s not like I couldn’t seem eager with Quinn. Of course I’d have questions about this. I had a great time, and I was bummed when we had to leave.
Did I need to leave, though?
Jordan offered to stay with me until Wyatt came back, saying the other three could leave. But there was no way I could stay at the bar with a sick friend needing to go home. The five of us were a unit, even if I’d spent half the night dancing with Wyatt instead of hanging out with them.
Maybe I should have just been hanging out with them.
Maybe I shouldn’t have danced with him for so long.
Maybe I should forget the entire night.
Dropping my head back against the headrest in my pristine sporty coupe, I close my eyes and expel a slow breath from my lungs. I’ve got time to make decisions when it comes to Wyatt. I’ll hear what Quinn has to say when she gets here, because eventually she’ll show up, or at least text me back.
It won’t matter. Your priorities are still set.
When the truck is almost completely backed in, I get out of my car, going to the trunk to pull out my travel massage table and the bag of sheets. Every time one of their shifts lines up with one of my days off, I come to the station to help the guys out. Nate and I worked out a deal when I was still in school, and it’s carried through since I became a certified massage therapist. Everyone in the station is a friend, and I like being able to help them. Especially since some of them won’t help themselves.
Walking across the sidewalk and over the driveway of the station, I enter through the open bay door, finding Nate, Luke, and Brody dealing with their gear.
Luke breaks into a wide grin when he sees me, but there’s something off about it. He looks like a Cheshire cat in the way he’s beaming at me.
Nate gives me his normal easy smile. My boss for the last four years at 10-42, he took a chance on me when I was a twenty-one-year-old kid who didn’t have much experience besides walking across a stage and smiling. He’s done more for me than he knows.
