The Lucky One (2) - Taylor Swift

25

"Where are my keys?" Grace began to lift up papers that were scattered across the kitchen table that following afternoon. She needed to leave for her appointment and after the long drive back from Michael's, she had set them down somewhere and was in a state of panic because if she didn't leave in the next two minutes and get in the elevator, she would be late, and by late that meant not her usual fifteen minutes early.

She kept making more of a mess of that stupid table. The same stupid table that they hadn't eaten a meal at in what felt like months because between the two of them and the album rollout, the paperwork had heaped off the desk in the office and somehow made its way into the dining room.

"Tay! Have you seen my keys?" Grace called through the penthouse. She sighed as she heard Taylor's footsteps padding in, she turned and rubbed her eyes with frustration, "I can't find them anywhere!"

"I'll help you look," Taylor gently put her hand on Grace's shoulder and rubbed it as she saw the keys in the middle of the table, "Baby, they're right here."

"They weren't," Grace groaned. It was as if Taylor had pulled them out of thin air from the same place she had just checked three times, "Thank you."

"Hey," Taylor stopped her from walking out, "Where's my goodbye?"

Grace glanced at her watch and gave Taylor a pointed look, "I'm going to be late."

"You'll still be super early and you owe me a kiss," Taylor raised her eyebrow with a slight attitude. Grace reluctantly stepped forward and pecked Taylor's lips quite quickly, "Thanks, don't be grumpy with me. I didn't put them there."

"I know," Grace pursed her lips as she considered what to say next, "I love you."

Taylor said it back and watched as Grace slipped her shoes on and headed to meet the driver downstairs. She picked at the table and began to organize the papers as obviously her spreading out pictures and samples along with a mass chaos of paperwork was starting to drive Grace up the wall.

By the time Grace got back from her appointment, Taylor had cleaned up quite a lot and had food in the crockpot for dinner since it was cold outside. The blonde was at the piano, humming along to something that Grace didn't want to interrupt.

When she heard the key ring clatter in the bowl where they were supposed to go, Taylor got up and met Grace halfway through the corridor of the lower level, "How did it go?"

"She referred me to a psychologist in Brooklyn," Grace began, she avoided Taylor's eyes, "She's going to call and set up an appointment and then conduct some interviews with me. She will apparently want to speak to you at some point to discuss any behaviours you have noticed. I said you're the only person who has known me long enough. I might- I might actually have it."

"We knew that was a possibility," Taylor didn't know whether to hug her or give her space. Grace seemed withdrawn from her skin, her eyes wearily met the blonde's as she spoke, "It's better to know and know how to approach it than leave it and wonder forever. It'll be alright, babe."

"I know, I merely feel unsettled," Grace rubbed up and down her arms like she was seeking comfort. Her eyes caught the sight of the wooden table's surface in the background, what had once been a white flurry of paper, "You cleaned?"

"I only picked up a few things. You seemed annoyed by the mess."

"I would have helped," Grace said softly, "Thank you for doing that."

"It's no problem," Taylor took her hand and brought her to the living room. She took a deep breath and asked, "Could you take a seat? I have some stuff to talk about."