Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
“I have to head to the office for a few hours,” he said. “You want me to drop you off at home?”
“Yeah, please.”
At my apartment, Grant unloaded my suitcase and walked me to the door. “I’ll call you later?”
I nodded. He gave me a soft kiss and waited until I got inside.
Leaning against the door, it felt like I’d been whiplashed. One minute, I was falling for a great guy, and we couldn’t get enough of each other. The future was so bright. And the next, I needed some time alone to think, and I wondered if we had a future together at all.
Chapter 25
* * *
Grant
I leaned back in my chair and whipped the pen in my hand across the room. It hit the corner of the credenza and boomeranged back at me, landing on my desk right on top of the most recent letter. Figures. I can’t even get that shit right today. Stewing, I picked up the envelope, angrily shredded it into twenty little pieces, and threw them all in the direction of the wastepaper basket. Half wound up on the floor.
I’d come to the office right after dropping off Ireland, thinking I could knock out a few hours of work. But four hours had passed, and I’d only managed to get about five minutes of business done. I couldn’t fucking concentrate.
Of course Ireland wanted kids. She was a loving person with so much to offer. It wasn’t the first time the subject had come up with women I’d dated. Hell, before Ireland, just having the subject raised by a woman had been a red flag. The mention of any long-term plans meant their expectations were too much, and it was time to call it quits. But Ireland wasn’t some fuck buddy I wanted to run away from.
I picked up my phone and debated sending her a text. Should I give her some space? Bring it up again? Pretend it never happened and move on? I decided to stop acting like such a pussy and just send a damn text without overthinking it. I’d overthought enough for one day.
Grant: Dinner tonight? I could swing by on the way home from the office, and we could have Chinese on the boat and watch the sunset.
I watched as the little dots jumped up and down. Then stopped. Then started again. It was a long-ass few minutes waiting while she deliberated over her response.
Ireland: I’m actually pretty wiped out. Think I’m just going to crash early.
Fuck. I wanted to be with her, even if it meant just sleeping with her in my arms. But she wasn’t offering. And I couldn’t be a dick and bulldoze my way in with her. So I let it go.
Grant: Okay. Sleep well. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.
She sent back a happy face. Though I was sure neither of us was smiling right about now.
I managed to answer a few emails and approve a marketing budget before I called it a day. The work would be here when I was in a better frame of mind. Neither of us had gotten much sleep last night, so I convinced myself Ireland was right: going home and crashing was for the best. Though halfway through my drive, I found myself getting off the highway two exits before the marina. Pops had been like a second father to me my entire life, even more so since my dad was gone, and he was the one person I knew would give me the truth—even if it wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I just hoped today was a good day for his memory.
***
“Grant, what a nice surprise. Come in. Come in.”
My grandmother stepped aside for me to enter, and I kissed her cheek as I went through the doorway. “How’s the alarm system doing?”
“It’s fine. But your grandfather has slept like a baby since it was installed.”
“Good.” I looked around the living room. The house was quiet. “Is Pops around?”
“He’s downstairs tinkering in the basement. Last I looked, he was making a miniature coffin for that crazy dollhouse he and Leo love so much. I try to keep away when he’s doing the woodwork. The pieces are so small, and I get nervous he’s going to cut his fingers off sawing them.”
I smiled. Pops had started to forget a lot of things, but using tools wasn’t one of them. Though dementia affects the memory, his woodworking skills were more second nature to him than learned. I couldn’t imagine there would ever come a time he couldn’t make things, whether he knew the name of the person he was making them for or not.
“I’m going to go down and visit him.”
“I’ll make you some snacks and bring them down in a bit.”
“Thanks, Gram.”
I found Pops in his pjs and a bathrobe, with a toolbelt wrapped around his hips. He had on a pair of goggles, and his gray hair was littered with wood shavings as he planed down the rough sides of a tiny coffin to make them smooth.