“If I had to guess, it was the aged whiskey.”
I snorted.
“Do you enjoy your spirits, Grant?”
There’s no need to answer. We both know the answer to that.
I read a text from Kiyah to Grant on the evening of their sister’s rehearsal dinner. She was practically begging him to stop drinking because they had a full day of drinking the next day.
I may have embellished. I wouldn’t say she was begging, but she was nagging.
“G, are you sure you should have another drink?”
“Chill out, Ki. I’m celebrating. Plus, I have to be prepared to write Dad a check on Sunday. Be honest with me, Kiyah. How much am I on the hook for?”
“*Shrugging emoji*”
“Ballpark, Kiyah.”
“I love you, Grant.”
“I’m blocking you.”
Grant was a man of his word because the following message Kiyah attempted to send failed.
“From the four empty glasses, I’d conclude you enjoy yours immensely.”
“Yet, you haven’t had a drink yet and you smell like a brewery.”
Grant smiled softly before leaning across the table. “I want to thank you.”
“For what?”
“For the roses. Kiyah enjoyed them greatly and was touched by my welcome home gift.” My brow slid to the top of my forehead. “She was extremely appreciative of the flowers I’d gotten her…veryappreciative.”
My composure began to crack like a fissure opening in the ground after a 7.2 magnitude earthquake. Heat as hot as the hinges on Hell’s gates overcame me, and I fought the urge to yank off my tie and choke the smug bastard before me. That would be unwise. I couldn’t fight Grant physically because, as much as I hated to admit it, I had little chance of besting him because of his formal martial arts training and size. I had to use my wit, money, and resources to fight him, but even that would prove problematic because he wasn’t a fool. I wanted to be three steps ahead of him, but he was only one step behind.
A throat cleared, and I looked up to see Kiyah staring down at me with her cinnamon-tinted eyes.
“Good evening, Kiyah,” I greeted, standing to my feet. Grant did the same.
“Good evening, Governor Hopeful Branson.”
“You wound me, Kiyah,” I said, pressing a hand to my chest. Her face froze in confusion. “We’re friends, Kiyah. You can call me Todd.” She was about to object when I interrupted her. “Pete misses you, by the way.”
“Awe. Tell Pistol Pete I said hello.”
“Will do.”
“And how is your wife?”
I allowed my shoulders to drop with a heavy sigh. “Not very well, if I’m honest. I’m taking it day by day, but she’s home surrounded by people who love her, and she’s comfortable.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Mourning a loved one is one of the most challenging experiences you may face in life,” Kiyah empathized.
“Thank you for your warm words.”
“Well, I don’t want to disturb your meal any longer. It seems one of our sheep strayed away from the flock,” she said, weaving her arm through Grant’s. “Thank you for returning my phone.”