And I realize I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it because the butterflies fluttering in my gut feel everlasting.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Grace
“You look different.”
I look up from my chicken pesto panini. Oily crumbs rub along the pads of my fingers, and I reach for a napkin. “What do you mean?”
Teeny looks at me with narrowed eyes, setting down her own half of the panini we’re sharing while on my lunch break. “I don’t know. You have a little rosiness in your cheeks.”
I scoff. “Okay.”
“Are you pregnant?”
I almost spit out my food. “What!”
“Or you’re getting laid,” she continues her search for answers. “I don’t know. You have this…glow.”
“Um, no,” I lie. In fact, it couldn’t be further from the truth considering Andrew and I had a quickie in the shower this morning.
“That’s it! You had sex.”
“Shhh! Teeny, I work here. Can you keep it down?”
She rolls her eyes. “You work at the hospital across the street.Thisis a sandwich shop.”
“Yes, but people I work with come here,” I argue. “So don’t say ‘sex’ so loudly.”
She doesn’t budge. She pokes her finger in my direction, a clear sign of determination. “I’m going to find out who you’re screwing.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
A wave of guilt ripples through my gut. I’m lying to my best friend. The same best friend I called after having sex with Mikey Michael my sophomore year of college. I told her in gory detail how Mikey, who occasionally liked to be called Eminem, kept his socks on the whole time and asked how the best three minutes of my life was. We laughed until we turned red and drowned one of my worst sexual experiences with a pack of Seagram’s.
I consider telling her for a second. Not that I’ve been screwing her brother, but that there’s a man in my life. Not just a man, but a boyfriend. A whole ass boyfriend she doesn’t even know about.
“You know, Teeny,” I start to say, my voice shaky. “I actually have to tell you something.”
“Yeah?”
“I guess, I wasn’t being completely?—”
“Grace.” I look up from my half-eaten lunch at the sound of my name called by a deep voice. One that’s equal parts surprised and pleased.
“Dr. Noah. Hi.”
He approaches our table, a coffee in his hand. It looks like the same size as my own matcha I’ve been sipping on, but in his large grip, it looks child-size. A granola bar and a red apple are balanced on his other hand. He’s wearing dark navy scrubs, a smattering of a five o’clock shadow along his jawline, and though it looks like he needs a haircut, the shaggy style he has looks charming and boyish.
“I think I’ve asked you to call me Noah more than once now.” He has, the last time being just this morning when he showed me an updated picture of his cats. He named them PB and Jelly, andthey were napping together, their paws linked together in their sleep.
I huff a nervous laugh. “Sorry, Noah.” I pause, and I catch Teeny’s eyes turn round with heightened interest. “This is my friend, Teeny. She’s just visiting me for lunch.”
Noah makes a charming gesture of smiling and offering a nod. Though his hands are full, and he can’t extend a formal handshake, the sentiment is just as gentlemanly.
“Do you work with Grace?” Teeny eagerly asks.
“Sure,” he answers. “If me always asking her for pet ownership advice is considered ‘working together.’”
