"Sorry it took so long. Maggie insisted on making you a full breakfast," Grant said, interrupting my thoughts. He carried a tray loaded with food.
"Holy gluttony. She didn't have to do that," I protested, although the tantalizing scents had my growling stomach thinking otherwise.
"I tried to tell her that, but I think she felt bad since you missed dinner last night. Which, by the way, might have been the best pot roast I've ever had," he said, placing the tray in the middle of the bed between us. He handed one of the loaded plates to me.
"So, tell me what's been going on in Woodfalls," I said, taking a bite of bacon.
"Doesn't your mom keep you up on everything?"
"Not really. Sometimes I think she's hoping that by being close-mouthed I'll come home more often. She'll throw out little teasers every once in a while, but won't embellish on them, even when I press her. She's a jerk," I said affectionately.
"Sounds smart to me. What do you want to know?"
"Everything," I answered.
And that's what he did. He filled me in on who was dating who, who had recently had kids, who had passed away, and of course, my cousin Tressa's latest scandals. I loved Tressa to death, but I swear, she wasn't happy unless she was stirring up something. Our conversation continued after we finished eating. He was turning into an easy person to talk to when he wasn't teasing me. I'm sure a lot of it had to do with our common bond of knowing all the same people. I was surprised to discover we shared a lot of the same likes and dislikes. It seemed crazy that even growing up around someone in the same small town didn't mean you knew everything about them.
"What about your dad? How's he liking retirement?" I asked, sliding my plate away so I would stop nibbling on the leftovers. My stomach was threatening mutiny if I tried to eat one more morsel of food.
"Well, considering he still comes in almost every day, I'd hardly call it retirement. I think he missed the memo on what retirement is supposed to entail. I guess I can't blame him though. The lumber yard has been his whole life since he was kid. My grandpa was the same way. I'm sure when it's my turn it'll be my son griping one day."
"Your son? You want kids?" I asked, completely floored.
"Sure I want kids. The more, the better as far as I'm concerned."
Seriously? Mr. Non-Commit wanted kids? Did he understand that kids were the mother of all commitments?
"What? You don't want kids?" he asked intently.
"Of course I want kids. I want a whole houseful, but I'm shocked you want them."
"Why? You think I'd make a lousy dad?" he asked, snagging the last piece of bacon from my plate.
"Of course not, but you do realize you'll actually have to bite the bullet and commit to someone?"
"Duh, really?" he said, looking offended.
"Hey, don't get all offended. You're the one who said you couldn't commit."
"What? When did I say something like that?" he asked incredulously.
"When you were talking about Amanda getting married," I answered, amazed at how dense he was being.
"I said she wanted things from me I wasn't willing to give."
"Exactly. Considering she got married to someone else, I'm guessing what she wanted was marriage."
"Right," he answered, looking at me like I was the one talking in circles and not him.
"Which would mean you were unable to commit," I said through gritted teeth, plopping back on my pillows. He was so infuriating at times. I couldn't tell if he was messing with me.
"Commit to her being the point."
"Ooooh, you didn't want to marry her," I said, finally understanding. I pulled my bottom lip into my mouth, mulling his words over. He wasn't the commitment-phobe I had portrayed him to be. He just hadn't found his "someone." I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face. It shouldn't matter to me. But it did.
"Ding ding ding. I don't remember you being that dense in school. Have these highlights messed with your brain?" he teased, tugging on a lock of my hair.
"Funny. I thought you were deliberately trying to be obtuse."