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I grab his shirt in my fists. “I do too.”
“I don’t want to rush it.”
“I don’t feel rushed,” I admit.
“I…um…I want to do it right.” He steps back from me and gently pries my fists from his shirt. “That means I have to go home.”
“Okay,” I say reluctantly.
The light over our heads flickers again, which makes him laugh. He hugs me close one last time and presses a kiss to my temple, lingering there.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says. “Want me to pick you up for church?”
“I normally ride with Grandma.” He knows this.
He grins. “I know. Want to ride with me, though?”
He looks so damn cute asking that
I can’t refuse him. “Sure. Pick me up.”
He presses his lips to my forehead again and groans out loud. Then he steps back, although it looks like it physically pains him to do so. He adjusts his pants, ever so discreetly.
I arch my brows at him. “You doing okay there, Grady?” I ask playfully.
“Explosive, Clifford,” he states. “I’m telling you. Explosive.”
Then he turns on his heel and walks away. I watch his taillights until he’s out of sight, and then I go inside. I find Grandma standing near the door. She grins at me.
“You think you’re so funny,” I say as I roll my eyes at her.
“Tell me everything,” she says, and she sits down on the couch and pats the spot next to her.
So I do. I curl up next to her and tell her everything. And I actually feel better for the telling.
“So, what are you going to do?” she asks.
“He’s picking me up for church in the morning.”
“He’s a good boy, Evie,” she says. She reaches out and squeezes my ankle, where it’s lying next to her on the couch.
I know he’s good. I just wonder if I can be what he needs.
24
Grady
The next morning, I get dressed for church and drive over to Ms. Markie’s house, and find Ms. Markie staring at the front door, waiting for Evie to finish getting ready. “I don’t understand why today has to be such a production. She never takes this long to get ready for anything,” Ms. Markie grumbles as she walks past me. “I’m going to church. I don’t want to be late.”
“Save us a seat!” Evie calls from down the hall.
“Save a seat,” Ms. Markie mutters. “Somebody better save her life, because I’m going to kill her if she makes me late all because she’s still primping in front of the mirror.” She waves at me. “She’s your problem now.”
“I got it, Ms. Markie,” I assure her. “You go on ahead. I’ll rustle her up.”
Ms. Markie mutters all the way to her car.
I walk inside and call out, “Clifford?”
