Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
For now I tuck it away as she waves a hand at another rack. “Why would I go back to something I already moved on from?”
“Well, not to go all cross-examiner, but aren’t you dating some guy from high school you met at your class reunion?” I point out. “Hello, second-chance romance.”
She spins around again, her eyes ablaze. But her plum-lipsticked mouth is quiet.
“Cat got your tongue, Grandma?” I tease.
She narrows her eyes, crinkling them at the corners, but she stifles a laugh. “Fine, recycling may work for men and clothing. But not clothing trends,” she says as she heads to a nearby row of jeans. “But tell me more about the man in your life before we meet your brother.”
I freeze, my hand on soft denim. An uncomfortable feeling slithers down my back. Yes, she knows I married Hayes. Yes, she teased me about it at the time. But she doesn’t know there are men, plural. Or how serious things have become.
For a brief second, I consider saying brightly, He’s great, then moving on.
But I did enough covering up of my feelings when I was younger. When my father was yelling at my mother. Insulting her. Putting her down. When I was nine and ten and I hid in my room with my little sister, pretending it wasn’t happening. At night then, I’d counted down the days till mom left him. When she finally did, I was the happiest I’d ever been as a kid.
A happy relief isn’t how a child should feel. I don’t like pretending everything is fine here either.
I push past the queasy feeling in my chest. “Actually, there are…” I stop, glance around the store, not because I’m embarrassed but because this is private. With my chin up, I say, “Men.”
My grandmother stops, tilts her gaze my way. “Sounds like we should grab a coffee before lunch.”
Ten minutes later, we’re at a nearby café, and I’m telling her the details of my love life. Not the sex details, but the feelings ones, down to the argument, the fall on the ice, the talk that night. “And now, here I am,” I say when I finish, nerves skating up my throat.
She’s been down this road before with my brother, but still, this is my first time admitting I like two people at once.
She takes a beat, her blue eyes kind. “Sounds like you care for them both, Ivy,” she says without a shred of judgment.
“I really do,” I say, grateful to have shared this with her at last. But I’m nervous to voice the depth of all my emotions. “A lot. Kind of crazy, isn’t it?”
“Not really.” She takes a sip of her coffee, her expression turning thoughtful. “Sounds complicated though.”
I drink some of my latte, mulling over that basic truth. She’s not wrong. “It feels complicated. I’m not sure what to do next.” That’s the other issue. Where do I go from here?
“The good thing is you don’t have to do anything now,” she says, perhaps with the wisdom of years.
“But eventually I will.”
“That’s true. But sometimes I think we pressure ourselves to make decisions before we’re truly ready. Is this even a decision you need to make now? Maybe you need to be in this romance for a little longer to know.”
My shoulders relax some more. She’s right. I don’t have to do anything today. Maybe this is what I needed—just to know that it’s okay to exist in my uncertainty.
“Thanks, Grandma. I needed to say all that. And to hear that.”
She pats my hand. “I’m glad you knew you could share with me.”
“Now, what’s going on with the guy you met at your fiftieth high school reunion?” I ask, turning the tables.
But before she can answer, she points to the window and down the street. It’s a deflection, but a relevant one. “Oh look, there’s your brother. He might know a thing or two about your situation,” she says, then lowers her voice and adds with some concern. “Wait. Does he know?”
Nerves race through me as I shake my head. “No. But I want him to.”
“Well then,” she says, then waves him to our table when he comes into the café.
With a rare smile, Ryker strides to the table and gives Grandma a hug, then me. “Two of my favorite people,” he says.
“It’s your lucky day,” I say.
“Yes, it is.”
“How’s playing for the team with the worst record?” I taunt. It’s easier to trash talk about sports than to crack open my heart.
He growls.
My grandma laughs and high-fives me.
“The season is long,” he says, then clears his throat and adds, “How’s being a mascot? And being married to a player?”
Goodbye, trash talk. Hello, real talk. “Well, here’s the thing. I’m seeing Hayes,” I begin, and he gives me a look like I’m not surprised, then I hold up a hand and add, “And Stefan.”