CHAPTER FIVE
I tried leaving to give Grant some private time with his mom so he could explain everything, but he insisted I stay.
So I did.
I didn’t speak, just listened.
“I wish you would have confided in me earlier, Grant. I would have understood.”
“I know, Mom. You were already dealing with a lot, on your own, and I just decided to handle things.”
“And you are certainly handling them. Catering the party for Eden, dating Eden. I like the way things are going, Grant.”
“Oh, but—” I start, but Grant cuts me off.
“The word dating might be premature, Mom. We’re friends for sure.”
Sonya’s gaze narrows. “Eden will never be a friend with benefits. You do understand that, don’t you?”
My face heats, and Grant looks away from his mom. “Mom, please. That’s enough. We know what we are doing.” He points to me.
“And what we’re not doing,” I add, embarrassed to the core by this conversation.
Sonya carefully stands and kisses Grant on top of the head. “You’re a good son. Thank you for being here and taking care of me. I know everything will work out.” She looks at me. “The party will be such a success. I know it. Especially with this guy on board.”
She slowly makes her way out of the kitchen toward her bedroom.
“That was awkward.”
“Not too bad,” Grant says, grabbing my hand. “She like us.”
“Us?”
“Yes. The idea of us.”
I’m not sure where he’s going with this. I’m actually becoming confused myself by all this kissing and talking about an us. I like Grant, a lot, but he has a life in New York City. I know it’s on hold at the moment, but he’s got too much going up there to ever think about moving here. He’s been on television. He’s been recognized by the Oscars of the food industry.
I look around the kitchen at the trays of food. His heart is so big. “Let’s get this food to the shelter.”
He nods. “I got it. You don’t want to talk about us. That’s okay. Just because you don’t talk about it though doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”
I push his words to the back of my mind as I eat a hamburger and a hotdog while we are packing things up. We load the trunk of Sonya’s car even though I offered to drive. “You’ve driven me around the whole time I’ve been here,” Grant says. “My turn.”
Deciding it wasn’t worth arguing over, I ride shotgun in his mom’s sedan. Pretty luxurious car with its tan leather seats that are cooled when you push a button. “This is a great feature.”
“Yes. She bought this car after Dad died. She’d had the same one for over ten years. With Dad not around, she wanted something she knew wouldn’t break down on her. Although why I’m telling you this I have no idea. You probably know more about what’s going on with my mom than I do.”
I don’t even feel like I’m in a car. “I wouldn’t go that far. We’re pretty tight on this party thing, but other than that, she has a lot of friends that have stood by her. Trust me when I say your mom isn’t alone unless she wants to be alone.”
Grant drives the car with ease. Obviously public transportation doesn’t lessen your skill as an automobile driver. “I’m glad to hear that. Maybe I won’t worry so much about her when I’m back in New York.”
The pain that slices through my heart is real.
Yes, real.
I mean, I knew Grant was heading back to the city at some point, but he did say his return was open ended. What do I expect? A couple of kisses, really hot kisses, and I think he’s going to change his lifestyle? Just moments ago, with his mom sitting at the table, I acknowledged all these things in my mind.
But a sentence from him about returning to New York and my heart hurts. That is so unfair. How can I be physically vested in him at this point?
I don’t want my heart to react that way. I wouldn’t mind being the kiss-and-no-tell girl right now. Except for his mom and a few people we’ll never see again at the fair, no one even knows we kissed.
Oh, I pray right here and now that Sonya doesn’t tell my mom about the kiss. I will never hear the end of it.
After all, my mom had to hear about that playground kiss all those years ago. Back then she went along with me when I said boys were gross and they needed to keep their lips to themselves.
Now?
I’m sure Mom and I would be having a very different conversation regarding boys and kissing.
Grant pulls along the street in front of the shelter. Some of the men come out to help us unload the car. Hauling the food into the kitchen doesn’t take long with all the help.
A guy greets us as we walk in. “Mason Langford. I head up the team here at the shelter. We all appreciate this food. Thanks again for calling and letting us know you could bring this. With our tight budget, we can use all the help we can get.”
Grant steps closer to me. “I’m glad we could help.”
I nod toward Grant. “I did nothing but load the car. This guy has all the heart. And food skills.”
Is it bad to lie in a homeless shelter? I mean he did have the skills to make those grilled items. And I guess that chicken is good. I didn’t taste it.
A sense of worry comes over me. “Can we stick around and help serve?”
Mason nods. “That would be great. We have some other food here as well, but there are so many guys depending on us. It’ll go a lot faster if you help.”
“Count us in,” Grant says.
