Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,162

open, leaving only the black-barred screen between me and Grip’s childhood home.

“Stay right there.” Grip gets out and stands just outside. “I have to open the door for you. We have an audience.”

“An audience?” I peer through the tinted windshield.

It’s a sci-fi movie out there, with all the inhabitants frozen in some time warp, and apparently this expensive Range Rover is the spaceship from outer space. And when I step out, I am the alien.

“Um, I feel like everyone’s staring,” I side-whisper as we approach the house.

“Yeah.” He gives me a cocky grin. “I’m a pretty big deal.” “Oh, God.” I have to laugh. “Your conceit knows no bounds.”

“Well, and it isn’t every day they see a car like that.” He turns to me on the front porch. “Oh, and you’re the only white chick for miles.”

Great.

“Anything I should know?” I ask.

“Nah, Ma’s easy.” Grip shrugs. “Oh, just remember it’s sweet potato pie, not pumpkin.”

That matters?

“Okay. Got it. Sweet potato.”

“And the greens, they’re collards, not kale.”

“I’ve never had collard greens. You think I’ll like them?”

“If you don’t,” Grip says, eyes stretched for emphasis. “Pretend you do. And eat. This ain’t the day to diet, baby. Ma doesn’t trust people who don’t eat.”

“Why is every tip you’re giving me about food?”

“Food’s her love language. Everything you need to know about my mother is on her table.”

My palms are sweaty. Why does this feel so important? I glance at Grip’s strong profile, and I can’t help but think of all it took for him to emerge from this neighborhood as the man he is today. The talent. The strength. The intelligence. The perseverance. The kindness.

He wouldn’t be the man I love without the woman on the other side of this door, and against the odds, knowing she wants him with a woman who “looks like her,” I want her to want him to be with me. I want her to like me.

“Collard greens. Sweet potato pie,” I rehearse under my breath.

“Hey.” Grip grasps my chin, his touch gentle and his eyes intent on my face. “Scratch all that. I fell for you. Not the edited, censored version of you. That’s who I want my mom to see today. I want her to meet the real Bristol.”

The tightness in my shoulders eases, and the breath I was holding whooshes over my lips.

“Thank you.” I lean a few inches toward him, poised for a quick kiss.

He puts his hand between our lips, the look he gives me completely serious. “But for real, though, eat those greens.”

He opens the door and pulls me in behind him by the hand. “Ma!” He steps into the immaculate and modest living room.

“I’m home.”

There’s energy in the steps shuffling up the hallway. The closer they come, the tighter my nerves. I wiggle my fingers free of Grip’s, ignoring his chastening look.

“You’re late is what you are,” her disembodied voice tosses up the hall. “You ain’t been to church in I don’t know how long, barely make it home for Sunday dinner, and when you do come you’re . . .”

Mittie James’ feet stop abruptly at the threshold, but her curiosity leaps into the room ahead of her and seesaws between her son and me. She’s still wearing her church clothes and stockings with her bedroom slippers.

“You’re late,” she finishes, her eyes locked with mine. “Hello, Bristol. This is a surprise.”

I want to look away, but I can’t. A weak smile hangs limply between my cheeks.

“Sorry, I’m late, Ma.” Grip closes the space separating them, scooping her petite frame into his broad chest. “It’s okay that I brought Bristol, right?”

The caramelized eyes, so like Grip’s, do a slow slide from me to her son.

“Of course. Welcome to our home, Bristol.” She smiles politely and starts back the way she came. “Dinner’s ready. Come on.”

“You heard her.” Grip smiles, takes my hand, and turns up the hall, dragging me along. “Dinner’s ready.”

“Hey, wait.” I dig my heels in, making him stop, too. “Was it pumpkin or sweet potato?”

“Babe.” He sighs and deposits a quick kiss on my nose. “Just come eat.”

The small dining room feels full, even though there are only a few people at the table. I’ve met everyone here, but they receive my presence with varying degrees of surprise, curiosity, and animosity. Fortunately, Amir is here, and so is the sweet teacher from Grip’s old high school, Shondra. I’m guessing Jade’s in the animosity camp. Even with her hard, almond-shaped eyes tracking my every move, I feel a tug