Page 76 of Run Home

“Griffie,” I reply, making him roll his eyes.

“Quit it,” he scoffs. “I’m a married man. No little-kid nicknames anymore.”

“A married man and a dad,” I amend. His smile returns. “That must feel pretty incredible to have Jason start calling you ‘Dad,’ huh?”

He turns to mush. “It definitely is. He’s kept it up too. I wasn’t expecting it of him anytime soon, if ever. I would have followed his lead if he stuck with ‘Griffin’ for the rest of his life. But it feels special, even if it’s bittersweet and complicated at the same time.”

My smile is contemplative when I observe, “A tension of emotions we’re well acquainted with.”

We’re interrupted by Jeff coming to the table with drinks in each hand. He sets Griffin’s usual in front of him, then presents me with my usual—a blueberry-lime mocktail made with kombucha and sparkling water. He’s grinning as he says, “I’ve missed seeing you in here, Sam! I still keep a bottle of berry kombucha in the fridge in case you come in.”

Clapping my hands over my heart, I ask, “Do you really?”

He nods and says, “I couldn’t claim Griffin West’s personal bartender status if I didn’t keep his people’s drinks in stock. But it sounds like you need to come in here with a certain someone else sometime.” Jeff waggles his eyebrows, making me laugh.

“I’m sure I can talk Adrian into it,” I say. “Maybe after the season is over the four of us will come in for a double date.”

Jeff points to both of us and says, “I’m holding you to it. There’s enough kombucha left for a second drink, and I’ll show Noah how to make it. Have your server let me know when you’re ready for round two.”

When Jeff walks away, the server stops by to take our order. As soon as it’s just the two of us again, I narrow my eyes and ask, “Why are you ambushing me?”

Griffin inhales a sip of his drink and coughs. “I’m not ambushing you.”

Tipping my drink in the direction of the bar, I say, “If we were casually catching up, we’d be sitting at the bar chatting it up with Jeff too. We’re in the private conversation booth.”

Although Griffin has an “I’ve been caught” look, he doubles down. “I’m not ambushing you. I do want to catch up. But I want to catch up about some things that are maybe more private than a bar-sitting conversation.”

He leans his forearms on the table and asks, “How are you doing?” His tone is infused with that Griffin warmth that’s so genuine, I can’t even pretend to be upset about this conversation.

And I know exactly what he’s asking.

“I don’t know,” I confess honestly. “I’m confused with myself. Because I think that I’m really, really happy. I think that I—”

Stopping short, I drop eye contact, spinning my glass on the table.

“You think that you what?” Griffin’s voice is gentle. The same voice that has compassionately pried so much honest information out of me over the years. The voice that has spoken needed truth after listening to me process all of my confused emotions and insecurities.

I look back up to his eyes. “I think that I love Adrian. Like, for real love him. Not just the idea of love. Not just happy having a relationship. Him. Adrian Ortiz. The man who feels like my best friend ever and also so much more. But how am I supposed to trust my own feelings when I’ve been so wrong in the past?”

Griffin’s eyes scan my face, my body language. I know he’s piecing together clues from all of my cues. I take a sip of my drink to stop myself from chewing the inside of my cheek.

“Have you talked with Amber recently?” Griffin asks.

Nodding, I say, “Yes. I checked in with her last weekend, actually.”

He nods approval. “What did she have to say?”

Shrugging, I answer, “I described where Adrian and I are at in our relationship and what our interactions are like. She thinks I can trust myself more based on what I shared. But I still don’t know if I’m allowed to love him already when we’ve only been dating for seven weeks. Or is that unhealthy-attachment Sam talking?”

“Are you externally processing or asking for feedback?” Griffin asks.

Holding my hands out to either side, I say, “Lay it on me.”

Griffin clasps his hands and looks down, gathering thoughts.

“We both know this is different with Adrian. Different than Tucker or Ryan or that other loser. You and Adrian go way back—a lot longer than seven weeks. You have years of friendship as a foundation for your relationship. Not to mention he had his eye on you for a long time before he ever asked you out.” He pauses for a beat before adding, “I’ve been with you through a lot—a lot of extremely hard seasons. Nothing about this is like those past relationships.”

Hope lifts in my chest.