“Is it complicated?”
I laugh at the same time Noah’s face turns absorbed, hanging on to my next words. His eyes round and disappointment exposes itself through the creases between his brows.
“No, nothing like that,” I start to tell him, trying to figure out the words that describe me and Andrew. “My?—”
“Grace?”
I’m pulled away from a conversation that appears more intimate than it is. The small space between myself and Noah suddenly feels like millimeters, and the dread that comes with being caught doing something I wasn’t supposed to settles deep in my stomach the second I see Andrew’s wounded face take in the scene in front of him.
“Andrew!” I exclaim, caught completely off guard. “What are you doing here?” I stand from my seat, leaving a confused Noah behind. When I take a step closer to Andrew, he pulls back, looking as if he’s repulsed by me.
“I had a delivery order to pick up.” He has the soft cooler in one hand, the bag he usually uses for temperature-sensitive foods. The bold “DoorDash” reads like a neon sign, and I feel like the worst person in the world. “I thought you were at your sister’s.”
“I—I was, but I had some car trouble, so Dr. Santos was waiting with me while he got some jumper cables.”
“Dr. Santos,” Andrew repeats flatly. His eyes flit to Noah, a shimmer of irritation and betrayal detected through his narrowed eyes and clenched fists.
An unsuspecting Noah stands from his seat and mistakenly assumes the moment is an opportunity to introduce himself.“Nice to meet you,” he says. He smiles broadly at me and adds, “What happened to Noah?”
“Yeah—um, sorry, Noah. Or Dr. Santos,” I stammer. “I guess I’m still getting used to that.”
“Yeah,” Andrew answers, his voice cold and level. “I have to go.” He heads for the door. No smoothies to deliver in hand. Just the tight tension resting between his shoulders and a gait that looks unapproachable.
I hurry out of the shop, following him to his car. I manage to catch up to him just as he whips his car door open.
“Andrew, wait!”
“I’m working, Grace.” The icy way he says my name makes me want to cower, but I refuse.
“No, Andrew. Please. Just hear me out.”
“What are you going to say? Are you going to lie to me?”
“No, Andrew, I wouldn’t lie to you!”
He chucks his bag into the back seat and finally faces me. Though the harsh anger is hard to ignore, I see the sadness creep through his eyes. They seem to plead, asking me to make the last five minutes disappear. “Grace, look. Fine. You won’t lie to me, but whoever that was in there?—”
“He’s no one. I promise.”
“Does he know you have a boyfriend?”
“I—I, what?—”
“I take that as a no.”
“I was getting around to it,” I argue, though it sounds so stupid and weak coming from my own lips.
“Right,” he responds, dry sarcasm dripping from the single word. He turns around like he’s going to get back into the car, but he hesitates. He fists his hands, groaning through his decision to say what he wants to say or just leave without hearing me out. “Look, I’ll talk to you when you get home, okay? I don’t think this is the place to be doing this.”
“Andrew, I was going to tell him, I swear. I was about to tell him, but?—”
“But what?”
“I—”
“It’s always something. You’re not ready to tell people, you don’t think it’s a good idea. Your ex-husband beat the shit out of me, and you think it’s a sign to hide this longer. What is it going to be next?”
“That’s not fair.”
