Chapter 10

I pulled into the parking lot of Jamie’s office just past 7:00 p.m. Office being a relative term. It was more like a giant warehouse. One large room. Exposed pipes and large steel beams running across the ceiling. Giant windows. I stepped off the service elevator that had clanked and clunked up to the top floor and stood at the edge of the massive space. A cluster of desks sat in the middle of the room. They were all empty, desk lamps turned off and chairs pushed in, save two on the end, where Jamie and Dave sat. Dave had his feet up on the desk, his head leaning back in his hands, while Jamie leaned over his laptop, his face close to the screen.

At the sound of the elevator, they both looked up.

Jamie smiled. “Lane?” He stood and walked toward me, meeting me in the middle of the room. He leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. “What are you doing here?”

“I brought food. When you said you were working late, I figured, well, a guy has to eat, right?”

He looked at the bag, then looked back at me. “Do I smell . . .”

“Pho? Yeah. It’s this new place on Franklin Street. Have you tried it?”

“I haven’t. I could seriously kiss you right now,” he said. “You brought me pho.”

“You should kiss her right now,” Dave said, coming up behind him. He held his keys in his hand. “Pretty sure it’s part of the deal.”

“There’s enough for both of you,” I said, looking at Dave. “I wasn’t planning on staying.”

“Nope. I’m done for the night. You kids have fun though.”

Jamie took the bags from my hands and walked back toward his desk. “Do you have to leave?”

“Not exactly, but you’re working. I don’t want to keep you.”

“How about you stay long enough to eat with me, then you can go, and I’ll get back to work.”

“Fair enough,” I agreed.

I’d been to Jamie’s office twice. Once because he had wanted to show me around and introduce me to the rest of the people he worked with, and a second time when we’d met the week before and gone out to dinner with Dave and Katie. We’d all come from work, so we’d parked in the office parking lot and ridden together to the restaurant. But I’d never been there at night. With just the two of us sitting in the tiny pool of light his desk lamp created in the otherwise dark and cavernous room, it almost felt . . . I don’t know, creepy?

“I don’t know how you work in here alone. Especially at night.”

“You get used to it,” he said.

“How did you end up with such a giant space? You’re not even taking up a third of the room.”

“It was Dave’s doing. He knows the guy who owns the building. Some guy rented the space and paid two years in advance but then bailed three months in. So the owner’s letting Dave and I finish out the term for nothing but the cost of utilities. It’s a sweet setup.”

“Sounds like it. I guess free space is the best option, even if it is scary at night.”

Jamie pulled all the food out of the bags and opened the containers. I’d never had anything Vietnamese. There was pho, but then there was another container of what looked like a giant herb salad Jamie set between us. He handed me a set of chopsticks and a spoon.

“You’re going to teach me how to do this, right?”

He grinned. “You’ve never had it?”

“I had to Google it to know what it was,” I said.

He proceeded to give me a rundown of how to best savor the pho, first by drinking the broth, then by trying the noodles, then by adding an assortment of the various herbs sitting on the desk to the broth and getting a bite with all three elements together. The magic was in recognizing the simplicity of the flavors on their own but then getting the complexity of them all working together when combined. I couldn’t decide if I was more thrilled to have finally experienced pho or more disappointed that I’d gone so long without it.

“Hey, what are you doing the last weekend in September?” Jamie asked.

I leaned over my bowl and took another sip. “I don’t know. I’ll have to check my work schedule. You have something in mind?”

We both sat behind his desk, me in Dave’s chair and Jamie in his. He reached across the armrests between us and took my hand. “I want you to come home with me to Bristol. For Cooper’s missionary farewell.”

I fiddled with my chopsticks. It was a big step. Going home to Bristol meant meeting his parents. Seeing his childhood home. Spending time with his entire extended family as they sent Cooper off on his mission. It felt involved. Intimate. Important.

“Wow. Are you sure? It’s only been a couple of months. I don’t want to impose on your family’s time together.”

Jamie leaned back in his chair but didn’t let go of my hand. “We’ve been dating two and a half months. And it’ll be almost four by the time we head to Bristol. In Mormon dating time, that’s the equivalent of at least two or three years.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s not how it works.”

He smirked. “I’m not asking you to marry me, Lane. Just come home with me. Meet the family. I want you to be there.”

It was classic Jamie. Impetuous maybe wasn’t quite the right word. That implied a lack of forethought or carelessness, and Jamie was not careless. But he also never gave more than two seconds’ thought to any decision he made. He trusted his gut implicitly. No long pondering or careful consideration required. When we’d eaten with Katie and Dave the week before, Dave had confirmed Jamie’s quick decision-making went far beyond stuff like what to eat for dinner. It played a huge role in what made him so great at business. He was determined. Resolute. Committed. And he had good instincts. “He’s a little overbearing when he can’t rein it in,” Dave had said. “But we love him anyway.”

