“What were you thinking?”

I sip my coffee. God that’s good. Before I got pregnant, I was the first person in line at Gracie’s coffee shop when it opened at six A.M. Hands down, her cold brew is the best I’ve ever had. I order a small these days instead of my usual large, but I’m grateful I didn’t have to give it up altogether. I would really be a zombie without my daily dose of caffeine.

“Now that we know everything is looking good with Charlie Brown, I’d like to tell my parents.”

I look at him. Pale morning sunlight streams through the kitchen windows and catches on his stubble, turning the ends to gold.

“Okay,” I reply.

Greyson meets my gaze. “Would you like to do it with me? My mom is making Sunday supper tomorrow. Come.”

A familiar heat prickles to life behind my eyes. I blink, hard, my lips working their way into a smile.

This means something. Greyson opening up his family to me.

Greyson opening up at all.

“Last night you were talking about what a bummer it is that you don’t get the chance to share the news with your parents,” he says. “I want you to have a chance with mine. I want you to meet them, Julia.”

I’m biting my lip again, Anastasia Steele style.

I’m overwhelmed. All this goodness. Greyson’s scruff and this coffee and his kindness.

Kindness that is turning me on something fierce right now.

“I’d love to.”

He grins, and I swear to God the sun burns through the windows even brighter.

“I have to warn you.” He takes a bite of his sandwich. “My family is great, but the energy and the attention can get overwhelming.”

“I’m okay with that.”

“You say that now, Julia, but you haven’t met my mother. Ever since Bryce—Ford’s daughter—was born, Mom’s been dying for more grandchildren. There will be screaming. And about fifty thousand questions, most of which will be very personal and/or totally inappropriate.”

Laughing, I finish my sandwich. Before I’m done wiping my hands on my napkin, Greyson is breaking the pumpkin scone in two and placing half on my wedge of tin foil.

Why?

Why does this simple gesture make me feel like I’m about to smile or cry or both?

“What?” he says in reply to the look I give him. “Charlie Brown likes sweets. So does his mom. Y’all inhaled that ice cream last night.”

“It was Jeni’s,” I stammer.

“So good, right?”

“The best.”

“I only get the best for you and Charlie.”

I’m still looking at him. He’s still looking at me.

I can smell the toothpaste on his breath.

My heart is beating loud and strong inside my chest.

I can’t.

Jesus, I can’t hold it in. My desire for him. The joy I feel just breathing the same air, being in the same room.

I can’t. Wasn’t I just giving a speech to Greyson about living bravely? About putting yourself out there, even when you’re scared?