“I’ll try.”

He grins. “That’s all I ask.”

“I have a favor to ask you, actually.”

“Whatever you need.”

“Help me play defense for Julia tomorrow at supper? You know, if Mom and Dad are holding her hostage? It’s just been so long since either of us brought someone home, I’m worried they’ll go overboard.”

“I’d be happy to help. On one condition. As part of this new you”—he motions to me—“can you try to quit smoking, too? Get the gum or the patch or whatever. It’s long past time, Grey.”

I take a breath. Let it out. Ford holds my gaze all the while. A challenge.

“Deal,” I say.

On my way to my next meeting, I make a pit stop at a drugstore and buy a pack of nicotine patches. I even manage to refrain from buying a pack of cigarettes. Guess I’m committed.

Although I admit my heart falls as I read the instructions on the box.

This is going to suck. Hard.

But like I told Julia, some of the best things in life are the ones you have to work hardest for. And I’m willing to work my balls off for her and our baby. I also want to be alive to see that baby grow up.

So I slap a patch onto my arm. Growling the whole time.

It’s not a cigarette. But it gives me enough of a nicotine buzz to get through the rest of my day.

Chapter Nineteen

Julia

Greyson: Hey

Greyson: I know its late

Greyson: dinner took longer than expected. New investor who really likes what we’re doing..

Greyson: anyway I’m not asking you to come over because thatt feels too much like a booty call at 12am

Greyson: but I’m thinking about you

Greyson: I am little drunk and want a cigarette so bad but I’m tryin not to have one did I tell you im starting the patch

Greyson: I’d love to get you naked and fuck you twice

Greyson: and then tell you in person how much I like you

Greyson: and how you’re making me want to be different

Greyson: because you’re different in the best way

Greyson: so much yourself

Greyson: true real

Greyson: no bullshit

Greyson: and your ass in those yoga pants [peach emoji]

Greyson: my emoji use is strictly iconic

Greyson: ironic

Greyson: okay I’ll stop now because Im hard I need to take care of it this is is getting I’m sorry

Greyson: night Julia?.

On Sunday morning, I meet Eva, who’s in town again, Olivia, and Gracie at Tipsy Taco. It’s a low-key spot in the up-and-coming North Morrison area of Charleston that serves some of the best Mexican in town in a funky atmosphere.

Since it’s sunny and sorta-kinda warm, we grab a picnic table next to a pair of heaters on the enormous outdoor patio.

“Want a sip?” Olivia says, holding out her Bloody Maria (a bloody mary made with tequila instead of vodka) when she catches me eyeing it.