The Forbidden Throb Chapter 180

Emma's POV:

The afternoon light filtered through the windows as Grandma settled into the guest room.

"Now," she said, turning to face me with that familiar spark in her eye, "show me around this place properly. I want to see how my granddaughter is living."

I led her through the apartment, my heart warming as she took in every detail.

"This view is absolutely stunning," Grandma said when we reached the living room, her breath fogging the glass slightly as she leaned closer.

Grandma moved to the kitchen next, running her hand along the marble countertop. "Professional-grade equipment," she murmured appreciatively, examining the six-burner range and the built-in espresso machine. "Someone takes their cooking seriously."

"That's all Daniel," I said, leaning against the doorframe.

She opened the refrigerator, and I saw her pause, taking in the neatly organized shelves—fresh vegetables in the crisper, Daniel's meal-prepped containers labeled with dates, my favorite yogurt stocked in abundance.

"He takes good care of you," she said softly. It wasn't a question.

"He does," I admitted, feeling heat creep into my cheeks.

She peered into my study next, taking in the organized shelves of French medical journals, the ergonomic desk lamp positioned just so, the framed photo of us from Portland on the corner of the desk.

I watched her expression soften as she absorbed all the small ways Daniel had made this space *ours*.

When she turned back to me, her eyes were suspiciously bright.

"Grace," Daniel's voice came from the hallway, warm and sincere. "You're more than welcome to stay through spring if you'd like. Boston winters can be harsh, but the heating system here is excellent. Much more comfortable than Portland's coastal damp."

I turned to see him standing in the hallway, hands in his pockets, that gentle smile playing at his lips.

Grandma laughed, patting his arm. "You're sweet to offer, but I wouldn't dream of imposing on newlyweds."

"You wouldn't be imposing," he assured her.

But I caught the knowing look in Grandma's eyes as she glanced between us. She was giving us space, I realized. Letting us have this time as a couple without feeling like we needed to entertain her constantly.

"Well," she said briskly, "I appreciate the thought. But I'm quite happy with my arrangement."

The warmth in her voice told me she meant it—and that she approved of what she saw here. Of *us*.

---

In the evening.

"Absolutely not," Grandma declared when Daniel and I both tried to help in the kitchen. "Tonight, I'm in charge. You two just sit there and look pretty."

She'd already unpacked half her suitcase onto the counter—containers of homemade cookies, jars of blueberry preserves, and what looked like enough ingredients to feed an army.

The centerpiece was a massive pot she'd somehow transported from Portland, which now sat on Daniel's professional-grade stove, filling the apartment with the rich, briny scent of her famous seafood chowder.

"Grandma, you just got here," I protested. "You should be resting—"

"Resting?" She waved a wooden spoon at me. "I've been resting on planes and in cars all day. Now shoo. Both of you."

Daniel caught my eye, a smile playing at his lips, and guided me to the dining table with a gentle hand at my small of back. "I think we've been dismissed," he murmured.

"Thoroughly," I agreed, watching Grandma move around the kitchen with the confidence of someone who'd spent decades perfecting her craft.

The table was already set—Daniel must have done it while I was helping Grandma settle in—with the good china and crystal glasses that we rarely used.

Candles flickered in silver holders, and he'd even found fresh flowers somewhere, white roses that glowed in the soft light.

Within an hour, the table was laden with food. Grandma's seafood chowder, creamy and perfect. Roasted scallops that melted on the tongue. Her signature cranberry-glazed duck. Warm, crusty bread. And in the center, a bottle of champagne that Daniel had apparently been saving.

"To new beginnings," Grandma said, raising her glass once we were all seated. "And to family."

"To family," Daniel and I echoed.

The champagne was dry and crisp, bubbles dancing on my tongue. I rarely drank, but tonight felt special—celebratory in a way that called for breaking small rules. When Daniel refilled my glass, I didn't protest.

"Emma," Grandma said, her eyes twinkling with mischief, "did I ever tell Daniel about the time you tried to save every single starfish on the beach?"

"Oh no," I groaned, but I was smiling. "Grandma, please—"

"You were five," she continued, ignoring my protest. "There'd been a storm, and the beach was covered with starfish. Emma insisted we couldn't leave until every single one was back in the water."

Daniel's eyes crinkled with amusement. "How long did that take?"

"Three hours," Grandma said. "Three hours of this tiny girl running back and forth, so serious and determined. She cried when we finally had to leave because she was convinced the ones we missed would die."

"They probably did," I muttered, feeling my cheeks heat.

"That's not the point," Grandma said gently. "The point is that you cared. You've always cared so much about everything and everyone."

Daniel's hand found mine under the table, his thumb tracing soft circles on my palm.

I felt Daniel's gaze on me, warm and assessing, as if he were cataloging these glimpses of my childhood, building a picture of who I'd been before he knew me.

The stories continued through dinner—some embarrassing, some sweet, all of them painting a portrait of my younger self that I'd almost forgotten.

Grandma told them with such love, such obvious pride, that I couldn't even be mortified.

By the time we finished eating, I'd had three glasses of champagne and my head felt pleasantly fuzzy. Daniel had switched to water after his second glass—always responsible, always in control.

"That was incredible, Grace," he said, helping clear the plates despite her protests. "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure." She patted his cheek affectionately. "It's nice to cook for people who appreciate it."

She stifled a yawn, trying to hide it behind her hand, but I caught it.

"Grandma, you must be exhausted," I said. "You've been traveling all day—"

"I am getting tired," she admitted. "You young people keep celebrating. I'm going to turn in."

I walked her to the guest room, helping her find her toiletries and making sure she had everything she needed. When I hugged her goodnight, she held me a moment longer than necessary.

"He's good for you," she whispered. "I can see it in your eyes. You're happy."

"I am," I said, the words catching slightly in my throat. "I really am."

"Good." She kissed my forehead. "Now go back to your husband. Don't waste New Year's Eve fussing over me."

---

When I returned to the living room, Daniel was standing by the window, looking out at the city lights.

He'd taken off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, and something about the casual domesticity of it made my heart squeeze.

"She settled in okay?" he asked without turning around.

"Out like a light," I said, moving to stand beside him. "I think the travel caught up with her."

He pulled me against his chest, his arms coming around me from behind. The city spread out before us—lights twinkling in windows, the distant glow of downtown, and far off, the first tentative fireworks beginning to light the sky.

"Happy?" he murmured against my hair.

"So happy," I said, and meant it with every fiber of my being. The champagne had left me warm and loose-limbed, my usual anxieties muted. "This is the best New Year's gift. "

His arms tightened around me, and I felt him press a kiss to the top of my head.

I turned in his arms, shifting so I could see his face. My hands found his waist, holding on as I looked up at him.

"Do you?" I asked, my heart suddenly pounding. "Do you... like children? "