As Grayson and I walked down a stone path shadowed by forestry, he shed his suit coat and draped it over one arm.
Despite it being mid-October, the Texas heat still hadn't let up. After he'd discarded the unnecessary layer, our hands clasped as if they were magnets.
While I wouldn't go as far as to call Grayson my boyfriend, we were certainly testing the waters of a relationship, as he would say. Cautiously, I might add.
As we walked, Grayson cleared his throat. "What are you thinking about?"
I glanced at him before admitting. "Something your mom said."
Grayson smiled in amusement. "I find it hard to believe that you've found interest in anything she's had to say."
"I find most of it boring," I agreed. "But I am interested when she talks about her sons."
"She doesn't know anything about us." His voice was bitter.
"Maybe not now," I conceded. "But she does at least know how you used to be."
Grayson's hand stiffened. "What did she tell you?"
"That your personality changed as you grew up." I cast a sideways glance at him. "That you weren't always like this."
"Like what?"
"Authoritative. Arrogant. Reserved."
"Am I to assume," Grayson asked, staring at our intertwined fingers, "that you don't like my personality?"
"I never said that," I murmured. Contradictory to what he might think, Grayson and I were surprisingly alike — at least according to our mental processes. And that made it both easier and harder to dislike everything about him.
Grayson paused me with two hands on either of my arms. "Then what are you implying?"
Before responding, I glanced down the leaf-strewn path we'd halted on. A few meters away, I spotted what looked to be a vacant bench.
Obviously sharing the idea, the Hawthorne boy took my arm and led me towards it. As we sat, a foot of distance between us, Grayson draped his suit coat over the bench's arm and straightened his collar.
"All I'm saying," I continued, resting a hand on his arm, "is that I wish you'd let yourself live a little."
"I do."
"Are you actually living, though? Or just existing?"
Grayson studied my eyes. Unlike anyone else, I didn't have ulterior motives. I'd meant what I said.
"I am doing my best," he told me, "to live a fulfilling life."
"Does it make you happy?"
His steady gaze faltered. "Sometimes."
I tightened my hand on his arm. "It's okay to relax, Grayson."
"Relax?" He appeared to have never interacted with such a word.
"You know." I moved an inch closer. "Take breaks. Do what you love. Maybe wear something other than a suit."
"I take pride in my wardrobe," he responded.
"That isn't my point." I waited for him to meet my eyes before I said, "You understand what I'm saying, don't you?"
He nodded evenly. "I do. And honestly, Avery, I appreciate the sentiment. But I'm not like that."
"You could be."
"Is that what you want?"
I closed another inch between us. "All I want is for you to be happy."
"That word has never been a part of my vocabulary."
"Let me add it, then," I said, lifting my chin.
Grayson stared at me momentarily before he gently lowered his lips to mine. We'd kissed before, although never had his mouth felt so self-assured moving against mine.
As I slid closer to his body, Grayson slipped his hands around my face. His eyes were closed shut, tightly. For a moment, I genuinely couldn't tell if he was in pain or not. But then I felt his lips move upward against mine.
As we parted a couple inches, I said, "May I suggest you add another word to your repertoire?"
Grayson nodded.
Cautiously, I murmured, "Girlfriend."
