Page 54 of Love Felt Like This

“Griffin, good to see you again, honey.”

She pulls him into a hug and holds firm. My hands tense, but then…a little smile grows on Griffin’s face. It feels secretive—the kind that lifts at only one corner, like it’s too soon to abandon skepticism. Familiar, yet not, similar to an old friend from high school you run into at a reunion.

Nana pats him on the back as she pulls away. “And there’s the sweet girl.” She hunches to wave closer to Ava. Ava shuffles her way back to her dad’s legs.

He nudges her with his shin. “Can you say hi?”

She’s silent, but after another nudge, she waves, then buries her face in Griffin’s black denim pant leg.

“We’ll work on it,” Nana says, throwing a wink to Griffin. “Too attached to her big brother, I suppose.”

Brother.

Griffin doesn’t counter. He smiles again. The sight is so foreign and rare, but a little zip runs through my chest, like I’m touching lightning in a bottle.

“We have juice boxes in the fridge for her,” my mom says, nodding to Ava. “Would she like one?”

“Oh, sure. Grape’s her favorite, if you have it.” His smile stiffens. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No,” Nana says. “We’ve got it all handled.”

Griffin doesn’t seem to like that answer, because he grabs the napkins I abandoned earlier on the counter and puts one at each place mat anyway. Nana watches but doesn’t stop him, beaming in my direction. I bite back a smile. Yeah, I don’t think that’s his PR training at all.

We gather at the table. Dad’s fried chicken and mashed potatoes are passed around, along with green beans that Rob ignores and mac and cheese that Griffin scoops for Ava, who sits in a booster seat Mom pulled from the attic. I sit next to Griffin, trying to keep my arms tucked in so we don’t accidentally touch, but he’s too bulky. My shoulders slip against his biceps.

“So,” Dad asks, “how are you liking the town?”

“We’re settling in,” Griffin says. “I’m not accustomed to being out of LA in January.”

“Oh yeah, it’s cold as hell,” Greg says. “Just be thankful it hasn’t snowed in a few days. You’ll be shriveled up, y’know?”

Seriously, Greg?

“Totally,” Rob chimes in.

“C’mon guys,” Dad chastises, even though he adds with a smile, “It’ll be cold, though, Griff. Get prepared.”

Griffin’s eyes bounce between the conversations. I wince.

“So,” Momma interjects. “I hear you and our Bev are making music.”

Thank you, mother. Let’s absolutely not talk about cold testicles, please.

“Yes. Just until Beverly pitches the show in March. And then I’ll be on tour after.”

“Oh, yeah?” Rob chimes in, darting his eyes around the table, as if gauging whether anyone else is as interested as he is. “Where”—another peek—“where ya going?”

“UK. Germany. I think Spain? Couple other places too.”

“And you’re working out here for the full two months before then?” Momma asks.

“Well, I’ve got the Grammys in February.”

“No way,” Rob breathes.

“It shouldn’t break up my routine, though.” Griffin shrugs, but his shoulders are tense. “Once I start writing, it doesn’t take too long. Just gotta start.”

“You enter like a flow state or something?” Greg asks.