“Are you saying it’s not worth it?”
“It’s worth every penny I don’t have,” he clarifies. “So I have to be…frugal.”
I don’t know how our conversation veered left, completely off track and onto a complicated path full of metaphors and nuances. I’m sitting on my side of the booth, deciphering his words, and I suddenly realize the ways our friendship has cost me. My sanity, my morals, quite possibly my friendship with Teeny. I start to wonder what it’s cost him.
“Andr—”
“So, are we going to order some waffles?” His pushy interruption is sudden but welcomed. A moment for us to both disregard the gregarious expenditure we’ve suddenly become so vividly aware of and enjoy what I came for.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Andrew
She’s right.I’m not playing fair. I’m using every advantage, every cheap shot, I have in my back pocket. But look at where it’s led us. This is the first time we’re admitting even the slightest murmurings of what lies under this friendship. Giving it a moment to breathe and be noticed before we continue to pretend this is the extent of whateverthisis.
I’ve been getting so good at snuffing away the impulse to stroke her cheek or reach for her hand, this feels completely foreign. It’s not like Iwantto think about these things, wondering what it would feel like if I ran my thumb down her side, how she would react to such a sensitive touch. It goes against our agreement. One I have every intention of upholding. Like a damn scout leader. But every time I see Grace’s smile or hear her voice or even get an impromptu text message from her lighting up my phone, my restraint withers. It chips away, bit by bit.
For now, breakfast seems like a good distraction. An effective way to focus on our friendship so what we’ve managed to forge doesn’t crumble due to impulsive mistakes. Like a plate of warm hazelnut waffles drizzled in syrup with a side of potatoes to fill our stomachs while I pretend I don’t know what she feels likeunder me. Or on top of me. Waffles and a frosty round of Coke floats. To be safe, I ordered two. I didn’t suggest sharing one, two straws dunked into the same vat of soda and cream, making it that much more intimate and date-like. Kind of like that cartoon with the two dogs sharing a plate of spaghetti while an Italian chef with a thick mustache serenades them.
“So?”
Grace’s tongue darts out, swiping away at a small bit of foam that made it to the corner of her mouth. “Oh my god.”
My mouth splits into a grin. “What did I tell you?”
“Why haven’t I tried these before?” She looks up at me, a look bordering indignance and betrayal on her face. “I’ve been coming here for over a year, and this is the first time I’ve ever had one.”
“Aren’t you glad you ran into me today?”
“Mh-hmm,” she manages to hum in between sips.
We continue to eat, sawing away at the waffle sitting between us. That one we decided to share. It’s actually the most practical choice considering an order is enough to feed a small family. One with two small children who most likely prefers mushed peas and not particularly in a famished state, but still. Grace chomps on a sliver of crispy bacon in between bites, enjoying a little bit of the indulgence I encouraged her to order when she couldn’t decide between that and a side of breakfast potatoes. We have a decent spread between us. Enough to keep us busy for a while, which was the secret Machiavellian plan I concocted as the server took our order. Something to occupy the next few hours if by some chance she throws an excuse to leave.
“Do you know about this place because of Teeny? Or…”
She nods, chewing through her food. She does that thing most people do to be polite, covering her mouth with her hand and answering me with a small bulge to one cheek. “She broughtme here about a year ago. I think right around the time she and Everett got married.”
“We’ve actually been coming here since I was a kid,” I tell her.
“Really?” She gives me the sweetest smile, the straw from her Coke float dangling from the corner of her mouth. Her head tilts to the side as if she’s attempting to picture me with my awful bowl haircut and gap-toothed smile, making a mess of my meal.
“Is it hard to imagine?”
“A little,” she admits. She taps her finger against her fork and adds, “You sitting here with these utensils too big for your small mouth and some crayons for your paper menu.”
I chuckle, ducking my head. “It was surely a sight I’m willing to forget.”
“No,” she disputes, dragging out the single-syllable word. “It must’ve been adorable.”
“My mom would probably be the only one who would agree with you.”
“Maybe,” she teasingly agrees. “But still. It sounds nice.”
“What about you and your parents? Any fond memories?”
“Nothing that sticks out,” she answers. “Just the usual. Like weekend trips to the beach or the zoo.”
“Are they close by?”
