Mama rolls her eyes and kisses the top of his head as she passes. “If you weren’t so ornery, I might actually let you age gracefully.”
There’s a chuckle from Lily as she walks by with a tray of deviled eggs. “Y’all flirting or fighting? Hard to tell.”
“Both,” they say at the same time, which is honestly disgusting and weirdly adorable.
Mama swats him with a dish towel before turning to me. “You do seem distracted though, honey. Everything okay?”
“Everything's fine Mama.” I insist, flipping another steak. “Just focused on making sure lunch is perfect.” The white lie flying off my tongue.
She doesn't believe me—I can tell by the way her eyes narrow slightly—but she lets it go, patting my arm before heading back inside.
When we sit down for lunch, it’s the usual Taylor chaos. Mama's beaming over the wildflower centerpiece Lily put together, the sun glinting off her wine glass as she raises it in a toast to her pre-birthday celebration. There’s laughter, clinking silverware, and one of Dad’s inappropriate jokes that makes Christian snort iced tea through his nose.
“I swear, y’all are feral,” Lily mutters, handing him a napkin with the defeated air of someone who’s done this too many times to count.
It should feel normal. Comfortable. The kind of meal that settles your bones and roots you to the earth. But I can’t shake this damn ache in my chest—like something shifted and cracked open and now I don’t know how to close it.
“Grant hasn’t heard a damn thing we’ve said for the last ten minutes,”
Ryan announces, jabbing me with his elbow. “You checkin’ out or havin’ a stroke?”
I blink and look up, fork suspended halfway to my mouth, realizing everyone’s staring at me. “Sorry, what?”
“I asked if you followed up with Triple Crown Feeds,” Connor repeats, businesslike, brows already drawn. “You know, the sponsor you swore you’d call Monday?”
I shake my head, trying to gain some form of normalcy. “I’ll call them tomorrow,” I mutter, focusing way too hard on dissecting my steak.
Dad leans forward like a bloodhound catching a scent. “You look like your brain packed up and left town, son. You’re a million miles away.”
“Or thinking about someone a few miles away,” Lily mutters just loud enough for me to hear. She’s smirking, sipping her tea like she didn’t just lob a grenade into the conversation.
I shoot her a shut-up-or-perish look. Too late.
“Someone?” Mama perks up, activating her gossip goblin in record time and sporting that expression people get when they hear the phrase 'you didn’t hear this from me, but...'
“Grant, is there a girl we should know about son?” she asks, hands clasped like she’s praying to the matchmaking gods.
“There’s no girl,” I say too fast, too defensive, glaring at Lily.
“Liar,” Christian coughs into his napkin and earns a solid kick under the table, but the damage is done. Six pairs of Taylor eyes zero in on me with laser focus.
“Spill it,” Dad demands, a grin spreading across his weathered face. “Who's the poor soul who's caught our Grant's attention?”
“Nobody,” I insist. “Can we get back to planning Mama’s birthday party?”
Mama waves her hand. “Oh, honey, this is the best gift you could give me—my most feeling phobic son finally interested in someone.”
“I am not—” I start, but Lily cuts me off.
“It's that writer girl from the city,” she announces waving her hands in the air like someone who just had their nails painted. “The one who got lost on her way to Maine.”
“How do you know about that?” I ask, jaw tight.
She shrugs. “Annie told me—said you two looked real cozy in yoga class yesterday.”
“You took her to your yoga class?” Dad guffaws so hard he nearly chokes, slapping the table. “Must be serious!”
“I didn'ttakeher anywhere,” I protest, feeling my face heat. “She was already there when I arrived.”
