He laughed softly, a sound like a page turning. "You don’t get to call me that without telling me your name," he said. "And I thought notmygrandpa sounded like a terrible dating profile."
Laney tried to imagine him: not her grandfather, as the playful name suggested, but someone impossibly young or beautifully unmoored. She pictured a man who smelled of tobacco and cedar, someone older and cryptic. She pictured a young man in paint-splattered jeans, a mischievous grin, a nervous habit of tucking hair behind an ear. In truth, NG refused to be pinned down. notmygrandpa 21 11 15 laney grey romantic liter exclusive
Their first kiss came like punctuation: brief, decisive, and oddly inevitable. It tasted faintly of rain and peppermint tea. Around them, the city hummed and the lanterns in the library threw soft, promising light across the river. He laughed softly, a sound like a page turning
"Laney?" he said, as if testing the name. She pictured a man who smelled of tobacco
He caught her hand. It was smaller than he imagined; she marveled at how ordinary that felt. "—been someone earnest," he finished. "Or someone who knew how to leave fox sketches in bench cushions. But I think I like the idea that you met the name first. You made me more than a username."
"Why notmygrandpa?" Laney asked finally, as they paused on the bridge where NG had once marked a meeting.
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