Mason hands out hair nets and plastic gloves. We all help carry the food to the serving table in the hall of the shelter. Once all the food is laid out, then men start being served.
I purposefully stand in front of the chicken deciding how I can grab a leg just to taste it. While I’m trying to figure out a plan, I breathe deeply a couple of times trying to discern the smell from the chicken.
I couldn’t smell anything but the mixture of a lot of foods.
A man stands in front of me and nods toward the chicken. Using the tongs I place a leg on his plate. He moves down the line, and I try to follow his progress to where he would be eating. I’ll be able to tell by the look on his face when he takes a bite if all is well.
He has gray hair and is wearing a dark T-shirt. As he goes to get a glass of lemonade, another group of men step between my vision and the man. When everyone separates, I no longer see the guy with the chicken leg.
I place more legs on more plates and decide I’ll know soon enough if they taste any good.
“Worried about my chicken?” Grant asks.
Am I that obvious I wonder? “Um, well,” I stammer.
“It’s okay. I ate a piece. I only used salt and pepper as seasonings. It should be all right. Worst-case scenario they’ll have to use more salt and pepper. So relax.”
I’m surprised at how much I do relax at his comment.
“Aren’t you that guy from TV? The chef?” The man standing in front of Grant has a plate full of food, questioning eyes and a quizzical expression on his face.
Grant nods. “I’ve been on a couple of shows from time to time, yes.”
“I might could teach you a thing or two. My Granny, she taught me some tricks of the trade I ain’t shared with nobody. Might give you an edge up in that big city. I had me a little place for a while, but bad luck came my way, and well. . .”
“I’m sorry to hear that. We only stop growing when we stop learning. I’m all for discovering new tastes. That’s how I made my name in New York. I appreciate the offer.”
“You might appreciate it, but will you take me up on it? Big difference. Name’s Thomas Wylie. You just let me know.” He smiles. “You know where I live.”
He moves on down the line. I watch Grant watching him. I also wonder what Grant is thinking.
Thomas Wylie is a big man. Not overweight big, but tall and thick. His skin tone is light brown, his eyes a deep brown, his demeanor and smile overwhelmingly friendly. He doesn’t move very fast and his age is a mystery.
Maybe in his forties if I had to guess.
In a matter of thirty minutes the food is gone. Grant and I stay to help clean up.
After tossing our hair nets into the trash, we say our goodbyes.
“So nice meeting you both,” Mason says. “Feel free to come back whenever. We could use more help all the time.”
Grant pulls a card out of his wallet. “I’ll be in touch for sure, but here’s my card. Call if you ever need anything specific. I can’t promise I’ll be able to help, but I sure will try. And I know the card says New York City, but I’ll be here awhile.”
In contrast to the stabbing words earlier this evening, these words warm my heart. A while.
I wonder how long a while is in Grant’s book.
As we get out of the car at Sonya’s I walk toward mine. I don’t want to talk about how it’s Tuesday and he hasn’t given me any party food. I don’t want to think about my party problem when there are so many hungry people just in the city I live in.
My problem seems petty, casual, and insignificant.
But I did make a commitment. I did issue invitations to one hundred people promising them a night of festive fun. Fun which includes dinner.
No, I don’t have the same type of problem as the homeless do, I get that, but I still have a problem.
“Don’t leave,” Grant says. “Can we talk? Out back? We can stargaze while we talk.”
I shake my head. “We can’t see the stars. Too many city lights.”
“I’ll stargaze into your eyes then. Stay? And I’m kidding about the eyes.”
How can I say no to this man? How can I possibly stand up to him with this catering business? One kind word and hot look from him, and I’m putty.
I won’t tell him that, but it’s true.
“Sure. Just for a little while. I have a busy day tomorrow.” And I wish I could take those words back as they beg the question he asks.
“What are you doing?”
I don’t lie. “Party stuff. And I have to fix those business cards. I still can’t believe I messed them up.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t fix them today before you came over.”
He opens the gate to the backyard. I won’t or can’t admit to him that his kiss left me restless all night, and I slept way past my normal time this morning. Then thoughts of his kiss kept my mind rattled for a good part of the day. I guess that’s what happens when one doesn’t have a set of plans for the day.
And one hasn’t been kissed in a while.
My day was gone before I knew it was starting.
“Fixing the cards is first on my list in the morning. And I saw a couple of emails when we were driving back. I might have a meeting for a possible planning job.”
Again, I didn’t lie. I did have an email regarding a possible job. But it was from a friend of a friend’s friend. Highly unlikely it will pan out, but at least I sound like I’m going to be busy and productive.
