“So you’re not serious about her?” Her eyes narrowed as if she were a cop questioning a suspected felon.
I wasn’t sure what serious meant. I liked her. I didn’t want to stop hanging out, but it wasn’t like I was in love with her, even if Angie thought otherwise. “Like Max said, we’ve only been dating a couple of weeks.”
“But, you’re official? You’re her boyfriend?” Harper asked.
Had I missed something? Were we supposed to have a conversation about our status? I was happy with the way things were. I didn’t need to put a label on it.
When I didn’t answer, Harper asked, “Are you fucking other women?”
“Absolutely not.” Her question took me by surprise and I answered on instinct. But it was true. Grace and I spent almost every night together, and even if we didn’t, I had no desire to fuck anyone else.
“And she’s not fucking anyone else,” Harper said.
It didn’t sound like a question but I wouldn’t mind an answer. I hadn’t thought about whether Grace was sleeping with other people—I’d just assumed she wasn’t. I glanced at Grace, who was chatting to the other people around the table. Was there anyone else here that she was sleeping with? “I care about her,” I spluttered out. It would bother me if there was another guy on the scene. I wanted her attention, her body, her analysis of her day.
“Well, I should hope so,” Harper said. “She’s very special. If you hurt her, I’ll hunt you down.”
“There’s something you should know about me, Harper,” I said, leaning toward her. “There aren’t many people in my life I care about, and I like it that way. Grace is an exception.”
“What are you two talking about?” Grace asked, smoothing her hand over my back. Dinner plates were being cleared and people were leaving the table for the restrooms or a smoke. I shifted my chair, and guided Grace so she was sitting on my knee.
“You,” I said.
“Harper, are you giving him a hard time?” she asked.
“No more than I deserve. She cares about you, and that’s only ever a good thing,” I said.
Grace’s hand curled around the back of my neck and I exhaled in a long breath. It should have felt uncomfortable, someone touching me so casually in public, but instead it felt completely normal. Comforting, even. She wouldn’t be doing that if she was fucking someone else. “You’re so sweet.”
“No, I’m not. But I do care about you, and so does Harper.”
Grace looked up at me from under her lashes. “I care about you, too,” she said.
“So, you guys will have to come up to Connecticut,” Max said, sliding his arm around the back of his wife’s chair, and leaning toward us.
“Yes!” Harper said. “If you can put up with a houseful of crazy, that is. We’d love to have you. Next month when the pool house is finished. Then you can have a reprieve from the madness when you need it.”
“Well, I don’t know,” Grace said, glancing at me. “Maybe.”
I’d speak to her later about being official. In the meantime, a weekend away with her best friend sounded good. I dipped my head to catch her eye. “I think that would be great.”
Grace’s eyes widened as she nodded. “You do?”
“Absolutely.”
There was nothing fake about the smile she replied with.
“That’s settled then,” Harper said.
I didn’t encourage or accept social invitations, but if that’s what Grace wanted, I’d go along with it.
“You know these girls will drink too much and leave us to handle the kids,” Max said.
“I think we can handle it.” I’d heard of Max King, but never met him before. He had a reputation as a ballbuster, but he seemed laid back as he spent the evening with his wife. I’d never had social time with guys like that. The only man I could call a friend was Chas and that was only because of Angie.
The girls continued to discuss dates for the Connecticut weekend until dessert was served and Grace went back to her chair. My body was cold where she’d been. Couldn’t she have eaten on my knee?
Harper glanced at me and lowered her voice. “Grace told me she saw the picture when she was with you.” Her hand went to her throat. “Was she very upset?”
“Who?” I asked.
“Grace,” Harper explained, “when she saw the painting.”
I clearly should know what she was talking about, but despite scrolling through my memory at warp speed, I had no idea. “The picture?”
“The Renoir in the front window of a gallery a few stores down from hers.”
Oh, she meant the portrait Grace used to own. “She said she loved that picture.” I hadn’t realized it was such a big deal.
“That was the picture her grandfather gave her as a child—she loves it. It’s what started her obsession with art.”
Had Grace told me that? There was so much I was learning about her.
“She sold it so she could open the gallery. Handpicked the buyer because she wanted someone to love it as much as she did. Then the weasel up and sold it on within six months, can you believe it?” Harper turned to her husband. “She’s heartbroken about it. Almost asked her father for the money to buy it back, but of course, she won’t.” Why hadn’t Grace told me? “She’s so desperate not to be her mother, but this painting is emotional for Grace—it’s not about the money, never is with Grace.” Harper explained.
It was part of the reason I liked her so much.
It was part of the reason I was agreeing to weekends away in the country.
It was part of the reason I was pretty sure I’d still like her next Thursday.
Grace held open the door to her apartment while I carried in the two bags filled with presents we’d brought back from the restaurant.
“Thank you,” she said, grinning at me.
“You’re very welcome.” I paused at the door to kiss her on the lips. It was difficult to go more than a few seconds without touching her when she was so close.
“You have a lot of gifts,” I said as I put down the overflowing bags.
“I’m sure you don’t approve.” She poked me in the abs, but smiled before she went into the kitchen.
“Why would you think that?” I asked, following her.
“I know how you feel about material things.” She set down two glasses on the counter and filled each of them with seltzer. There were so many things to appreciate about this moment. The fact that she now bought the water she knew I liked. That she was making me a drink without asking, because she already knew what I wanted, even before I did. I’d spent a lifetime avoiding this kind of interaction but I found myself enjoying it.
“You know that it’s not that I think material things are frivolous. Just that they don’t hold meaning for me.” I certainly didn’t judge Grace for having a fully-furnished apartment and expensive clothes and accoutrements. It just wasn’t something I needed.
She handed me a glass and pressed her hand against my stomach. “It’s fine.”
“I haven’t given you a birthday gift yet,” I said. “I did go shopping—I took Angie.”