“Stubborn just like me,” I muse. “I don’t know whether to be upset or proud.”
David smiles, leaning in to kiss my cheek before he puts his arm around Julia. “I plan to look at it next weekend. It belongs to an older gentleman who’s moving up north. He might need it through the holiday, though. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“Fine. For now, please, for the love of God, just go have fun,” I say, pushing them toward the door. “And you’re not allowed back before midnight. I mean it.”
“Midnight?!” Julia’s eyes widen.
“No exceptions. Now get.”
Another push, a whimper from Julia and a chuckle from David, and they’re out the door.
I wait at the window and wave little Tucker’s hand at them as they pull away, and then I sigh, reaching into my pocket and texting Greg that he can come over.
My stomach flips like a pancake when I do
Greg texts back instantly that he’s on his way, and as a smile curls on my lips, Tucker makes a sweet baby noise and touches his hand to my cheek — which is, no doubt, red and warm.
I cover his hand there, leaning into the touch. “Yes, grandma is in trouble. Can you say trouble?”
Of course, he can’t, but he smiles a bit and makes a noise back at me, which gets him a kiss, anyway.
I busy myself with tidying up the house and letting Tucker play with some mushy vegetables in his highchair as I wait for Greg. Every step is worse than the last — and not from my sprained ankle, but from my sore ass after all the stairs we climbed.
Still, I smile and laugh and play with Tucker until his eyes start to droop, and after a quick wash of his face and a diaper change, I lay him in his playpen by the couch.
Just like I suspected, he passes out in a matter of minutes.
I’m just covering him with a blanket when Greg knocks at the door, not waiting for a response before he lets himself in.
I hold a finger up to my lips, pointing down to my sleeping grandson. Greg nods in understanding, smiling as he shimmies his way through the door and does his best to keep the bags in his hands quiet. He stops by the side of the playpen, looking down at Tucker with a curious look on his face.
“He’s cute, isn’t he?” I say softly.
“Adorable,” Greg agrees, and he frowns a bit before tilting his head. “He looks just like David.”
My heart squeezes, and I note Tucker’s long nose, his auburn hair, his big ears that I love to tug on to make him laugh — just like I did with David’s.
I smile. “He does, doesn’t he?”
Quietly, I take a bag from Greg’s hands, and he carries the others, following me into the kitchen. I unpack three giant packs of Halloween candy while he pulls out popcorn and wine from his.
I hold up one of the enormous things. “I hope you have a healthy candy appetite, because there’s enough here to feed a preschool.”
“I wasn’t sure if we were going to entertain any trick-or-treaters,” he says with a grin.
“Oh, hell no. I turned the porch light off. It’s movie night and I’m not letting any little brats mess that up for me — no matter how cute they’re dressed.”
He barks out a laugh at that, pouring me a glass of wine and sliding it across the counter. “How’s your ankle?”
I look down at the still-swollen limb. “It’s been better, but it’s not as painful as it was last night.”
“Have you been icing? Elevating? Resting?” He adds emphasis on that last one.
I smirk. “Yes, Doctor.”
Something washes over Greg’s face then, taking any hint of a smile with it. His eyes heat, like hearing me call him doctor sparked a carnal part of him to life.
He swallows, turning toward the counter. “Should I make the popcorn now?”
I shake my head, smiling like nothing happened. “Oh, why not. Let’s get buttered and sugared up properly.”
Greg works on opening the popcorn box, pulling out a bag and popping it into the microwave. I lean a hip against the counter and watch him, sipping my wine and taking in the view.
And I don’t mean the Halloween candy.
He must have showered before coming over, his hair still a little damp, the fresh scent of his body wash more potent than the popcorn. My eyes travel the length of him, taking in the plain black t-shirt hugging his biceps, tapering at his waist, and leading me down to those blessed sweatpants.
The iron gray fabric is thick and warm — that much I can tell without even touching it. The thick hem wraps around his waist just right, fastened with a black shoelace tie, the rest of it hanging off his hips in that delicious way that makes women go a bit crazy in the fall.