The thought is sad, but then Grey starts to tell me all the jokes his teammates told him tonight, and you know what? Life is too short not to enjoy living in the moment.
Maybe that should be my motto for the rest of the summer. Stop dwelling on what has been or what will be and just be present.
The thought alone makes me feel lighter.
The possibilities are endless.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SIMON
It’s been a long day, and sleep is calling my name as soon as I pull into the driveway.
Fuck. I almost missed the signing today. I should have left long before Greer showed up, but I wanted to see her. I hadn’t planned for her to stay with Grey, but it worked out. Now, though, I wouldn’t be upset if she were awake when I walked in the door.
I put my truck in park and let out a sigh.
I’ve been grateful for Greer since the day she started helping me out, but right now, I’m thinking I need to do something a little extra special for her. Knowing that Grey is in bed and my house is more than likely clean takes away more stress than I think she’ll ever know.
Hell, the only stress I have now is controlling myself when I’m near her.
I grab my computer bag from the passenger seat, slinging it over my shoulder as I get out.
My stomach growls.
Signing days can be busy, and I forget to eat. Luckily for me, I’ve got a manager who remembers to bring snacks or steps out to get food for me while I’m working. The key, though, is to eat it when he tells me to.
Today, I’d skipped dinner to spend a little extra time with some readers who’ve decided to give writing a try. One of them was a man. I’m not saying you can’t be a man and write romance—I’m evidence that it can happen—but it’s not easy. We tend to get a little more judgment than others. Some readers have the opinion that a man can’t give a heroine the characteristics or strength she deserves, but we can. I do. Anyway, he had a lot of questions about how to brand himself, and I didn’t want to cut him short.
That said, I smell the remains of dinner in the air the moment I walk into the house from the garage.
I pause, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.
A man could get used to this.
I move into the kitchen, set my bag on the kitchen table, and then open the fridge.
Right there on the middle shelf is a plate covered in Press ’n Seal with a sticky note.
Hope your hand hurts from signing lots of books. Don’t heat this for longer than three minutes.
—Greer.
I take the plate, noticing the pizza box under it, and groan with joy as I see the fettuccine alfredo on the plate. She must have prepared this early in the day, but Grey clearly talked her into pizza. Typical.
My guess is this is the healthy version of pasta. Which, having a health nut as neighbor and nanny means she’’ made enough trial-and-error dinner plates to find one that doesn'’ shoutthis is health food!the moment it hits your tongue.
It goes without saying that I inhale my late-night dinner in less than ten minutes.
I wash my plate, putting it in the dishwasher so as to not ruin the immaculately clean kitchen Greer left me with.
God. She really should let me pay her more. This isn’t right.
If she won’t take more money, I could dedicate the next book to her.
That’s lame, but it’s better than nothing.
I flip the light off and head upstairs. I didn’t see Greer in the living room. I peek into Grey’s room to see it, too, is cleaner than usual while he snores happily in bed.
