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“Not really,” I say. But she’s already gone.
I clean up, and then I place the order for the dairy, which was an even bigger pain in the ass than I thought it would be. Stacey hadn’t figured in that we release the pumpkin spice latte next week, and that calls for double the whip we normally order. Thankfully we aren’t busy, or it would have taken me even longer, and I have to make it to the bus stop by 9:30, otherwise I have to wait a full hour for the final bus of the night to make its way back around. I’m just finishing up counting the till when I hear the doorbell chime. I look up, and I see him. Grant Dunn. He looks almost confused as he steps through the doorway, as though he’s misplaced something, and he isn’t sure this is where he’ll find it.
“I’m sorry,” he says, checking his watch and then meeting my eye. “Are you closed?”
Technically, we closed two minutes ago but I remember the twenty dollar tip and his million dollar grin and I simply say, “What can I get you?”
“I was thinking about an Americano, actually.”
He smiles, and there’s something in his eye that lets me know, he hasn’t forgotten they aren’t on the menu.
“Decaf?”
He tilts his head as though it isn’t late, as though I’m crazy for the thought. “I never do things halfway.”
I nod, and then I swallow hard because he’s looking at me the way I’ve seen him look at her in the photos, and I never want it to stop. I gather the things I need and flip the espresso machine back on. It comes to life, and I busy my hands.
“Busy today?”
“Always,” I say, and it isn’t a lie. Today was abnormally busy. We’ve just gotten the first cool front of the season and suddenly everyone thinks run-of-the-mill coffee is a good idea.
“I hope you don’t mind, but there’s something I need to ask you…”
I look up then and meet his eye.
“It’s the reason I came back, actually. I just have to know…”
I swallow hard, because his stare is burning a hole through me. I’m pretty sure in all my years in existence, no one has ever looked at me this way before. I can’t speak. I can’t think. Somehow I manage to lift my brow.
He waits for a second before he speaks. He holds my stare. “Who was Joshua?”
Chapter Thirteen
Josie
Grant leans in and releases my hair from a ponytail. He tosses the hair tie onto the bathroom counter and then meets my eye. “I missed you today,” he says, as he runs his hands through my hair, fanning it out.
I study my reflection in the mirror behind him.
“All those women and you know what?”
I offer up a blank stare. It’s best to let him tell me. That’s how this game works.
He smirks, and I can see why my husband is so good with the women he’s just mentioned. “I couldn’t wait to get home to you…” he tells me. “You are so beautiful, Josie.”
I lean forward and throw my arms around him. He makes me believe, even as he’s adjusting my appearance to suit his tastes.
“Wow,” he says. “It’s good to know you feel the same way.” He’s playing smug, but I can see the exhaustion on his face. I can hear the weariness in his tone. Or maybe that’s just what I want to hear. Maybe I want to know he’s every bit as worn out as I am. Maybe if that were the case, we could slow things down a little.
I pull away and search his eyes. He looks like he used to back in residency, when the days were long, and the pay was little. Only now—the circles underneath his eyes are more apparent—the wrinkle between his brow more pronounced. Time has its way of doing that. I reach up and run my finger along the crease to smooth it out. You’d think as a plastic surgeon, that he might take care of any sign of aging. But not Grant. He says it makes him look wiser, more capable. He isn’t wrong.
“Thank you for working so hard for us,” I say to him, and I mean it. Despite everything that’s happened, this is true. It has to be. That’s why it works. I keep the emotions real.
He leans forward and plants a kiss on my forehead. Then he takes my forearms in his hands and squeezes. This is what our life has become, I think. Stolen moments. Bittersweet truths. He glances around me toward the door. “The kids in bed?”
“Yes,” I tell him, knowing what he wants. This time I want it too.
“Perfect. Let’s have a bath.”
