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He laughed. “I’ll go get showered and changed really quick, and then we’ll head over to Maddie’s?”

“Okay.” I nodded, watching him walk away and disappear into the locker room.

It wasn’t too much later that we were sliding into a booth at Maddie’s Diner. The same booth as the first time we’d been there, I was pretty sure.

And it wasn’t lost on me, as I sat there, watching him talk and smile and laugh, his arm wrapped firmly around me, that I was just as desperate for him now as I was back then—all those months ago.

Desperate for one touch, one kiss, any piece of him I could get.

Only now, I was desperate for so much more—for all of him. For all of the pieces I’d collected, and for all the pieces I had yet to see. I wanted to own them all, forever. I wanted to sweep them up, and slide them into my pocket, and never let them go.

Sixty-one After

“HI, JESS,” GREYSONgreets me with a kiss on my cheek, and then a second pressed softly to the corner of my mouth. “You look beautiful,” he says, and it does things to me, his words and the touch of his lips singing through me.

The feel of his mouth on mine lingers, and I so badly want to turn my face to his and steal some more of this. Of his lips. Of the way they make me feel, the way they send a buzz flowing through my body, flooding my thoughts.

The need to do it rushes over me, overwhelming. We could skip dinner, skip all the talking, and I think I’d be happy with that alone.

I reign all these thoughts in, wring them out, and force out a breathy, “Thank you,” instead.

“Come on in,” he says quietly with a knowing smile—more of a smirk, really—and I laugh under my breath, stepping into his house for the first time.

The intoxicating aroma of something cooking in his kitchen assaults my senses. “Oh my god, what is that?” I ask without too much thought.

“Chicken marsala,” he answers, half-smile, half-smirk still firmly in place. He guides me through his entryway and over to his kitchen with a hand at my back, steering me towards a set of barstools sitting along his kitchen island. I sit down and quietly take in the space around me.

It’s beautiful. And it very much suits him.

Raw, wooden floors and cabinets, crème walls, and black window and door frames accenting the otherwise muted furniture and décor. It’s somehow both simple yet intentional. Comfortable, yet intimidating.

Much like Greyson.

Especially when he studies me like he is now, his eyes raking over me, over the features of my face, carefully reading my reaction to his home, or to being here,inhis home.

“Your house is veryyou.I like it,” I tell him honestly.

“Thank you,” he replies, and if I’m not mistaken, there’s a slight blush tinging his cheeks as he turns towards the stove to dish up our plates.

“So, you cooked this all yourself?” I ask him.

“I did.” He nods.

I nod my head back in response even though he can’t see it. But this is not something I knew about him. It seems ridiculous, but…I didn’t know he could cook. Not now, and not before. And this is where my mind has decided to wander instead of forming the words for an actual response, because this tiny piece of information is entirely new, and it hits me…how desperately hungry I am for more of these revelations.

Hungrier than I am for the mouth-watering dinner Greyson is now carrying over to his dining room table. He places both plates at one end rather than on opposite sides, and I decide that I like this about him, too.

Intimacy over formality. Intention forward. I like it a lot.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” he asks, drawing my eyes back to his.

I unwittingly scrunch my nose. Honestly, I don’t mean to, but I feel like such a child every time I explain this aberrant piece of myself.

“I feel like you may want to revoke my adult card after I say this,” I start, “but…I don’t understand wine. It tastes like an accident not meant to be consumed, and no matter how much I try, I can’t understand why people like it.” I immediately cringe at my response.A simple,no thank youwould’ve easily sufficed, Jess!

He laughs, the sound of it making my chest warm. “A beer then?”

“Yes,please,”I practically hum the words, and he laughs again, amused, the sentiment reaching his eyes.