Page 70 of Grasp The Moment

“You said it too!”

Chuckling, I push off that memory assault and focus on my girls. The two of them go back and forth, pointing and gasping at one another for a moment before Delilah ultimately ends up in Georgia’s arms.

“She doesn’t hate you…” I trail off.

In all actuality, I don’t know how my mom feels about Georgia, but I know that she would never hate her. Honestly, I think she respects her a lot, especially after she stood up for herself at the last dinner.

Georgia grimaces. “That doesn’t sound too sure.”

Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, I squeeze it.

“Trust me, darlin’, she loves you.”

My wife gives me a quick kiss on my cheek and nods. “As long as you believe that… I’lltry to.”

Deli giggles. “You just kissed my papá!”

We share a knowing smile before turning back to the front door. The large wooden piece is suddenly intimidating as it stares back at us.

“Whenever you’re ready to go, say the word, and we’ll leave,” I say, pulling her closer as she rolls her eyes.

“The second the word ‘apple’ leaves my mouth, we’re out.”

I laugh, and Georgia frowns.

“Apple?”

“It’s the best I could come up with…”

Giving her shoulder one last squeeze, I unlock the door and lead us all into the kitchen, where my mother stands over the table, placing down the last dish of the night.

“Ah, honey, I’m so glad you all could make it… Georgia.” My mother’s tone has a weird inflection when she says her name, her eyes locking on Georgia’s as soon as she takes a seat.

Gently pushing in her chair, I squeeze her shoulder and double-check to make sure Delilah’s settled in her seat before taking my spot next to Georgia. My hand immediately finds its way to her jumpy thigh, settling the nerves in place.

She squeezes my hand before turning to my mother, “How are you, Mrs. Perez? Have you had a great week?”

Mamá gives her a sweet smile, tilting her head. “Honestly, it’s been a horrid week, but everything will get better soon.”

“What happened? You haven’t told me anything about the company…” I say, my hackles raised as Mamá turns to me, her eyes soft, and I stiffen immediately.

Something isn’t right. Her eyes are softer than usual, almost apologetic, and the air—it’s cold. We usually never keep it colder than seventy degrees in the house, but it feels frigid right now.

My eyes land on the extra place setting before connectingwith my mother’s. I squeeze Georgia’s thigh again, and I don’t know if it’s for her benefit or my own as I clear my throat.

“Why’s there an extra place setting?” I want to ask, but my words are cut off when Georgia speaks up.

“Wait… What areyoudoing here?” she asks, her voice hard and confused as she looks to my right.

In my lifetime, there’s only ever been one person who has made me lose composure. I like to think of myself as a chill guy. I don’t overreact; I give things the amount of energy I deem necessary, which is always minimal. I’m diligent and decisive—I hate irrationality, especially when it comes from me.

But there’s always been that one person who knew how to get it out of me.

My hand loosens, the grip that I’d had on my composure, and Georgia’s thigh seems to slip away as my throat lodges.

With a slow turn of my head, our eyes lock. Her green ones clash with my browns in a war that I thought I’d never have to fight again.

I don’t mean for my grip to slip away, or for my legs to rise, but there’s one thing on my mind when she smiles at me.