Page 17 of Really Truly Yours

Amidst a swirl of fresh worries, I find a comfortable spot and try for sleep.

∞∞∞

“What are you doing here?”

That sounded rude, but try as I may, I honestly can’t recall the last time I was awakened from one of my dead-to-the-world naps by a professional baseball player knocking on my door.

Oh yes I can.

Never.

Grayson Smith frowns. At me. I did something wrong?

“I told you I was coming over.”

No, he did not. More, why would he?

“What?” Like an innocent lamb, he touches his chest, right on the third button of his some-brand-name-I-don’t-recognize pullover. If Mineral Springs doesn’t carry it, I don’t know it.

“When did you tell me that?” I haven’t seen or heard from this man—and absolutely never expected to—since Monday, when he tore out of Donny’s like a bat out of the place that’s hotter than my house turned while I slept.

Except…he might have shown up in my dreams. Twice, even. Most recently during the coma-like nap his pounding on my front door ripped me out of.

I won’t tell him so. From what I’ve seen, his ego would take the tidbit and run with it.

“Do you not check your phone?” His nose wrinkles, like not being tethered to a device is bizarre.

My dinosaur, generations-out-of-date smartphone isn’t a lot of fun to hang out with, no. And who is there to call me except maybe Sam, and he left here not an hour ago.

I pull the muted phone out of the pocket of my sweater. Wow. Make that three hours ago. Further, I see several missed calls and texts. All from Grayson Smith.

I mean, from his number. It’s not like I saved his name into my contacts or anything.

“Sorry. I guess I fell asleep.” I am apologizing why?

A cavernous dimple beside his mouth dances. “I see that. You’ve got…”, his fingers land on my cheek, “…some hair…”

The touch freezes me. Until it registers. I jerk back, smartly jamming my hip bone into the door knob. Ow.

His eyes get huge, and he retracts his fingers. “Sorry. But you might want to fix that.” He flicks his finger up and down in the air beside my face.

Ugh. I pry away the matted strands glued to my skin with drool.

Smirky grinning, he puts his hands on the waist of his shorts. “Side sleeper, huh?”

I tug my sweater together. I clear my throat, if not my sleep-jumbled brain. “Why are you here?”

His twinkling eyes dazzle a moment longer before turning serious. “I need to talk to you. May I come in?”

“Nope.” I don’t know this man.

I do know better than to let any stranger into my home. I also know that Donny’s brokenness these last two days has been painful to watch.

I lean on the doorframe. “What’s up?”

He stares at me as if I’m the one out of place, and then his mouth flattens and he cocks his head toward the street. “How’s he doing?”

“Not great. It’s been a hard week.”