The look on her face is nothing short of adoration for her son. Her hand squeezes his, she leans forward giving him her full attention, and the warmth she exudes is a balm to Warren’s unusual nervousness.
It’s fascinating, really. It’s not that I’ve never seen an example of a caring parent in action before. I’ve seen plenty,and normally my knee-jerk reaction is to look away and pretend I didn’t witness anything that I might consider out of the ordinary.
This time feels different. It’s a nausea-inducing slow-motion torture of what I never had, five feet away from me. It’s so casually given, so natural. It’s everything I wish I’d had growing up. And now.
Suddenly, my food doesn’t taste good anymore and I set my fork down.
“I agree,” Wade says with an encouraging nod. “And you know that we’re all here to help if we can.”
“And what about you, Savannah? Are you enjoying your position at the law firm?” Mrs. Grant asks. She means well, and it’s kind of her to include me in the conversation. I wish she wouldn’t. My hips wiggle back and forth a few times in my seat, trying to get more comfortable and stalling before answering her question.
“I am. But I’m still getting the hang of things.” With that statement, my eyes drift down to my plate avoiding the looks of disapproval that I expect to receive.
Next to me, Warren takes a drink of water and then clears his throat. I’m twirling my napkin under the table until his hand invades the same space and lands right above my bare knee.
“I’m fifty-four years old and I’m still getting the hang of things too,” Gayle laughs.
Mrs. Grant nods in agreement while taking a sip of her drink, then looks back at me and continues. “I’m sure it’s been tough having things start out the way they did.”
My leg bounces and Warren squeezes to settle it.
“Doesn’t matter how things started, she’s in control of where she’s headed. She’s focused and cares a lot about her career,” Warren announces in a steady and confident voice.
A stellar performance, I’ll give him that. Everyone reacts with little oohs and ahhs. It’s unusual how my pulse slows as his words filter through the tension in my head. I’m so starved for positive affirmation that even the little act of support that he’s putting on right now brings on a wave of comfort.
Without fully facing him, I take a peek at Mr. Grant’s reaction out of the corner of my eye. He seems mildly pleased with what Warren said judging by the subtle nod and relaxed set to his shoulders. This plan could crash and burn if Mr. Grant isn’t buying it. Time will tell, but if Warren keeps this up and can convince him that I’m not a total fuck-up, no matter how deceiving that would be, maybe he won’t fire me.
“Well, that’s sweet as pie, Warren,” Gayle says. “We’re proud ofbothof you and so happy to have you here, Savannah.”
As time passes and we move to lighter small talk, we each finish our meals. While standing from her seat and taking her empty plate with her to the kitchen sink, Gayle speaks up.
“I’m bringing breakfast to the bunkhouse on my way to the café early tomorrow morning. Do you like cinnamon rolls?” she calls over her shoulder as she rinses her plate.
Uh . . .
A panic rises in my throat wondering how to tell her that it doesn’t matter whether or not I like cinnamon rolls for breakfast because I will not be at the bunkhouse in the morning. The fictitious slip about Warren and I living together is already coming back to haunt me and it hasn’t even been a few hours.
I quirk an eyebrow and lean in toward Warren to whisper. “Your mom brings you breakfast?”
“It’s Tripp’s birthday,” he whispers back.
I nervously bite my bottom lip and nod in response. That makes sense. I was about to make so much fun of him if his mom was regularly cooking and delivering his meals. I’m still pinning him as a mama's boy until further notice. Whether or not he doeshis own laundry or makes his own dentist appointments is still to be determined.
Something tells me that Gayle wouldn’t let Warren get away with any of those things though, so we’re probably in the clear.
It could be much worse when you compare it to the boys I’ve dated in the past, though. I have an embarrassing slew of exes that google themselves, have energy drink addictions, and claim that their love language is blow jobs. Zero out of ten, do not recommend.
Not that it matters. I’m not actually dating Warren. After the way he stood up for me today, I almost forgot that this wasn’t real.
“They’re the best in Texas. I'm sure she’ll love them.We’llbe there,” Warren says. My head whips in his direction and he’s wearing a sly smirk.
That motherfucker.
14
WARREN
“Iamnotmoving in with you,” Savannah grumbles as she tosses her overnight bag onto the couch in the bunkhouse living room. It’s covered in blue and white flowers and lands with a heavy thud, stuffed so full I wonder if she had to sit on it to zip it up. “This is only for one night.”
