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She bit her bottom lip and wondered what Grant was like as a kid. How his father was with him. He spoke so highly of him that she could almost see a sweet little boy running around his dad’s office, lighting up his world.
“He was a hard worker, but he always made time for me,” Grant said. Then laughed at the TV. Funny dad struck again, and Grant said, “I can see why you like this show. The dad really is funny.”
Hannah snuggled into Grant’s chest and settled in for a Roseanne marathon. Because between the two of them, the unknown, and the parents that raised them, there was so much unsaid between the sheets they were currently lying in.
And all Hannah could do was try to give a little to get a little, and hope that the pain didn’t get too great to handle.
Chapter Nine
A soft mumble was coming from the living room. Hannah frowned, her eyes still closed, her body still sated from the incredible night with Grant. Only Grant wasn’t in bed.
She slowly opened her eyes and saw it wasn’t even 5:00 a.m. yet.
Her bedroom door was cracked, and she could hear Grant’s low voice coming from the living room.
She slowly got up, the cool floor hitting her feet, and she pulled Grant’s T-shirt on to ward off the chill in the air. She’d been so warm. So comfortable. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so soundly. And she’d been next to Grant.
But this kind of chill went deeper than the air.
“Grant?” she asked, seeing him sitting with his back to her. He turned, his cell phone to his ear, hair still tousled like he’d just gotten out of bed himself.
“Yeah, yeah, we’ll discuss this more next week,” was all he said into the phone before hanging up.
“Sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, coming to stand before her. His bare chest was warm, and she wanted him nearer. But she couldn’t shake the odd scene she’d just walked in on.
“Who was that?” she asked. Then realized it was none of her business, and whatever feeling was taking over her entire chest was heavy and gross.
“The office,” he answered simply.
“At five in the morning?”
He smiled. “It’s eight a.m. New York time.”
That made sense. She just nodded.
“Come on, let’s go back to sleep.” He ushered her back to bed and got her under the covers. Then climbed in and wrapped her up in his arms.
Hannah lay with her cheek against the heartbeat of the man she’d fallen for six months ago, the man she’d fallen for again today, with the strange notion that she didn’t know everything there was to know about Grant Laythem.
Yes, Hannah worked at a bar. And yes, she worked the late shift a few nights a week, which meant that yes, she’d deal with drunk people at midnight.
She just wasn’t in the mood this particular night.
The place was packed. Everyone was drinking and having a good time. The big fireworks show over the ocean brought in a ton of people. Yachats put on the same show of popping colors lighting up the sky once a month. And after, it seemed like half the town flooded into Goonies. Which was a good thing for the business. But Hannah had a ton on her mind.
Mostly Grant.
“You better watch your mouth,” a drunk twenty-something-year-old said to a guy sitting at the bar. Drunk guy was pushy and obviously trying to get close to Hannah to flag her down for another drink. Instead, she walked to the opposite side of the bar and helped the customers there first.
The entire place was loud, and she worked like a robot as various orders got shouted at her.
“Rum and Coke, with a lemon.”
“I need a Corona, no lime, and three shots of Cuervo.”
“Can I get a sex on the beach and two Coors?”
Hannah made the drinks fast. Popped the tops to the beers and slid them to the customers. Grabbing cash and one credit card to start a tab. She turned to the register, then back to the bar, poured more shots, shook more drinks, more beers . . .
