Page 97 of Really Truly Yours
But good things tend to be mirages, a kiss a far cry from forever.
“Syd?”
My lids flare. His eyes are deep wells that make me want to cast a wish and tumble myself in along with it.
How many times must I allow myself to be set up for a fall?
Sliding along the frame, I slip into the house. I wrap my hand around the knob, putting the door in motion as I speak. “Goodnight, Grayson.”
Chapter 21
Grayson
Lines like that work in the movies. Maybe even in Hollywood in general, but not here. Not for this guy.
You’re about to kiss me now. And, leave it to me to cockily tack on but I won’t kiss you unless you ask me to. Was the last part truly necessary?
Yes. I believe so, lowering as being slapped down and rejected was.
I want Sydnee’s trust.
The realization crystallized in the middle of the night—the same night I returned to Tripp and Avery’s and found a peaceful, quiet home. Sure, the light burned under their door late into the night, but all was well. He explained he was doing a favor for his old boss, a man named Chavez, who’s trying to help a single mom and her teenaged son. Avery accepted his explanation, so I have too.
Sydnee and trust are like oil and water. I see it now. Initially, the wide circles she kept around me, the boundaries she drew out time and again and glaringly demanded I held to, made me chuckle. After Saturday, none of it is humorous in the least. I should have clued in sooner. Her family life has been dicey enough that I should have suspected something of the sort.
I want to see her again but haven’t come up with the right excuse to make contact, and Donny’s needs have demanded my time.
Rain falls in a rhythmic flow when I pull up to his place on Wednesday. He’s ready when I arrive, so we’re merging into fast-flying, midweek, rush-hour traffic in no time. Who scheduled an appointment this early anyhow?
Won’t make that mistake twice.
I settle into the right lane. “Tell me more about Sydnee.” Seems I’ve asked this same thing before, but my need to know is unrelenting.
Donny honks his nose into a tissue, then swipes it around the area. “What in particular are you asking, boy?”
I skirt the wiry old coot a look. Might as well cut to the chase. “She’s kind of skittish, isn’t she?"
He harrumphs and stares out the window. From the minute I walked in his door, I sensed a mood. Maybe he’s been sleeping as poorly as I have since Saturday.
“Donny?” His hair, slicked down with water to tame a cowlick a minute before we left, appears greasy as it’s drying. There’s also a faint odor about him. Looks like I need to talk to the staff about the assisted part of his living arrangements.
“I’m not telling you jack squat about Sydnee.” He fires off a scowl.
My hands open on the wheel. “Hey, what’d I do?”
“Don’t you go prying around where it ain’t none of your business. If she wants you to know stuff, she’ll tell you herself.”
So there is stuff to tell?
“If the girl’s skittish, she’s got her reasons.”
Yep, there’s stuff.
“And don’t go pushing her to tell you junk neither.”
I chew my lip, the act as much about not hurling a nasty remark to put the crotchety guy in his place as anything else. “Fine. I won’t pry.” Maybe. “You know you messed up, too, right?”
He snaps around. “What are you talking about?”