and this isn't too fast. I'm nervous because I want her to like me, and I'm afraid if she doesn't then that will be the end of us. And I really like that there's an us.”
“You're kidding me, right?” Bryce let out a strangled laugh that ended in an endearing snort. “She's going to love you.”
We pulled into the driveway of Bryce's house. I knew he shared it with his grandmother. The last time I was here, she'd been out, Bryce and I had still been figuring out our feelings, and we’d spent the weekend screwing each other silly.
“Here goes,” I said, hoping I didn't sound as nervous as I felt. My heart was running a hundred miles an hour in my chest and there was a definite risk of me puking.
He took my hand and squeezed before leading me to the front door. Lacing my fingers together with one hand, he opened the door with the other. I held my breath. This is it.
His grandmother was waiting for us on the couch, blue eyes sparkling as we walked in. There was no denying they were related; they shared the same easy, flirtatious, good-natured body language. And she definitely looked just as mischievous as Bryce was.
“Aiden, dear, you're far too handsome for my grandson. Come over here and give me a smooch.”
It took exactly ten minutes spent in her company for me to lose all remaining worries. Bryce’s grandmother, Hannah, was hilarious. She was raunchy and honest and kind. She made me feel welcome in a way I wasn't sure I'd ever experienced before. Like I was loved just for existing. It took effort not to let that steamroll my cool when I wanted to dissolve into a heap of grateful tears.
In the wake of my mother's attempt to reconcile with me, having this encounter with a loving family member was welcome, even if they weren’t mine. I cradled it close to my heart, savoring the warmth and newness of it.
“Bryce really came to my rescue,” Hannah said. She patted his knee and smiled in that gentle way that spoke volumes. They were clearly close. I ached with the amount of love in the room. “I’d learned that his parents had lied about why he’d left, and hell, I was pissed. But I saw a clip of him on that viral video from the store. I called and that nice young man, Reagan, helped us connect. It couldn't have come at a better time for me.”
I was torn between wanting to make a joke about Reagan being called young and being utterly infatuated with the story. “Why was that?” I asked.
“I was dealing with cancer and doctor bills. Since I was no longer speaking to my daughter, I needed help with everything. Bryce dropped out of college, took up full-time work at the shop, and became my caretaker.”
Bryce cleared his throat, looking for all the world like he might cry. Which I got on a cellular level. “You never needed much help,” he said.
When his grandma rolled her eyes, I bit my tongue to keep from laughing.
“Oh, horse shit,” she said. “You took me to appointments. You cooked that bland food when I couldn’t keep anything else down. And you’ve been paying for everything since that motherfucker wiped out my pension.”
Time slowed like syrup. “What do you mean?”
“Someone hacked into my accounts and stole all of it,” she said. “My savings, my retirement, all gone. I still get social security but that amounts to jack shit. The law never did track the bastard down.”
I tried to nab Bryce’s attention, but he was staring at his hands. What would that have been like? I’d known he loved computers because they’d provided an escape. But… we’d both been the ones on the taking end, at least in the past. Did she know?
“That sounds awful,” I choked out.
Hannah waved her hand. “Sure. Bryce did his best to hunt the thief down but it had been too long. He told me the internet trail was cold and he didn’t have the resources to dive deep. I think he took it harder than I did.”
Bryce reached out to take her hand in mine. “I still take it hard. I should’ve caught him.”
“And what could you have done if you had?” Hannah snapped back, though not with malice. “You aren’t law enforcement.”
“Yet.”
My heart skipped a beat. Bryce: cheerful and teasing, compassionate and encouraging. Relentlessly persistent to the point of irritation. He wanted that FBI job for