Page 72 of Love Felt Like This

I look back to him, and it’s immediately a mistake.

Griffin gently cuts into the side of the cake with his fork and raises the small chocolate piece to his lips. Heat rises in my cheeks as he dips it into his mouth. His mouth purses as the fork glides out, his bottom lip catching on the tines. His tongue whips to the corner of his mouth and licks away the remaining drip of chocolate icing.

My throat is so dry.

“Tastes just like chocolate cake,” he announces.

Momma groans. “Fine. I’ll try it.”

Honestly? I think about that tongue for the rest of the night.

I’m shameless.

Absolutely shameless.

This is Griffin Harvey. In my household. Eating cake. Unpacking his guitar. Playing songs with my brother by the fireplace. Talking him through chords. He doesn’t make a single comment about Rob’s slow guitar picking. And when he notices it’s out of tune, he takes the time to show Rob how to correct it on his own guitar, patiently waiting for him to get it right. He doesn’t steal the guitar to do it himself like Beau used to.

“We should get going,” Griffin announces.

I don’t know how much time has passed or who said what to me for the last hour.

Griffin removes a sleepy Ava from Nana’s arms in the recliner. He gently cradles her to his chest, moving carefully and deliberately so as not to wake her up. She’s exhaling little snores into his neck. He looks relieved.

Griffin grabs the handle of his guitar case and holds it up to me. “See you tomorrow.”

“Right. Yeah.”

He slides past me, and I smell the leather again. But this time, there’s chocolate as well. And I swear, just the smallest hint of mayonnaise.

I wake up to the sound of crying again.

My stomach is hot. My laptop is overheating on me. I shift it to the side.

I still hear crying. It sounds like a child’s.

I’m definitely not dreaming anymore.

Maybe I’m losing my mind?

Good lord, I don’t have time for that.

I sit still, trying to gauge where it’s coming from. The crying sounds distant, which means this is not a dream. It’s real.

I pick up my headphones and lean in toward one speaker. No songs or videos play.

I stand from my bed and tiptoe across the whining hardwood floor on fuzzy-socked feet. I creak open my door and peer out into the hall. The house is silent, save for its usual nighttime sounds—Dad’s snores, the heater from Nana’s room humming. I walk back to my room. When I close the door, the sound gets louder. And louder still when I walk to the window. I crack it open.

The wails are coming from outside?

And it hits me.

It’s Ava.

Chapter Thirteen

E Is for Emotions

Griffin