Page 157 of Love Felt Like This

Perfect.

Chapter Thirty-One

This Impossible Reality

Beverly

I wake up the next day before the sun fully rises, as orange and yellow streaks peek through the slats of my blinds. I jolt up in bed and look around. My sheets are rustled, some half off the bed. My bra is abandoned near the door. My notebook is open on the floor, splayed out, spine up, where it was knocked off the night before.

The thought of last night sends a twitching smile to my cheeks.

I remember Griffin kneeling on the floor afterward with both my hands cupped in his.

“I’ve got to go,” he said and kissed the inside of my palm.

“Go.” I waved him off. “Be a good dad.”

He chuckled, stroking his bearded cheek across my palm, like he was savoring me. I understood the feeling. I could have stayed that way all night, but instead we tiptoed back down the stairs, and I watched as he crunched across the yard back to his garage. He turned around just before opening the door and waved to me. I waved back, and then we both went inside our respective houses.

I didn’t fall asleep until much later. I was awake to hear my parents come home with Rob after picking him up from band practice. I heard Nana shuffle back, too, creaking along the floorboards to her bedroom across the hall. Her door didn’t shut right away, like maybe she was waiting for mine to open so I could tell her about my night. While I would never share intimate details with anyone—especially Nana—I also couldn’t bring myself to share the night either. I wanted this to be just for us. I wanted to keep Griffin and me tucked between my palms, like his bearded cheek brushing against my hand. I rolled over, buried my head into the pillow, and drifted off to sleep with the smell of his cologne on my sheets.

Now, I climb out of bed and slide into my house slippers. It must be early, maybe before Dad and Mom leave for work. I walk out to the kitchen and freeze when I see Griffin shaking coffee grounds into the filter.

“B!” Ava calls over. She’s on the woven rug, with Steak winding around her back.

I smile. “Morning, A.”

“Hi, B!”

“Hi, A.”

“Hi, B!”

“Remember, she’ll do that forever,” Griffin says with a smile.

I wish we could. But the haze of last night is starting to fade when I see scattered remnants of my sewing projects on the living room coffee table.

The pitch.

I look at him again, taking in his dark jeans and black Henley. His hair hangs down by his shoulders.

I want to reach out for him, but one look at Ava has me halting.

Can she know?

What will she think?

Griffin steps closer, tilting his chin down and murmuring, “Hey.”

The way he settles against the counter feels so…domestic. The sound of cartoons plays in the background, my palms are warm for the first time ever, and a stunning man is making me coffee.

It feels like Saturday mornings with my parents. I remember being young like Ava, playing on the floor with Birds on the Block on the television and Nana and Grandpa in the recliners.

It’s hard not to admire Griffin, especially when every few moments, he turns to give me that familiar half smile. I itch to kiss him, but I’m clutching the side of the kitchen counter like it’s keeping me grounded in this impossible reality.

Except it is possible.

We’re here, aren’t we?