Page 21 of Hogging the Hunk
Beckett
I strode the length of Maren’s front porch, nibbling my fingernails. Biting my nails was not typical behavior, though I allowed myself some grace. Today was a big day, so much so that the week building up to it, I’d been jittery. Nervousness had a history of wreaking all kinds of havoc on me, from the threat of burning ulcers in my stomach to eradicating any sort of a normal sleep routine. I was surprised my hair hadn’t started falling out in chunks. At least my knee was feeling alright after a few iffy weeks. I barely had a limp anymore.
Granny peeked her head out of the front door. “Quit your pacing. You’re fit to be tied.”
“Can’t.” I accidentally bit off my thumbnail. “I have too much energy.”
“Because your boyfriend’s back in town?”
There was no misunderstanding her feelings about Greg. After catching me with an entire box of tissues used and strewn on the living room floor following my disappointing hike with Greg, she went to the kitchen and banged around the cabinets for a while. She came out once to change my bag of ice and give me a bottle of Tylenol, muttering that a man like him didn’t deserve to lick the sole of my boots.
My argument to spare Greg was weak. I wasn’t sure he was worthy of redemption myself at the time, though a month apart and a solemn, pleading phone call was all it took to change my mind. How could it not? There was a long list of reasons we were perfect together.
“Yes, he’s back.”
The tiniest twinge of guilt resided in my gut. When Granny had demanded details about the excursion with Greg, I left out Milo’s part in it. He had swooped in to help, and I was extremely grateful for that. I didn’t need Granny misinterpreting his intentions and view his actions through the lens of the soap operas she watched too many of. She’d romanticize something that wasn’t there between Milo and I. Then, it would only be a matter of time before she began campaigning for Milo to be something more than what we already were.
Granny harrumphed. “And you’re going to allow him to waltz right back into your life and do the cha-cha all over you?”
The snort rumbling out of my nostrils was painful. “Those are two very different dances.”
“I know what I said.”
Toying with an earring, I watched for signs of movement on the road. Greg’s arrival couldn’t come soon enough. “We hit a rough patch. Like I told you. All couples do. You’ve said so yourself.”
“Did she say a rough patch?” Maren sidled up next to Granny, watching me over her chamomile tea.
Great. They were going to gang up on me. When would they learn I was capable of watching out for myself? I had years of decision making without them hovering over me.
“Yes, I did.” Turning my back on Granny and Maren, I folded my arms to spare my nails. If Greg could show up right now, that’d be great.
“You’re right.” Maren slurped some of her tea. “All couples have troubles. It’s when they start having crippling problems before you’ve made any sort of progress together that it’s a red flag.”
“Aren’t you the one who almost mowed over half your spinach patch last week because you were so spitting mad that Parker left the toilet seat up?” I snapped.
“I was a tad upset, yes.” Maren sniffed. “I also got a bug in my eye, which made it hard to see.”
“Right.”
There was a tense silence, and I counted the seconds, willing Greg to get here faster.
Granny grabbed the broom she left by the front door and worked on tidying up the welcome mat. “You know, Milo—”
“There’s nothing going on between Milo and me!”
My voice was too high-pitched and urgent for Maren and Granny to leave my answer alone. They exchanged a glance with furrowed brows and twitching lips. I’d given them too much information by my denial. If I didn’t leave soon, they’d pick out of me how much Milo had meant to me. How his powerful arms had carried me to safety while his smile lifted my wallowing spirits.
The crunch of tires was better than any heavenly choir of angels heralding Greg’s arrival. I gave a quick flick of my hair and a look at Granny and Maren that they weren’t to cause any trouble, or I’d make sure they paid. Both of them scoffed, laughing at my nonverbal warning.
Greg opened the door of his car, pulling off his aviator sunglasses and beaming at me. “Hello, beautiful.”
Walking down the steps, the lightness in my countenance made Greg’s arrival feel like old times. “Hi, Greg. You look good.”
“Thanks.” He struck a pose intended to make me laugh. “I’m glad to be back.”
Walking to the passenger side of the car, I felt especially pretty as my skirt swished against my knee-high boots. Greg opened the door as he always had for me, and over the top of his freshly washed car, I raised my eyebrows at Maren and Granny to make sure they noted Greg’s chivalry. See? Greg cares for me enough to make things easier on me.
“Shoot,” Greg said, staring at my boots.