“Can I tell you something about me?” Jamie asked.

“Okay.”

“When I was in college, I dated a lot of different women. I mean a lot, a lot. I had this reputation of being a player, but that wasn’t . . . I wasn’t trying to hurt anybody. I just knew what I wanted. And it never took me long to figure out whether or not a girl was someone I was interested in.”

He shifted, leaning forward and taking my other hand as well. “I didn’t like what people were saying about me. That I played with people’s emotions. Led people on. So around the time I graduated, I backed way off. Stopped dating. I figured when I met the right person, I’d know.”

I tensed. He was sounding serious. More serious than I felt. But he also sounded genuine and real and like a guy who was trying really hard to lay his heart out on the table. I tried to relax. This was good. Real. And come on—Jamie was amazing. There wasn’t a good reason to shy away.

He squeezed my hands. “Don’t freak out. I’m not trying to freak you out. I’m just saying I like you. I want you to come to Virginia. Meet my family. Help us give Cooper a proper send-off. It’ll be fun.”

Curse those eyes. “You’re very convincing, Jamie Hamilton.”

He leaned forward and kissed me. “Only when I want to be.”

* * *

“Granny Grace? Are you out here?”

“Lane? Back here.” She held her hand up, just barely visible above the tall rows of corn that filled the back third of her garden. I passed the tomatoes and cucumbers, then stepped over the cantaloupe and watermelon before I found her. “You just getting home from work?” she asked.

I yawned, pausing at the end of the row. “Yeah. We had a bridal shower in the dining room this morning.”

She was leaning over, pulling weeds out from in between the tall, yellowy stalks. She grunted, twisting the thick stem of a weed and yanking it out of the ground. “You’ve been working lots of Saturdays lately.” She stood, pulling off one glove before wiping a hand across her forehead.

“That’s the nature of the business,” I said. “Have you seen this watermelon? It’s gorgeous.”

“It’s not ready yet.” Granny came up beside me. “Still too green.”

“How do you even know that?”

“Oh, it’s complicated,” she said, her tone serious. “Here. Lean in real close.” She motioned me forward. “Lean right down close to the watermelon.” I was almost almost bent in half as it was. “Closer,” she said. “Now close your eyes and take a deep breath.”

I did as she asked, standing stone still, my eyes closed. Until I heard her laugh. I stood, my hands pressed to my hips. She was almost doubled over in laughter, her arms held to her sides.

“Seriously?” I said. “I get this kind of treatment from you? You’re worse than Dad!”

“Where do you think he gets it, child?” She continued to laugh but leaned over and rolled the growing watermelon up on its side. “See? Still too green. You have to wait till the underbelly turns a little yellow.”

“You’re funny, Granny Grace. Truly.”

She swatted at me with her gardening glove. “You want to help me get the beans in? All these weeds have about done in my back.”

I groaned. “Didn’t we pick all the beans the last time we were out here?” It felt like all I’d been doing in her garden was pick beans.

“We did. And the time before that, and the time before that,” she said. “Don’t begrudge a good harvest, Lane. A full freezer is never a bad thing.”

“I think I’m too busy smelling the watermelon.”

She laughed again. “Now you sound like your mama. How about you pick ’em, I’ll cook ’em, then we both get to eat ’em.”

“Fine. If you’re offering to cook, I’ll pick. Do you mind if Jamie eats with us? He’s coming over later. We were going to go out, but if you’re cooking, I think I’d rather ask him to stay.”

“That’s fine with me. Just be sure to pick enough for three.” She crossed to the gardening hutch at the back of the house and pulled out a basket. “Here. Use this.”

I took the basket from her outstretched hand. “I won’t stop till it’s full.”

She rinsed her hands in the deep sink next to the hutch, then dried them on her apron. “You’re getting serious with that boy, aren’t you?”

“With Jamie? Yeah, I guess so.”

“You told your mama about him?”

I sat on the porch steps, the empty basket resting on my knees. “Not too much. I mean, she knows I’m seeing someone. But . . . I don’t know. Anything I tell her, she tells her mother, and I don’t think I’m ready for those phone calls yet.” My Puerto Rican grandmother. Fierce. Stubborn. And devastated that I wasn’t married by my twenty-second birthday. Even three years later, she was still giving my phone number to every missionary who served in all of Puerto Rico.

Granny Grace chuckled. “If you’re getting serious with Jamie, that will help things, won’t it? You’ve found a nice man. She’ll be happy for you.”

