The Lies That Bind(16)

We kiss for what feels like hours, but do very little beyond that. In a sense, it’s frustrating, but I also kind of love how slowly he’s taking things, as well as the anticipation of what’s to come.

In a funny way, it also gives me the opportunity to fully digest the finality of breaking up with Matthew. It’s impossible to avoid thoughts of him completely—we were together for so long—and I want that to no longer be the case before something more significant happens. It occurs to me that Grant might be doing the same—or maybe he’s just being really respectful.

The one thing I know for sure is that it’s not a lack of passion holding us back; I’ve never felt such intense chemistry with anyone—which, by definition, can’t be one-sided.

When the wine is gone and the fire is reduced to glowing embers and we are both struggling to keep our eyes open, we climb the ladder to the loft, where we undress most of the way, then crawl between soft flannel sheets.

As Grant pulls the curtains closed around our alcove, I admire the lines of his torso and put my hand on his back. He rolls toward me, holding me as I lay my head on his chest like I did on our first night together. Only this time, we are skin to skin, and he’s no longer a stranger, and I don’t have to wonder what it’s like to kiss him.



* * *



—

    The next morning, after coffee and a lot more kissing, we go for a long, easy hike—which is really more of a glorified stroll through the woods. We talk about a lot of things, including my family.

I tell him my mom’s a nurse in a pediatrician’s office, and my dad’s a pilot for Southwest Airlines—and that they’ve been together since college.

He asks what they’re like, and I smile and tell him they’re both sort of cheesy, but in the best possible way.

“Cheesy how?” he says, smiling.

“Like they put on Hawaiian shirts and leis and go to Jimmy Buffett concerts…and my dad is the pun king—and my mom laughs every time no matter how old and tired the material. She thinks he’s hilarious…and their favorite show is America’s Funniest Home Videos,” I say, rolling my eyes. “It’s so embarrassing.”

“Ooof,” he says with a laugh. “That’s rough.”

“Brutal.”

“What about your brother and sister?” he says, obviously remembering our conversation in the diner the day after we met. “What’re they like?”

“They’re great,” I say, wondering why it’s so hard to describe the people we know and love the most. “Jenna’s a nurse like my mom, and Paul works for the Milwaukee Brewers in marketing—he’s a total sports nut.”

“Is either of them married?”

“My sister is. To a great guy named Jeff. My brother’s single. He’s only twenty-four, but we joke that he’ll never settle down. He’s very good-looking. Currently dating Miss Wisconsin 1999.” I laugh and roll my eyes. “But anyway, we’re all really close.”

“And does your sister have kids?” he asks.

“Yeah. A little girl named Emma. She’s two and so adorable. She’s one of the reasons I think about moving back home. I don’t want to be that long-distance aunt she barely knows.”

    “I get that,” Grant says. “There’s nothing more important than family. And it sounds like you have a really good one.”

“Yeah. I’m lucky,” I say, feeling a guilty twinge for having a family so unscathed by tragedy given all that he’s been through. We’ve had no fatal accidents, no terminal cancer. Hell, Willard Scott just wished my great-grandmother a happy hundredth on the Today show. “But no family is perfect,” I add.

He smiles and says, “Oh, come on. You can admit it. You’re just like the Waltons.”

I laugh and say, “John-Boy had problems, too, ya know.”

“Such as?”

“Well,” I say. “They were all trying to survive the Great Depression…and remember how he lost his first novel in a fire?”

“Nope,” he says. “I must’ve missed that episode.”

“Well, he did….And when he left the family mountain to move to New York? That wasn’t easy,” I say, thinking that I could certainly relate to that plot line.

The parallel must occur to Grant, too, because he says, “Wait, wait. Hold up. Are you John-Boy?”

I laugh and elbow him as I say, “No. I’m not John-Boy…but I guess I do feel torn sometimes.”

“Torn how?”

“I don’t know…just the whole moving to New York thing….I wanted to prove to myself that I could be brave. You know, ‘if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere’…yet here I am writing about defunct bowling alleys and how to ‘beat the heat’ over Memorial Day weekend.”

“You’ll work your way up,” Grant says.

“Yeah. I hope so….I mean, I don’t mean to sound like a brat. I know I shouldn’t be covering the world economic slowdown right out of the gate. I have to pay my dues and prove myself…but sometimes I don’t even know if I want to be a reporter at all. I’d really rather write fiction.”