Page 62 of Something Old

Grant, not being an idiot, could tell the mood had changed again—and just nodded and accepted it.

She sighed. She wasn’t being fair to him. She knew he wanted more than she would ever be able to give him. And yet . . . she—so hideously selfish!—didn’t want to lose their friendship either.

“You know you can share whatever dark thoughts hit you from time to time, right? You won’t scare me away or lose me. I’m your friend or whatever for the long haul.” He took the drill from her and secured it in its case.

Madeline bit her lip. “That’s what’s bothering me.”

“How so?”

“You want—and you deserve—feelings I’ll never be able to return.”

“Never is a long time.”

Madeline wasn’t fooled by his light tone. She’d seen hurt flare in his blue eyes, though he quickly shifted his gaze to hide it.

“Do you remember when I asked you why you and your father were estranged?”

Grant nodded warily.

“You told me that ‘in a nutshell, it boiled down to his problems. That his pain or whatever it was got too big for you.’”

Grant nodded again.

“That’s me, Grant. That’s what I’m afraid of in a nutshell. That my pain, my problems . . . my issues . . . are too big. Being with me, like as a couple, not just as friends, would mean facing intense lows sometimes. It’s too much to ask of you—or of anyone. You’ve only seen mere ripples.”

He smiled, and Madeline couldn’t understand that response at all. What was there to smile about in this conversation?

“A wise friend of mine would say it’s not your job to protect me from my feelings and not your place to try and manage them for me.”

He was right, of course, and she got his “wise friend” reference too. It was becoming a thing—him annoyingly quoting her own words back to her. She scowled, but couldn’t argue with the sentiment, so settled for a slightly grouchy, “This friend of yours is beginning to sound like someone I’d love to hate.”

Grant’s smile deepened, revealing the laugh lines she loved so much. When he spoke, though, his voice was somber and serious. “But don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Choose not to be with me out of some misguided idea that you’d be helping me or sparing me or something. Your grief is not a ‘problem,’ and your ‘issues’ are not too big for me. If you aren’t into me as more than a friend, that’s A-OK. Ditto if you’re afraid and just don’t want to go there. If we’re never more than we are right now, I’ll be okay with that. More than okay, in fact. You’re my best friend—you brought me back to life.”

Madeline swallowed a flood of emotion and stared down at the ground. He was . . . impossible.

“There is one thing, however, that it’s too late for.”

She jerked her gaze up to his. “What?”

“For me not to be absolutely devastated if we stop being friends, so . . . just don’t, okay?”

“Fine,” she muttered—which made him laugh. “Will you let me get back to work now, please?”

He stood back with his hands raised. “Of course. Be my guest. Get back to work.”

She didn’t. Instead, she studied Grant as he leaned over a squat table and reached for a bungee cord to secure it.

Re-engaging with life was like pouring water into sand, she thought as she watched him. You couldn’t just let in a little bit here or a little bit there, wherever you were comfortable; it sought out every dry patch in its path. Even six months ago, she would have been satisfied with a quiet, solitary existence. Now, despite how excruciating the past few days had been in some ways, they had also been lovely. And needed. She had done what she’d set out to do—and Grant hadn’t turned away from her pain. She shouldn’t turn away because of her fear. She should take the next step she’d intended—hoped—to take.

Grant sensed her eyes on him and turned around. “What?”

She reached up, rested her hands on his shoulders, and stared into his face. He looked surprised—but only for a moment. Then he snugged her hips and pulled her against him. She melded to him instinctively and shivered as his lips touched down on her mouth, then her jaw by her ear, then trailed a path of soft kisses down the sensitive skin on her neck.

“Grant,” she whispered.