The sting hits deeper than I expect. I used to cook Sunday dinners with Nonna and Niko while my father worked late shifts. I didn’t realize how much I missed the ritual of it until just now when I was told I couldn’t even be in the room.
“I see. And since we’re a secret—”
“Right. You understand, don’t you?” she says, but there’s no question in it.
Before I can answer, she steps forward, crowding into my space, forcing me backward until I’m just outside her door. She doesn't slam it, just closes it gently, but with finality.
“It’s fine,” I say sweetly. “I’ll make dessert.”
Chapter thirty-one
Sticks & Standoffs
Eslin
Fall has to be one of my favorite times of the year. The smells, the colors, even the strange beauty of things dying away. Fall reminds you everything has a purpose, a place, and, maybe most importantly, an ending.
It’s a beautiful Sunday morning in Cinnamon Grove and it was begging me to slow down and breathe it in. When I was younger, my old foster mother, Ms. Judy, would’ve had my butt in church by now, sitting in the second pew, wearing something stiff and respectable. But today, I’m in leggings, sipping on a nutmeg latte from HollyDates, walking through quiet streets that feel like peace.
I’m just leaving the café, adjusting the strap on my top, when I spot him.
“Rocky!” I call out, crouching to greet the team’s beloved pup, who wags his whole body in response. I rub behind his ears, laughing when he tries to climb into my lap.
When I finally stand, I find myself staring into other familiar eyes. Blue ones.
Beautiful ass blue ones.
“Hey there,old friend,”I say, still smiling as I look up at him.
“Hey,old friend,” Grant replies, his voice rich and easy. “Just leaving the gym?” He gestures at my workout set, the matching olive green top and leggings I almost didn’t wear because they felt too sexy.
“Yeah. Then grabbed a drink from Holly,” I say, lifting my latte.
We stand there, smiling nervously. The tension is thick, humming just beneath the casual energy we’re pretending to have. Neither of us moves. And I want to say something—ask him how he’s been, maybe suggest we sit down at Holly’s and split a scone like normal people with normal pasts. But he beats me to it, stealing whatever words were just forming on my tongue.
“Hey, Eslin?”
“Yeah?” I answer too quickly. Too eagerly.
He hesitates just a second, then, “Care to take a walk with me and Rocky?”
I nod, the word “sure” barely out of my mouth before we fall into step, heading toward the dog park.
Like friends.
At the crosswalk, we stop under the blinking red light. The quiet stretches, and it suddenly feels like the moment is about to crack open.
“So, are you going to the team Halloween party?” I ask, watching the light instead of his face.
He shrugs. “Marlow’s trying to force me. Been trying to fix me up with someone.”
I cringe.
Grant and I have kept a respectful distance. We’ve shared rooms, meetings, team events where we are always measured, always professional. I’ve managed to dodge Sunday dinners at his place with Marlow more times than I can count, always having something come up last minute. Grant and I simply agreed beingthatclose again was a terrible idea. So we avoided it at all costs.
But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t twist something in my gut every time she casually mentions wanting to set him up with some eager socialite or freshly divorced soccer mom. The tight, nauseous feeling becoming a regular visitor every time she shows me a new dating profile on Caché Elite.
So I know I’m playing with fire even asking about his love life. But what else are friends supposed to talk about? The weather? The news? The way his sweatpants leave nothing to the imagination and have me clinging to the last threads of my sanity?
