Page 58 of Love Felt Like This

Griffin scoops up Ava.

“Go!” she says, pointing to the stairs.

“That’s right. We’re going.” He looks at the TV and nods. “Oh, Halo. Classic.”

Rob absolutely glows.

With a final handshake, Uncle Greg looks between us and pats Griffin on the back. “Better be nice. We like her.”

It’s not a threat, but it’s also most definitely a threat.

“Thanks for that,” I murmur to Greg, who pats me on the back too.

I descend the staircase with Griffin and Ava behind me. Once we’re back in the den, I let out a heavy exhale.

“Well…wanna see the apartment?” I ask.

“Uh…sure. Yeah.”

I guide us outside, where the wind whips past us as we cross the yard. I hold out my hand for the key. Griffin drops it into my palm, brushing his rough fingers over mine before I unlock the door to Grandpa and Nana’s old garage apartment.

I flick on the light. It’s the same as it’s always been. The floor is an orange shag carpet. A big antique wood-grain TV consumes most of one wall, set in front of an oval crocheted rug. Facing it is a tangerine floral couch with a blue granny-square quilt slung over the back—the only pop of cool tones in this sunny room. There’s a bathroom in the back and a small bedroom off to the side. It’s probably no bigger than my old college dorm room, but it was always enough whenever I wanted to spend time outside the house with Nana. This place is where Grandpa taught me how to puppeteer.

“You really don’t have to stay with us,” I say.

“The key says otherwise,” Griffin counters. I smile, dropping it back into his palm.

“They can be a lot.”

“Not a lot at all.”

“Sorry for saying she’s your sister.”

“Seriously, Bev. It’s okay.”

Ava squirms in his arms, reaching down to Pudge, who followed us across the driveway. Steak lurks in the bushes outside, eyes glowing.

Griffin sets down Ava. Pudge lopes over and licks her face, probably trying to get any remaining strawberry icing. Griffin winces.

I pull in my bottom lip. “I didn’t even think to ask: Is Ava allergic to dogs?”

“No.” He sighs. “Her mom was, but she’s not.”

Her mom.

My stomach is gripped in a fist.

“I didn’t…” I sigh. “I didn’t know she’d passed. I’m so sorry.”

“I…” His arms tense by his sides. “Yeah. She died when Ava was one.” He runs a palm over his beard. “She would have loved all this,” he says, gesturing around the apartment. “The big family dinner. She liked this kind of life.”

I want to ask more, but we don’t know each other like that, and I’ve already overstepped.

“Anyway,” he says, kicking out a boot. “Thanks again for dinner.”

“There’s bound to be more, if you’re actually moving in.”

“I might. Not sure.”