Page 84 of Long Story Short

“In here, sweetheart,” he calls.

Relief loosens in my chest at the familiar sound of his voice. I round the corner and find him already sitting at the table. A glass of wine sits in front of him as he leans over his tablet. His reading glasses are perched low on his nose as he looks something over.

The moment I step into the room, he looks up and meets my gaze.

“There’s my best girl,” he notes.

My chest tightens, and my eyes sting at the sight of him. I cross the distance to him quickly, leaning down to wrap my arms around his neck as I press a kiss to his cheek. “I missed you,” I manage to get out through the thickness of my throat.

He lets out a sigh before patting my arm. “You saw me last week.”

“I can still miss you.”

“That’s true. I’m easy to miss.” He pulls back enough to look at me. “And I missed you too.”

I can’t help but smile, taking in the sight of my grandfather. He looks the same as he always does, and something in my chest relaxes at seeing him again after not seeing him for a week.

I press one more kiss to his forehead before sliding into the seat across from him. I sit down just in time, because right as I take a drink out of my own wine glass, dinner’s brought out. It’s beautifully plated—something Pop’s picky about—and smells so good that my stomach growls.

I’d been so busy writing after I left Tyson’s this morning that I never ate lunch.

“Something smells amazing,” I note, my gaze taking in the food on my plate. Steak—Pop’s favorite—along with mashed potatoes, charred carrots, and a side of soup that looks like some kind of seafood bisque.

“The food is good. I made sure of it.”

“Nan would’ve approved of this,” I note, remembering how much she loved steak. It was always her favorite too.

Pop’s face shifts, just slightly, but I still catch it. “She always did love to request steak for dinner, didn’t she?”

I nod. “Yes, and you never argued because you spoiled her.”

“Couldn’t help myself,” he replies easily.

After that, we fall into easy conversation. Pop catches me up on the drama with his friends and fills me in on what’s happening with work.

He stabs a piece of his steak, his gaze finding mine. “I’m waiting for you to tell me how work’s going,” he says, his white, bushy eyebrows raised. “Has escaping to the Hamptons helped?”

I hesitate for a moment, my chest feeling hot at his question. How much do I want to tell him?

“It’s better,” I admit. “A lot better,” I finish, unable to keep much from Pop.

“Good. That’s a change.”

“I know.”

He takes a bite of his steak, his stare still pinned on me. “What happened to make it better? The scenery change?”

I don’t answer right away because I don’t know how to explain it to him. Escaping to the Hamptons definitely helped, but it’s also what—or who—I found in the Hamptons as well.

How do I tell him that I met someone who makes everything feel right, so now I’m able to write from experience instead of my imagination?

Instead of getting into that with my grandfather, I just shrug. “I guess being in a new spot…something just clicked.”

He studies me with a knowing expression. “Does this ‘something’ have a name?”

I try not to gawk at his question. I wasn’t expecting him to know anything about Tyson or the reason behind my sudden inspiration. Heat creeps up my neck.

“I didn’t say that.”