It’s who I am.

“So what is it I’m inspiring you to do, exactly?” she says, her voice an octave lower as she reaches back and glides her fingers through my hair.

Damn it I love when she does that.

“You’re killing me, sweetheart,” I groan. “I don’t know how late dinner will go tonight, and I won’t keep you waiting. But what if you come over tomorrow night? After dinner? My mom usually serves supper on the earlier side. I’ll pick you up at five. Can’t let you walk into the line of fire alone.”

Julia turns to face me. Lips pulled into a grin that touches her eyes.

“Sounds perfect. And Grey?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you wear tight pants again? I liked how those stretchy pants looked on you. Maybe you have, I don’t know, a pair of jeans or something that are just as…fitted.”

I lean in and tilt my head and kiss her. Long and soft.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Her taste lingers on my mouth the rest of the afternoon.

Between meetings—in addition to having coffee with a couple potential clients, I meet with my realtor to go over some options she put together for a new house—I manage to squeeze in an appointment with my brother at Brumley’s, our favorite tailor. The place is a Charleston institution. Located at the very end of King Street, the city’s bustling shopping district, it’s been around since my dad was having his first suits made back in the seventies. Ford and I have been customers for as long as I can remember.

Ford is picking up a couple suits he’d ordered, and I’m having a new tuxedo made for Eli and Olivia’s wedding (Eli’s restaurant was one of my very first projects, and he and I have become close.) Recycling the one I wore for my own wedding seemed like bad luck. Plus I want to do something a little different this time around, style wise, after hearing Julia’s thoughts on my sweatpants.

Ford holds Bryce in his lap while I step onto a podium in front of a three-way mirror. Rollins, the same tailor I’ve been going to for years, gets to work on fixing the pants I’m trying on.

I catch Bryce’s eye in the mirror. Wink at her.

She blinks both her eyes and smiles. She hasn’t quite figured out the one-eye wink yet.

“Whatcha watching?” I say, nodding at the iPad in her lap.

“It’s your favorite,” she replies with a giggle.

“Oh yeah? What’s my favorite? I forget.”

“Tiana, silly! Because you love New Orleans.”

Be still my beating heart. She says New Orleans with an accent now. Nawlins.

We’ve taught her well.

Ford laughs.

“That is one of Uncle Grey’s favorite places.” He meets my eyes in the mirror. “He loves the food. And the casino.”

“What’s a casino?”

“A place where grown-ups go to do…math,” I reply, lips twitching.

Ford cocks a brow. “So that’s what we’re calling it now. Math.”