Page 38 of Brother in Law with Benefits

My bestie Bonnie called it on Saturday:"You're already mourning this relationship. He hasn't even left yet and you're acting like he's gone."

"I'm protecting myself."

"No. You're sabotaging it. You're making it easier for him to leave by pushing him away first. Classic Sophie bullshit."

I'd wanted to argue. The fact that I couldn't is its own answer.

Grant showed up. He has consistently, reliably shown up. He learned Patty's medication schedule in no time. He fixed the porch railing without being asked. He makes her toast at the exact ratio she likes because he read my sticky notes carefully and followed them to the letter, which is—

Stop. You’re spiraling.

I grab the coffee carrier and get out of the car.

Patty answers the door looking like someone who has been waiting.

"Sophie! I was starting to think you forgot about me."

"Never." I hand her the decaf with almond milk. "How are you feeling?"

"Better than I have any right to be." She steps back. "Grant's in the kitchen. He's decided I need more protein. He's being very bossy about it." A pause. "You'll need to handle that."

I can hear him from here. Pan on the stove, fridge opening, the particular rhythm of someone moving through a kitchen when they’re on a mission.

"I can come back later."

"Don't be ridiculous." She takes my arm. "Grant! Sophie's here with coffee."

He turns from the stove.

We look at each other across Patty's kitchen.

He looks tired. His hair is messier than usual. He's wearing work clothes and those work boots and he's so solid, so simply, visibly here, and I've spent four days missing him with a specific physical ache that I would find embarrassing if I had the energy.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey."

"I'm going to sit down. My show's on." She pats my shoulder on the way past. "Stop being scared of good things, honey,” she adds in a whisper.

She's gone before I can respond.

Grant sets down the spatula. "Coffee run?"

"Habit." I hold out his cup. "Black with sugar."

"You remembered."

"Of course I remembered." He takes the cup. Our fingers touch for a moment. The contact still does the same thing it's been doing since the hospital elevator, which is extremely inconvenient but apparently a permanent feature.

"How was work?" he asks.

"Three stomach bugs and a broken arm. How was—" I gesture vaguely. "Everything."

"Mom had a good weekend. Good appetite."

"That's great."

We're so polite we're practically strangers.