“Not much for you to do over at my place if you don’t read.” He gives me a friendly smile. “Speaking of which, I was thinking that if you are introducing me to your shows, I should introduce you to my books, if you’re up for it.”
I grimace.
“Okay, maybe not,” he says with a laugh.
“Sorry, I’ve just never been a fan of reading. I only do it when I have to.”
“Any reason?”
I shrug, my cheeks heating a bit. “I was never very good at it, so it isn’t something I can do to relax or unwind. It just stresses me out. I take forever to read anything and I just end up getting frustrated.” I hesitate for a second, then say, “I have a language disorder, and it’s gotten better with the therapy Gram got me, and I get by okay, but words just don’t come easy to me. I struggle with vocabulary and I always hated reading comprehension. When I was in school Peyton and Gram helped me with my reading homework. Heck, Peyton still helps me when I’m struggling with something.”
“Helps you how?” He takes a sip of his water, and I finally make eye contact with him. There’s no judgment in his tone, only curiosity and it relaxes me a bit.
“Reading it out loud to me. It’s easier for me to absorb that way. I’m not great with written words, or even knowing what words to use to communicate what it is I’m trying to say sometimes, but I’m real good at memorizing things people say to me. I can remember an entire recipe if someone tells me what to do step by step, but reading them never works. I just get overwhelmed by all the directions being there at once. Gram realized it was easier to teach me to cook by just talking it out, rather than having me look at a recipe book. I’ve been cooking from memory for a long time.”
“Wow, that’s actually really impressive,” Alex says. “And I could do that.”
I feel my cheeks heating again. “Do what?”
“I mean, if you want me to. I could read the books out loud to you. And if there’s any words you’re having trouble with you can ask me what they mean and I’ll do my best to tell you. I’m not a wizard or anything when it comes to reading, but I’m decent enough.There’s some great stories out there you shouldn’t be missing out on.”
Shit. Why is the idea of him reading to me making my chest squeeze? That’s really damn sweet. He must really want me to know these stories.
“If you really don’t want to, though, I won’t be offended, I promise,” he tells me. “I don’t get offended easily, really, so if I’m ever bothering you just tell me to fuck off.”
I chuckle. “I don’t think I could do that. That was more Gram’s domain.”
He laughs. “Yeah, your grandma sounds like she was quite the character.”
“Yeah, you could say that. I think you would have liked her.”
“I think so too.” We eat for a bit longer before he says, “God, this ziti puts my spaghetti and meatballs to shame.”
I blush again. “Thanks, it’s Gram’s recipe.”
“You have a picture of her somewhere?” he asks, and I gesture.
“On the bookshelf.”
Alex helps me clear the table and then makes his way over to said shelf. He sees the photo of Gram and me dressed up for a Halloween party. She was Cruella and I was a dalmatian. She got decked out, too. Looked like the real deal, and I got a shit ton of candy that year.
“Oh, man this is epic,” he says, picking up the framed photo. “And you were adorable.”
My cheeks heat even more and I’m grateful he isn’t looking my way as I load the dishes into the dishwasher.
He sets the photo down and moves to one of us at the ocean we went to every summer. I’m a bit older in that one, late highschool, and we both have wide smiles on our faces. Her with a big beach hat on her head, her graying hair back in a ponytail. I’m pretty sure that was also the trip where I got a really bad sunburn and Gram nursed me back to health with aloe and ice water. Then we spent the rest ofthe trip indoors and she kicked my ass at Mario Kart. I chuckle as I remember the ridiculous victory dance she did every time she won.
Fuck, the memories make my chest ache.
Alex’s laughter brings me back to the present when he sees the third photo of us at Universal Studios in my early college years, standing near Doctor Doom’s Fear Fall. Gram has her tongue sticking out and both hands in the air with just her pinky and pointer finger up. I’m next to her just trying not to laugh.
“Man, she was trouble, wasn’t she?”
I laugh. “Yeah, she was. In the best way.”
I grab the beers Alex brought and make my way to the sofa, and he joins me, stopping to admire the blanket draped over the back before he sits. “Did your Gram make this, too?” he asks, looking at the large throw in pink, blue and purple yarn. He runs his hand along it like it’s fine china.
“No, I did,” I tell him, and he gapes.
