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I roll my eyes, knowing she can’t see me do it. “Here?”
“Oh, that’s perfect,” she informs me. “Do you need the screws?”
I shake my head, pulling the pencil from my ear and marking on the wall where the rod holders will go. I step down from the stool after, dropping the rod gently against the pile of Gran’s new curtains on the floor.
“You’re gonna have to give me a minute,” I tell her, rolling my shoulder. “You had me holding that curtain rod for half an hour practically.”
Gran clicks her tongue. “You’re still young. You’re fine.”
“Still,” I grumble.
“Well, get your gripey little butt in the kitchen, and I’ll make you some coffee.”
“That sounds more like it.”
I leave the project that she tricked me into taking over at the sliding glass door—following her into the kitchen and plopping down at one of the padded stools at her kitchen island. She busies herself with the coffeepot, warming what’s left from the morning, pulling down two mugs from her cabinet.
I take the spare moment to check my phone, frowning when I notice that Noah still hasn’t replied to my text from this morning. I know he has work today, and that it’s not a big deal that he would be too busy to respond—so why do I keep checking like some twitterpated teenager? His text from last night had been pretty sparse too; he’d said something about being tired from a long day and told me he was going to bed, and that’s completely normal,expectedeven—it’s just me who’s being weird.
If I’m honest with myself, I’ve been weird for days. Weeks, even. Since we left the lodge and started doing things that felt very muchnotpretend. Between the date and spending the weekend together and cuddling on couches and the constantly growing desire to see him, to talk to him... everything feels unclear. I can’t seem to decide if what we’re doing is something we shouldkeepdoing. Not because I don’t want to—on the contrary, because I want ittoomuch. I’ve been happy to hide in the bubble that was a limited agreement that would end the moment Noah left the hospital, but now in the face of that, after everything... Well. I’m definitely experiencing several of thosecomplicationsthat Noah had been so worried about.
“You’re going to stare a hole in the screen if you keep up like that,” I hear Gran say from across the counter.
I turn up my head abruptly. “What?”
“What’s got you so absorbed in your phone?”
“Oh.” I frown again, shaking my head. “Nothing. Just checking my texts.”
“Looking for something from Noah?”
I notice Gran’s expression is smug, and I roll my eyes. “You are way too invested in this.”
“Is it so bad to want my granddaughter to be happy?”
“Iamhappy,” I stress. “Meeting Noah hasn’t had any effect on that.”
The coffeepot beeps, signaling it’s done, and Gran purses her lips as she gives her attention back to it. “Tell that to your phone,” she tuts. “Haven’t ever seen you so glued to it before.”
I could dodge the question, and that’s probably what Ishoulddo—but Gran already thinks that this whole thing is real. Maybe it wouldn’t be a big deal to get some advice.
“Is it weird when someone suddenly stops texting you as much?”
Gran turns to hand me a mug, setting it in front of me. “What do you mean?”
“I just...” I blow out a breath. “It’s not a bigdealor anything, but Noah usually texts me back pretty quickly. Like, annoyingly quick, even, but... I don’t know. He’s been sort of radio silent for the last couple of days.”
“Did you two get into a fight?”
“No?” I think back to the last time I saw him. Sure, the whole debacle with him mentioning dinner with his mother and me having a whole-ass moment about it was uncomfortable, but I’d been pretty sure it was only me who had felt that. Noah had seemed oblivious to my inner turmoil. “He said he was tired last night. Maybe he just had a bad day and I’m reading too much into it.”
When I look up again, Gran is beaming, and I sense I’ve said too much.
“Don’t,” I say before she can start.
She shrugs, still smiling. “I’m just saying—it seems like you really like Noah.”
“Well, I...” I’m not sure how to navigate this conversation, knowing that Gran thinks this whole thing isreal, and I struggle to find the right words. “I mean... he’s a nice guy. We get along really well.”
