“I should have seen that coming a mile away,” Grady says to no one, followed by an exasperated laugh that pulls me out of my bedroom to see what he’s talking about.
He’s standing at the back door, looking out at the yard, and I hate the little flip-flop that my belly does seeing him there.
“Seen what coming?” I ask.
He turns, his smile crooked and hair disheveled from sleeping. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”
“It isn’t that late—oh it is,” I say when I look at the clock to see that it’s past ten. “I worked late. I was on a roll and didn’t want it to stop. You worked late though, too. I mean in the backyard. Not at the station. But you never called for me to pick you up. So I was surprised when I heard the hammer. I should have come out and said hi. I should have . . .”
Am I rambling? Stop rambling. When did these nerves start around him? And are they why I stood in the kitchen and watched him but was too chicken shit to go out and talk to him? Add to that it felt awkward not heading to sleep in the same room as him.
“I know you did. You were still going at it when I went to bed.”
“Sorry if I was too loud and kept you up. I lost track of time.”
“No. Don’t apologize. I like listening to you sing.” I blush, suddenly self-conscious knowing he was listening. “It’s Sunday.”
I nod my head.” And . . .?”
“My family has a Sunday tradition of having dinner together.” I narrow my eyes as I try to see where he’s going with this. “Do you have plans today?”
“No, why?”
“Do you want to go to dinner with me?”
“But it’s not dinner time.” I smile.
“You’re right. It isn’t. Let me start over.” His grin widens. “Good morning, Dylan.”
I laugh. “Good morning, Grady.”
“I’m going to apologize in advance for this, but I’d like to know if you have any plans today.”
“If I didn’t, your approach is telling me I should pretend I do,” I play along.
“No, it isn’t that bad.” He chuckles. “It’s just my mother scheming to meet the girl who’s staying at my house and make an excuse for me to show up to a family Sunday dinner. When my dad drove me home last night, he was asking about you . . . so I should have expected an invitation from my mom like the one I just received.” He holds up his cell as if I can read the text or email from where I stand.
“For what?”
“They’re having a barbecue at the lake house. They invited a bunch of people, so don’t worry, it won’t just be you and me and them trying to figure out what’s going on between us . . . but you were invited.”
Invited. As a friend or as . . .?
“To Sunday dinner during the day?”
“Yes. Something like that.” His dimples deepen and every part of me wants to melt at the little-boy appeal they give to such a virile man’s body.
“The lake house?” I ask, my first thought is that there’s water, which means wearing a bathing suit, and bathing suits and I don’t get along in the least. Or rather, we do get along but the mirror and me wearing a bathing suit aren’t exactly the best of friends.
And my second thought is I’m still trying to figure out what’s going on between us, so it isn’t fair for his family to know before I do.
“Yes, the lake house. Sunshine. A rope swing over the water. Good food.” He shrugs and smiles. “You can’t stay locked away writing forever, can you?”
“Actually, I can.” I laugh, thinking of how many days I’ve felt like a vampire because I’m knee-deep in an album and hardly see the sun.
“But I won’t let you.” He grins. “Grab your suit and sunscreen. I’m not letting you say no.”
Bathing suit.
The two words I dread more than many others.
And looking around at the perfect bodies on display, my insecurities are justified and then some. There’s Grant and his wife, Emerson. A shirtless Grant is a perfect example of why the Malone boys seem to have the reputation for being unfairly gifted in the looks department. And then there’s Emerson, who even at a few months pregnant, looks stunning with her little baby bump.
Next up is Grayson and his mini-me son, Luke. The two are more than adorable together, but I shouldn’t expect anything less, considering I’m convinced that there isn’t a rogue gene in this family.
There’s a myriad of other friends, too, some from Grady’s fire station, I believe, but they are floating out on the water on inner tubes, so I’ve yet to meet them beyond a wave across the distance.
“You have a lovely place here. The scenery is incredible.” And it is. Pine trees line the water’s edge, and the sun glistens off the lake. It looks like a postcard.
“It is, isn’t it?” Betsy Malone, Grady’s mother, stares at me with a soft smile on her lips and excitement in her eyes. “So, Grady tells me you’re a songwriter?”
“Yes.”
“And he met your brother at football camp? Do I have that right?”
I smile. “Yes.”
“And your parents live in Los Angeles too?”
