“Glad to see you’re checking up on me.”
“Just wanting to know my wife,” he said.
Her eyes shot to his. Wasn’t a glare, so that was good.
“So you heard about my appointment, then?” she grumbled and followed up with some remark about small-town gossip and how it figured Laura told Jake and Jake told Grant. But Grant had no idea what the hell she was talking about. Before he could ask, Hannah cut him off.
“Well, I want to know you, too. Like, for example, you have a birthday tomorrow.”
That surprised Grant. “How could you possibly know that?”
Hannah smiled and took a bite of her food. “I have my ways.”
He huffed, his plan
backfiring. He wanted to know her, not field questions about his birthday or wonder how his wife was gaining her intel.
“What? You don’t like your birthday? Is it because you’re old?” she teased.
“I’m not old,” he said.
“Older than me,” she countered, that sassy, flirty attitude hitting full gear. He loved her when she played with him. “Come on, tell me how old you are.”
He glanced at his plate. He knew his wife was twenty-nine, and while he wasn’t old, he just didn’t do birthdays or celebrating anything that had to do with himself. She was in a better mood, though, so he’d take that as a win.
“Come on,” she pressed. “Don’t you think it’s weird a wife doesn’t know how old her husband is?”
“I’m thirty-seven tomorrow.”
A small grin split her face.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.” Her smile got bigger. “Just that I bagged myself a silver fox.”
“I don’t have gray hair,” he said seriously. Because he checked. Every morning.
She laughed. “Well, I’m excited to celebrate your birthday tomorrow.”
“No,” he said. “Absolutely not.”
“Too bad. It’s happening.”
Grant took a calming breath, because the woman was irritating him again. But in a good way. Still more irritating than good, because he hated celebrating his birthday. It was always stupid parties full of fake people and a thousand dollars a plate. No, he didn’t a need a celebration. Then he had an idea . . .
“You want to celebrate my birthday?” he asked.
“Yes,” Hannah said, happily chewing her food.
“Then talk to me.”
“Ah, I am,” she said.
“I mean, really talk to me. Starting with answering a few questions.”
“Like my favorite color?”
No, not like your favorite color at all. He wanted real answers to real questions and for her to stop avoiding him and certain topics.