Page 103 of Cross Check

“I know. But at least I get to be there with you.”

Sharp, sweet warmth settles over me. It stays there the rest of our meal, aided by the second round of food we order, splitting the pancake in half. We talk about everything and nothing, from how his sister is doing to what I’m planning for my first week in my new position.

By the time we finish, I’m full and happy. Unable to stop smiling when I stand.

“I’m going to wash my hands, then we’ll swing by my place before I drop you at your hotel on my way to the arena,” I say. “Be back in a minute.”

“Take your time,” he says. “You might have to roll me out of here.”

When I finish in the bathroom, I find Grant still in the booth with a pen caught between his teeth. The notebook he was holding at the airport is open on the table, and I try to read over his shoulder.

“What’s that?” I ask, and he jumps. He covers the papers marked up by handwriting with his palm. “Totally normal response, by the way.”

“It’s nothing. Not important.” His hand stays in place until he can slide the notebook off the table and slam it shut. “Record keeping. My expenses.”

“You keep track of your expenses in a notebook? When there are ways to do that digitally?”

“I’m old-school.”

“Is that why you’re using a sparkly gel pen?”

“Everyone needs some pizazz in their life.”

I know he’s hiding something, but there’s no time to question it. The notebook gets tucked away. Grant stands, gesturing toward the exit, and we make the drive to my apartment.

“It would make me more comfortable if we went in separately,” I say after parking in the garage under my building. “There might be people taking the elevator up. A lot of the tenants know me, which means they know you.”

“How about I wait to go up after you? What floor are you on?”

“The sixth. I’ll meet you outside the elevator.”

“This is why the fake facial hair is so clutch. Easy to blend in.” He hops out of the car, shutting the door behind him. “I’ll count to one hundred then head up.”

I wait for him upstairs and try to remember the last time someone other than Sienna or Lainey came over to my place. Nothing comes to mind, and I wonder if that means something.

I feel safe with him?

I like that he knows me?

I want to know what he looks like in my space?

Grant finds his way to my floor, and I unlock my door to let us in. Inside my apartment, he kicks off his shoes and puts his hands on his hips.

“You look like you have thoughts,” I say, and he waves me off.

“Shhh. This is the first time I’m seeing your place, and I want to take it all in.”

He walks down the hall that leads to the living room, letting out a soft hum as he moves from the blankets draped over the couch to the coasters on the coffee table. He runs his fingers along the framed photos on the wall, the ones from my Wisconsin days with the championship trophy over my head.

After a peek at the guest bathroom and kitchen, Grant plops on the couch in the living room.

“Just like I thought it would be. Neat. Orderly, but still very welcoming. Personable too.” His eyes slide over to me. “You don’t show this side of yourself to people very often, do you?”

“No.” I perch on the edge of the cushion. Not too relaxed, not too open. “I don’t.”

“That’s a shame.” His gaze slips to the curtains, to the books arranged in alphabetical order on the shelves. “I like this side of you. I like knowing there’s more to Amelia Green than the hardworking woman that meets the eye.”

I’ve revealed myself to Grant, and he’s sticking around. He’s here on a day off because he wants to celebrate my success, not dim it, and that has to mean something. I want to linger on the importance of it. I want to daydream about where something could go, but I can’t. Not when my career is on the cusp of taking off, and I meant what I told him all those months ago. I’m selfish. I care about myself and my future first and foremost, and whatever spark that’s pulling me in has to stop.