I hope she doesn’t notice the stiffening of my smile. It’s not always the most comfortable to admit I have no clue where my dad is and the only reason I know my mom’s whereabouts is because the address of her latest rehab facility is on the bill sitting in my inbox. “Yes, in the Los Angeles area,” I lie with ease to hide my discomfort.
“And are you staying in Sunnyville long?”
“Leave her alone, Mom. You’re going to scare the poor woman off before Grady has a chance to,” Grayson says as he leans over to steal a piece of watermelon off the table where we’re sitting.
“Shush. I’m just trying to get to know her better, and be nice to your brother.”
“She wants to see how long you’re going to be in town,” he says and lifts his eyebrows. “She’s plotting out when she can expect her next grandchild to be born.”
I sputter out a laugh as Betsy reaches her hand out to pat my arm. “No, I’m not, dear. I just wanted to know more about you.”
“Famous last words.” He laughs. “I bet if you ask Emerson, she’ll tell you that she got asked the same questions, and look what happened. Now she’s pregnant.”
I can’t help but smile at his ribbing and the annoyed look on Betsy’s face as she shoos him away before turning her attention back to me. “So will you be here for very long?”
I bite back my laugh because Grayson nailed her intentions on the head. And I’m not the least bit fazed, either. Grady warned me that she’ll try to corner me and figure out when the next Malone is coming.
Is she forward? Yes. Is she also adorable and madly in love with her sons and her family? Absolutely, and no one can fault her for that.
“Four or five more weeks,” I answer, and her smile falls a moment before she refortifies it.
“But you’ll be back, right? I mean you like Grady enough to come back?”
“Yes, I like Grady,” I say, my voice softening as I look at him throwing the football to Grayson’s son, Luke. And for a moment, I watch the two of them, and when I realize I am, I snap my eyes over to see Betsy staring at me with a knowing look on her face.
“Uh-huh.” That’s all she says.
“Leave poor Dylan alone, Betsy,” Grady’s dad says as he sits on the picnic bench beside me and nudges my elbow. “Just ignore her. She’s been known to run off some of the women the boys have brought home in the past.” He winks as she swats at his arm and laughs. There is a brief exchange of a look between the two of them, and their love for each other can be felt as if it were tangible.
Laughter erupts on the lawn when Grady tries to evade Grayson’s tackle, but he gets his hands in Grady’s shirt and pulls him down.
“He’d be better if he ditched the shirt,” Chief Malone mutters under his breath. “It’s just us, for Christ’s sake.” There’s hurt there. The parental kind. It’s hard to hear it and not feel for both parties.
“He’s getting there,” Betsy murmurs in response, but the chief’s face is still full of concern as he watches his son.
I can’t imagine what it must have been like to watch their son go through the horror of his accident and the long, dark time it took to recover. Physically. So often, we focus so intently on the injured person that we give zero thought to the family standing behind them, supporting them, loving them, and helping them heal. It’s unfathomable to me. First they went through the fear of losing their son and then were forced to watch him struggle. Because they have to know what he’s going through, and it has to be so hard to stand by in silent support as he figures it out on his own.
Hell, it’s killing me, and I’ve only been here such a short time in the overall time of his recovery.
The scanner goes off behind me. Some call. Somewhere. I shake my head at the fact that the Malones seem to bring work with them everywhere.
“I know,” Betsy says and laughs when she realizes what I’m shaking my head at. Thankfully, the chief is oblivious to my reaction since he’s homing in on what dispatch is relaying. “That damn scanner is like an extra appendage for all of my boys, but you get used to it. What’s worse is that when they’re out on the line, you find comfort in hearing it because you know what they’re doing. It’s ten times better than the horrors you’re imagining in your head.”
I hold her eyes and nod. She’s right . . . and yet, it’s still funny that on this rare occasion when all three of her sons are off duty, they are still, in a sense, on-duty.
“What can we say? We’re creatures of habit,” Grady’s dad says, surprising me when he reaches back and turns the scanner off. “Are you having a good time, interrogation notwithstanding?”
“I am, thank you. It’s just what the doctor ordered.”
Betsy and the chief look to where Grady has tackled Luke to the ground and is tickling him before looking back toward me. The smile, the joy, on his face causes a flutter in my chest I try to ignore, but can’t. “It most definitely is,” Betsy murmurs.