Page 85 of Never Your Valentine

“You’ll have to stop saying ‘ope!’ when you bump into people.”

“Why don’t they say ope on the west coast?” I ask. “It’s such a useful word.”

“You’ll be in a meeting with senior executives and you’ll be like, ‘Just gonna scooch right past ya and grab the quarterly reports.’”

“I do not sound like that.”

“To them you will.”

Damn. He’s probably right about that. Out the window, the sky is dark. There’s no view to speak of. “At least in Los Angeles, you don’t have to leave town to go on a nice date.”

“That’s only in the winter,” he protests. “In the summer, we have…”

“Go on.”

He shakes his head and adjusts his tie as if it’s choking him. “I was just thinking about you, and how unusual you are.”

“Unusual?”

“Maybe improbable is a better word. Everyone wants to come to the U.P. in the summer. They come for the lakes, the sunsets, the long days and the cool nights.”

“As opposed to the icy days and the frigid nights?” I ask.

“That’s what I mean. Only the heartiest of us stay year-round, and to start in the winter? You must be the real deal.” His voice softens. “Up here, we earn our seasons. You earned yours.”

The words settle between us. He’s telling me I belong. Like I’ve already put down roots without meaning to.

My fingers curl around my wine glass. “I didn’t exactly plan it.”

“I know. But you did it anyway.” He grins, breaking the moment. “And you can hold your own at the euchre table, which is basically citizenship.”

I lift my glass. “To accidental Yooperhood.”

“To you,” Grant says, touching his glass to mine. “And whatever you decide.”

His words are perfect. They’re supportive. They’re showing me the man he is, which is the best kind of man. The kind of man who doesn’t hold a woman back. The kind of man who will let her walk away if that’s what she needs to do.

Whatever you decide. The words are so reasonable. That’s the problem.

It’s totally a me problem, because I want Los Angeles, and I want Grant. What I truly want? I want him to be unreasonable enough to ask me to stay. Or go with me. But he won’t. He can’t. He’ll put on a suit, and find a flower vase, and shovel a path, but that’s all he can do.

The server returns, asking if we’re ready to order. We say we need a minute. When she leaves, silence stretches again.

Grant reaches across the table, resting his hand near mine. He’s not quite touching me, but he’s close enough to feel the warmth. “You deserve every good thing coming your way,” he says.

All I can think about is Echo Creek. Laughing with Sophie and Lia. Instant besties with June. The way the Neverly family made room for me at their table like I belonged there. Grant eating two bowls of soup in my kitchen. His hand on my knee as we drink craft beer and watch hockey at his place. Late night booty calls that we swear are only booty calls, and the way we have to reassure each other of that fact over and over, in case anyone gets the wrong idea.

“What if you get a good thing by losing something else?” I ask.

Grant’s eyes meet mine, raw for half a second before he blinks it away. “Then we make the most of tonight.” He smooths down his lapels. “I’m in a suit.”

“I know,” I breathe. “It’s really hot.”

We drink our wine. It tastes deep and complicated.

Kind of like us.

Chapter 34