Page 14 of Harts & Hurts

“Listen, you won’t get any complaints from me. If you have a chef who’s willing to cook for two people—three at some point, when Melrose is old enough to eat real food—then I’m with it. Cooking has never really been something I’ve enjoyed. I can keep myself alive, but I just don’t really enjoy it.”

“Me either.”

I grinned at him. “Okay. We have that in common. Do you think your chef will be cool with adding another person into the mix?” I cocked my head to the side. “Also, what type of stuff do you eat, Griffin? I don’t want to sign up for poached salmon and broccoli.”

He chuckled lightly. “Nah, I’m outta the league. I don’t eat like that no more. I mean, I don’t eat porterhouse steaks braised in butter, with creamy lobster mashed potatoes on the side or anything like that. I enjoy food, but I don’t overindulge. Anything you think you might want to eat, I’m sure my chef can prepare it. And no, there won’t be a problem with me adding you into the mix, or Melrose later on down the line.” He paused. “And if there is a problem, we’ll replace the chef and hire one who won’t have a problem.”

I stared at him across the table. I didn’t know Griffin at all before our siblings perished in a vehicle accident and we became co-guardians for our niece. As far as I was concerned, I still didn’t know him. Yet in all my prior dealings with him, he had come off mild-mannered and laid-back. When he said what he said about firing the chef who wouldn’t get on board, he said it with authority, with very “I wish a nigga would” vibes. I was intrigued by the code switch. Which one was the real Griffin, or were they both factions of his personality?

“Okay. Is there a housekeeper?”

“There’s a housekeeper.”

“I think if you had led with all of these benefits, my decision to move in with you would’ve been much easier,” I joked.

After eating, we returned to the house. We pulled into the driveway of the guesthouse just as a black sedan parked off to one side.

“That must be the newborn care specialist,” I commented.

“Does she have a name? Because I’mma be honest; that title is a mouthful.”

I giggled. “You keep showing me a little more of your personality each time you talk. You’re funny.”

“I’m just being honest.”

“Her name is Gretta Dancy. We can probably call her Gretta, or Nurse Dancy.”

She got out of her car at the same time that I got out of the passenger’s seat of Griffin’s truck. I gave her a wave. “Hey. We’ll be right there.” Then I opened the back door of the truck and released Melrose’s car seat.

Griffin walked over and took it from my hands as he said, “Gimme that.”

I handed it over because the truth of the matter was that, even though she was little, she and the car seat together were heavy as hell. I let him take Melrose up to the front door while I met Gretta Dancy in the middle of the driveway. “Hey. I’m Anistyn Hurt.” I offered her my hand.

She shook it. “I’m Gretta Dancy.”

“Should we call you . . .” I let myself trail off, hoping she would fill in what she wanted us to address her as.

She did. “You can call me Gretta.”

“Come on in, Gretta.” I held the screen door open while she stepped into the guesthouse. “Please, have a seat.”

She took a seat on the sofa as Griffin unbuckled Melrose and took her out of the car seat. He bounced her in his arms before walking over to the guest.

“Welcome. I’m Griffin Hart. I’m sure you’ve already met Anistyn Hurt, and this,” he said, holding Melrose up briefly before pulling her back into his chest, “is Melrose. As you know from our phone conversation, Melrose is our niece. We were tasked with the . . . privilege of raising her after our siblings lost their lives in an accident. Neither of us had spent much time around babies before Melrose was born, and⁠—”

“We don’t know what we’re doing.” I cut in. “And we really wanna know what we’re doing. We owe it to Melrose and to Ashlynn and Fisher, . . . her parents. We’ve had her for six days now, and some things we’ve learned on our own during that time.”

“Right.” Griffin jumped in with his agreement. “But we want to be certain that we’re doing things right and the way our siblings would want them done.”

Gretta’s eyes went soft. “Well, that’s a lot of pressure to put on yourselves. So rather than feeling like you have to do things the way that your siblings would want them done, why don’t we concentrate on doing things in the way that best suits Melrose? Okay?”

We both nodded.

“Now.” She continued. “Tell me what you’ve taught yourselves.”

“Well, we know how to feed her. We can make bottles,” Griffin offered up as an example.

“But we aren’t really making them,” I admitted. “I mean, we’re buying premixed formula and just pouring it into bottles. My mother says that’s the most expensive way to feed a baby. But it’s been the most convenient for us, and there’s no learning curve. Still, we probably shouldn’t overspend if we don’t have to. I know how to change her, but Griffin hasn’t really picked that up.”