Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“Well, I hope you two make a decision soon,” my mom says, jarring me from my thoughts.
She sounds worried, and I frown. “Why’s that?”
Tilting her head, she smirks. “Because I want you to hurry up and secure your happily ever after. As your mother, it’s the last thing I have to fret over.”
Chuckling, I shake my head and open one of the drawers to search for salad tongs. “Don’t worry, Mom. Griff and I will be fine no matter what.”
Finding the tongs, I shove them into the salad and turn toward the hallway separating the kitchen and living room. “Aaron, Griff… dinner’s ready.”
“Awww… Mom… just ten more minutes,” Aaron calls back in a whiny voice only a ten-year-old can carry off with a modicum of cuteness.
“Yeah, Mom,” Griff echoes in an exaggerated, petulant voice. “Ten more minutes.”
“Now,” I say, using my mom voice that may have been quite rusty for the last several years, but still packs a sufficient wallop with the promise of retribution if I’m not obeyed.
“Oh, boy,” I hear Griff murmur as the TV goes silent. “Is that her mad voice?”
“Nah,” Aaron replies with a snicker. “Not anywhere close to it.”
“Then I have no desire to hear her true mad voice,” Griff replies.
My mom and I cut looks at each other, grinning.
Griff and Aaron appear in the kitchen, my son moving right to the breakfast nook we’ve been eating at over the last few nights, which is more intimate than the formal dining room. Griff heads right for me. With no concern that my mom or son may be watching, he wraps his untethered arm around my waist.
He leans down, nuzzles my neck, and murmurs, “Smells good.”
If the women in prison could see me now, they’d think I’d gone crazy as the Bebe Grimshaw they knew wasn’t a giggler.
But fuck if I don’t do just that, burrowing into Griff’s body for a second. My gaze goes to my mom, who pretends she’s not reveling in this with that little secret smile as she moves to the oven to grab the lasagna. I glance over to Aaron, who’s watching Griff and me with an affable curiosity. It’s still a bit odd having a male figure around, and having said male figure pay attention to his mom.
But Aaron knows enough about societal norms to know this direction is a good one. Having a positive male influence in his life is something that’s more than beneficial.
Plus, I know my kid.
He’s happy if his mom is happy.
I shrug Griff off, playfully pushing him toward the table. My mom and I work in tandem to set everything out. Lasagna, salad, dressings, and drinks. We sit together as a family, and I dish out steamy, gooey piles of Italian goodness onto plates.
We laugh and joke.
We talk about our days.
Aaron and Griff go off on a football tangent, and life is incredibly good.
“So, listen,” Griff says after setting his utensils down and wiping his mouth with his napkin. “I had a long talk with my boss today.”
This has me sitting straight in my chair, because the tone of his voice is somber. My mom frowns, and Aaron just tilts his head as he continues to chew his food.
“I’ve been offered a job transfer,” he says, and my stomach twists. This is it. I told Griff I’d go with him, wherever he was. He was more important than any job, but it’s still going to crush me to leave my friends here. “And, well… it’s a big transition for everyone at this table. I don’t want to presume anything, so I thought it would be good if we talked it out together. Like a family.”
My skin flushes at his casual mention that we’re a family, then I’m warmed clear through when Aaron grins in response to that new label.
I can’t let silly sentiment hold me back. My desire is to be with Griff no matter what so I assure him, “We’ll go wherever the FBI wants to send you. Because we are a family now.”
“Long as there’s football,” Aaron adds. “I’m good with that.”
“I just want you two to be happy with your choices,” my mom says sagely.
Griff smiles, shaking his head in amusement. “How about if I got transferred to the Pittsburgh office?”
I’m so shocked my eyes practically bug out of my head. “Doing what?”
Griff ducks his head, rubs at the back of his neck, then gives me a sheepish look. “Well… apparently, our government feels like we should have a direct liaison with Jameson Group because, as the top brass put it, ‘They keep poking their noses in everything’.”
“You’re kidding,” I murmur, astonished at this development. Griff will work in Pittsburgh. I can stay at Jameson. And it sounds like we’ll actually sort of work together now.
“I think that’s cool,” Aaron says.
“It’s wonderful,” my mom exclaims, clasping her hands to her heart.