I stood back up and moved toward the beans. “I know. You’re probably right. But you know how Mama is. She overanalyzes everything. I never know if I’m having a conversation with my mother or with Dr. Bishop, who might launch into a psychoanalysis every time I turn around.”

“You’re overgeneralizing. Your mother isn’t that bad. Wanting to know the details of your life is not the same as wanting to offer a diagnosis.”

“Things are easy right now, Granny. It’s nice not worrying about all the complicated family stuff. It’s only been a few months.”

She didn’t say anything in response, but I could feel her stare.

I stopped and turned around. She stood there, her look intense, her hands on her hips. “Are you playing games with this boy?” she asked.

I huffed. “No. Why would you say that?”

“He’s taking you to meet his family, isn’t he?”

“Not until next month.”

She grunted something incoherent.

“What? So you’re grunting your opinions at me now?”

“Listen. I’m not trying to meddle. You’re a grown woman, and I know you’re going to do what you’re going to do. But the way I see it, you’re keeping this man at a safe distance. I’m wondering why that is.”

Stupid grandmotherly perception. I’d been dancing around the same realization myself for days. I’d agreed to go to Bristol with Jamie because I wanted to go, but thinking about it made me panic a little. Every time I thought about our relationship growing more serious, a tiny flame of fear flickered in my belly. “I’m being cautious,” I said. “Is that really such a bad thing?”

“Is that why you can’t tell your mama? You’re being cautious.”

“She called you, didn’t she?”

“It doesn’t matter if she did. I’m still speaking the truth.”

“It’s not a bad thing to be careful, Granny. I don’t want Abuela getting her hopes up until I’m sure this is the real deal.”

She lowered herself onto the back-porch steps. “What makes you think it’s not the real deal?”

I couldn’t explain my hesitation, really. “It’s not that I think it’s not. I’m just trying to take it slow.” I dropped a few more beans into the basket.

“I think that’s smart. But if you’re being cautious while he’s holding you close? Sounds a little like dancing with one shoe off.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means you’re in it but not really in it. And at a much higher risk of getting stepped on. Best mind your toes, Lane. Or in this case, his.”

I saw her point. Keenly. And spent the next twenty minutes of bean picking in quiet introspection. When I’d dated my only serious college boyfriend, we’d fallen in love pretty fast. There was intense chemistry between us—all kinds of sparks even from simple stuff like hand-holding. But the relationship didn’t have a ton of depth underneath all those sparks. When things had gotten tough in the form of family disgruntlement, we hadn’t had the roots to weather the storm.

I didn’t want a relationship with no spark, but I also didn’t want one that was all spark if it meant a lack of depth underneath all that chemistry. It was why I appreciated the easy comfort I felt around Jamie. It made relationship building easier. It was true that Jamie did seem a little more serious about things than I did. But it wasn’t because I wasn’t on my way there. That he was a little farther along didn’t concern me. I’d never been one to jump into stuff quickly, and he was—in every sense of the word. I felt pretty confident I would catch up eventually.

The beans grew well over my head, their leafy vines climbing up and around the thick twine Granny Grace had secured between sturdy bamboo poles. After half an hour, my back and arms ached. I dropped the half-full basket onto the ground between my feet and pulled out my cell phone for a quick break.

I had a text from Jamie. We still on for tonight?

Granny Grace is cooking. You up for coming over instead of going out? I responded.

Sure. Can I bring anything?

Nope. Only your appetite.

Okay. Be there at seven?

Sounds good.

Granny Grace’s warning about playing with Jamie’s feelings echoed in my head. But I wasn’t playing. I keyed out another text, this one maybe more for my own benefit than his. I can’t wait to see you.

Simon: How are things with Lane?

Jamie: Good. We talked poetry. I mentioned Billy Collins. She was impressed.

Simon: Good.

Jamie: How’s Karen?

Simon: Your guess is as good as mine.

Jamie: Still haven’t heard from her?

Simon: Not a word.

Jamie: Sorry, man.

Simon: I had to stop by the inn the other day to get some forms signed, and Lane was drinking hazelnut hot chocolate.

Jamie: In August?

Simon: I know. I said the same thing. She said it was her favorite no matter the time of year.

Jamie: So weird.

Simon: I’m telling you because it might be useful. Isn’t her birthday coming up?

Jamie: YES. Thanks for the reminder. That poetry thing in Virginia. When is it?

Simon: Dude. Look it up.

Jamie: What was the poet’s name?

Simon: Nikki Giovanni.

Jamie: Got it. Looking it up now.

Jamie: Score. The signing is ON Lane’s birthday.

Simon: Lucky for you, then.