It wasn’t yet thirty minutes and there came a knock on my door. I went to open it and just barely suppressed the longing that wanted to burst out of my chest at the sight of Gregory with grocery bags in his arms, here in my home, with me.
“May I come in?” he asked, eyebrow raised, probably because I was staring at him like an i***t.
Feeling five times a fool, I stepped back to allow him entry. “Sorry. Please, make yourself at home.” I pointed him toward the kitchen.
The place was clean. I tended to be a bit of a neat freak, the result of an OCD mother and ex-military father. As I followed Gregory to the kitchen, I heard him say, “This is so not what I expected at all.”
I almost bumped into him where he was now standing at the kitchen table, grocery bags deposited on top, as he took a s
