Worth the Risk(62)

“Thank you for thinking of me,” I say with caution because I know how sensitive Grayson is to Luke being around women he is seeing.

Seeing? Is that what we’re doing? Seeing each other?

But if no one knows that’s what is going on, would it bug him if I went to the picnic with them?

I really don’t want to turn Luke down, but how exactly do I ask to call Grayson to find out if this is okay and not offend Betsy or Luke?

“I think I . . .” I look from Betsy to Luke and then back to Betsy. “Does Grayson know you’re here?”

“Nope,” Luke says and laughs. “Nana is all about spontaneity. She says it’s the best kind of adventure.” He looks back her way as if he’s so proud that she’s taught him this.

“Grayson will be fine with it,” Betsy says with a nod. “But you’re more than welcome to give him a call and ask. Although, while he’s at the dispatch desk, he typically doesn’t carry his cell. It’s a department protocol thing.” She waves a hand in indifference. “If he gets mad, I’ll take the heat.”

Stuck in indecision with a pair of puppy-dog eyes loaded with hope staring at me, I put my hands on my knees and bend over so Luke and I are face to face.

“So, this is like a friend date? Food and fun and friends?”

“And nanas.” He bounces on his toes.

“Okay,” I say with a definitive nod.

Luke’s eyes widen, and his smile does even more so. “You mean you want to go with us?”

“Of course, buddy. I just need a few minutes to sort some things.”

“Okay, we’ll wait out here.”

He shuffles his way out to the reception area with Betsy in tow. I have a task list a million miles long and yet I can’t help but wonder why I’m walking to a picnic when a few weeks ago I would have laughed at the idea of doing it.

My desk is loaded with Post-It notes of things I have to do, but I shut my laptop with a click and walk out of the office without any qualms about leaving it until tomorrow. I’m actually kind of looking forward to sinking my heels into the grass—there has to be grass at a picnic, right? And getting to hang out with Luke.

The small-town air is affecting me.

That has to be what it is.

But I let it affect me even more, along with Luke’s giggles, as we play chocolate chip cookie warfare—a game we made up as we sit under the shady elm on the outskirts of the playground at his school. My cheeks hurt from laughing, and I know for a fact a little piece of my heart has been lost to Luke.

“Luke. Man. Come play.”

Luke angles his head over to his friend—a cute little guy with red hair and the most adorable freckles across his nose and cheeks. “Sorry, Jim, I’m busy with my friend.”

“You sure? We’re in an epic battle over here.” He points to the handball court.

Luke nods and smiles. “Yep.”

“You don’t have to entertain me, buddy. I’m just enjoying the sunshine. Go. Play. I want to watch.”

“You want to watch?” His eyes light up just like his smile.

“Of course, I do.” He gives me one last look for reassurance before he runs off, and I call out to him, “Good luck.”

So I watch. Battle after battle of handball with rules I don’t know. I’m cognizant of some of the other moms peering at me from behind their sunglasses. Betsy does her best to introduce me to everyone who comes over. I know most of them are here to satiate their curiosity as they ask me benign questions that seem simple on the surface but are really searching for more.

But it’s okay.

The sunshine and laughter and a huge grin on Luke’s face make the chocolate chip cookies I’m going to have to exercise off and the dirt I have to clean off my heels worth it ten times over.





A fist banging on the door shatters the quiet of the house and scares the hell out of me. At first, I freeze, but the sound is so threatening that it has me quickly back-stepping into my kitchen and out of the line of sight from the front windows.

“Open up, Sidney.”

Grayson?

My heart leaps into my throat and then lands with a confused thud over being excited to see him and at the same time knowing something is wrong.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as I open the door. The minute I catch sight of his expression—a mask of fury—I wish I had pretended I wasn’t home.

Without a word, he barrels past me. “Shut the door.”

“Grayson? What is—?”

“You!” he shouts as he turns around and jabs a finger in my direction. “You are what’s wrong.”

“I—uh . . . what?”

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Letting you into my house so you can yell at me when I obviously shouldn’t have. Can we back up here, so you can tell me what’s going on?”

The muscle in his jaw ticks as he stares at me. “You went to the mother-son picnic with Luke. Are you out of your mind?”

I stare at him—his fury unmasked—and know without a doubt I made a huge mistake. It takes a few seconds for my thoughts to line up so I sound coherent. “It isn’t what you think.”

“What I think?” His laugh is cold and unwelcome. “What exactly is it that you think I’m thinking?”