* * *
I sip my latte and sigh into the couch.
This is heaven.
I know it’s stupid, but when Tobias asked me about stopping for a coffee, I gave him my auto-response. But I only drank coffee from home because Griffin did. He made great points about how much money it could save, so I changed my ways.
It had made me a bit sad because I love stopping for coffee. It shouldn't matter what anyone else believes. I love it. So that means there is nothing wrong with it.
I hear Tobias grumble something from the kitchen as the oven drawer pops to a close.
“Do you want help?” I call out.
“No.”
Another clatter of dishes as he shoutsfuckfor the tenth time.
I decide to take pity on him, despite the fact he doesn’t want my help, and head into the kitchen.
I take a seat at the table and cross my legs, propping my chin into my hands like I always do.
“You never were a good cook.”
He spins quickly and points the spatula at me. “I made you breakfast, and I’m pretty sure you moaned at how delicious it was.”
I snap my fingers and then move toward him, taking the spatula.
“Okay, correction, you were never good at baking.”
I stir the brownie mix as he leans his hip on the counter next to me.
“You’re not wrong about that.”
“And yet here you are.”
He nods.
“Brownies make things better—or well, that’s been her motto since I was a kid.”
He nods toward the downstairs guest room where Grandma Betty is napping.
As soon as we got back from the hospital, her neighbor was here to greet her with flowers, and they shooed us away for about a half hour before he left, and she stated that she needed a nap.
We may have been home only about an hour, but Tobias hasn’t stopped moving. He’s cleaned, moved pictures, moved dishes, and anything else you can think of. He wants everything within reach for his grandmother, to the point that she won’t need to stand on the tips of her toes for anything. And now he’s making her brownies.
“When I’m old, I hope my grandson or granddaughter takes care of me as much as you do her.”
“They will,” he says with a wink.
I smile for a moment and then add, “If I ever actually get married.”
“You will,” he says with another wink. Only this time, his eyes lock on mine for another moment.
I inhale a breath under his gaze but step back. “Did you spray the dish with cooking spray yet?”
He nods once and points to where the can is sitting behind me.
I grab the glass, and together we pour the mix in.