That would keep Grant from becoming too involved in my tomorrow.
As I’m about to sit in one of the patio chairs, Grant takes my hand in his. “Why don’t you sit here.” He pulls me toward him, and I sit in his lap. “I’m sorry I haven’t proven to you that I can provide the food for the party. But I can. I promise. You haven’t given up on me, have you?”
“No.” And honestly, I haven’t. But I need to tell him about my appointments. If he finds out that will look worse. Like I’m hiding something.
And I’m not.
“You don’t sound sure. Look, the deadline was today and I got caught up in our fair visit and went overboard. I’ll admit it. But I have the financial means to provide for your party, and I promise the food will be amazing. I just need you to trust me.”
I’ve been through a lot of trusting people that didn’t work out. Hence my immediate problem. I trusted a caterer and they disappeared.
I trusted Sonya would be around to help me, and she’s laid up. I know that’s no fault of hers, and I am fully confident she’ll continue to do what she can, but it goes to prove that when you are responsible for something, you’re responsible.
No one else is. “I’m going to trust you, but I do have two appointments tomorrow.”
“With?” he asks, although we both know he knows who my appointments are with.
“Caterers.”
He nods, and his arm becomes stiff around my waist. “If that’s what you feel like you need to do, go ahead. But do you mind me asking how you are going to pay for a caterer?”
I breathe deeply. “If, and it’s a big if. If I like either one, I was going to figure out how much money I need then take out a loan.”
“A loan. With interest that you’ll have to pay back and this will end up costing you way more than you ever planned.”
He’s right. I know he is. But I’m trapped. If he hadn’t come back from New York this would be my only option “This is my business at stake. My business that hasn’t even gotten off the ground yet.” I stand, anxious to be away from the feel of Grant. It’s too conflicting to love his touch while verbally arguing with him. “You are already established in your world. You have a name, a reputation. I know.” I breathe deeply once again. “I know you are going through a bad time right now, but you have the years invested in what you are doing that people will rally around you to help you. Even Thomas at the shelter knew who you are.”
“You act like I have everything and you have nothing.” Grants stands.
I nod. “In the business world isn’t that true? I just want to build something. Something to call my own.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets then turns away from me. His silhouette is larger than life, like Grant probably is most of the time.
And really, all I want to be is like him.
But I keep silent. A woman’s intuition kicks in at times and this is one of those times.
I pull my keys out of my pocket. “Thanks for a great evening. I mean that. I know we aren’t seeing eye to eye right now, but that’s okay. We can agree to disagree.”
He turns, his face a combination of beauty and seriousness. “I’ll give you the money.”
I was about to take a step toward the gate, but I stop. “What money?”
“The money for your caterer. Just tell me how much it is and it’s yours.”
I swallow hard not believing what I’m hearing. “So I can pay you back when my business gets going? Because I have faith that I will be successful. I’m just not sure how long it will be until I’m out of the red.”
“No. You don’t have to pay me back. Consider it an investment.”
Shuffling the toe of my sandal on the concrete, I try and stop my brain which is frantically thinking of what to say. His offer is too good to be true, and well, I’ve been there before. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say thank you. I’ll take the money.”
I would love to speak those words. But they won’t come out.
“I do appreciate the offer, but I don’t know.”
He takes a few steps stopping in front of me. “I can’t force you to say yes, but I can ask you to think about it. Let me help you. If it can’t be my cooking, let it be my financial assistance.”
I almost laugh at the term financial assistance. It’s so proper and business-like and he’s so close and business is the last thing I’m thinking about.
Why does being around Grant do this to me? “I need to go. I’ll think on it. I promise. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Okay. Until then.” He leans down and kisses me.
I should have expected it.
I wanted it to happen.
Maybe I willed it to happen.
Moments of pure bliss pass by. When we stop kissing I say, “You can’t kiss me into a yes. You know that, right?”
“Kissing and business are very separate. No mixing business and pleasure. We’ve all heard it.”
“As long as we’re on the same page.”
“I’m on any page you want me to be on, Eden. Let me walk you to your car.”
As I drive away I should be floating on air. In heaven.
But I’m not.
I’m confused. And concerned.
I basically told Grant I didn’t need his world-renowned skills that had gone awry. Instead of becoming defensive and angry, he in turn offered me money to do my own thing. To hire someone who could do what he couldn’t do.
He had asked me to trust him and with my confession of my appointments tomorrow, I said no, you aren’t trustworthy.
I had some serious thinking to do tonight and I could feel the insomnia kicking in even before I arrived home.