There isn’t anyone in Caramel & Latte yet, and I’m grateful. Kam isn’t being subtle, hands pressed firmly into the counter’s granite and speaking without reserve.
“I had work on Tuesday and class yesterday.”
I haven’t finished my explanation but Kam deadpans, “So?”
“Plus,” I emphasize, “There’s nothing wrong with a few days of distance. It makes the heart grow fonder.”
He rolls his eyes. I focus on my last few tasks to stop myself from spilling the truth.
I have never wanted to see Grant so badly before in my entire life. Distance does make the heart grow fonder. By about a thousand percent, at least, because every time I think of seeing him again, my body hums. Like it’s craving to be around him in any and all capacity. I’m struggling every day while trying to get my body under control.
I like being in control of my life. I’ve been goal-driven for as long as I can remember, and I like having a laid-out plan for how I’m going to achieve those goals. I like following them to a tee and seeing the payoff afterwards. Every accomplishment of my life is set aflame by my need to be the best daughter for my parents, and my thoughtfully constructed plans are how I stoke that fire.
I’m no longer in control of my life. My master’s program? Totally off the rails. My self-confidence? Gone haywire. My love life? I didn’t consider having one of those until a mini golf course sent me spiraling.
I can’t even keep to my agendas anymore. I was supposed to do my laundry and get to a thousand words for my assignment on Sunday, not spend the entire day rolling around Grant’s bedsheets.
The complete shift of my life scares me. What’s scarier is the fact that, as tilted as it’s become in the last few months, it’s not enough to distance me from Grant. A desire to be near him—with him—that’s been festering since our shared project has been reawakened. And it’s trying to run over the crumbs of mistrust and any sensible thoughts I have that we’re moving too fast.
Half of me wants to be with him at every point possible. The other half screams at me to get hold of myself. That rational half is what limits me to giggling with Grant over text messages and nothing more. Until today.
Because Grant makes me a better writer and a better creative. If I can get his help with this part of my assignment, take some sort of grasp on that, and prove that keeping my composure around him is possible, then not all hope is lost for my self-control.
Kam is listing off signs of the romance he swears he saw coming when the entrance bell rings. There’s still ten minutesuntil I clock out, but my intuition knows it’s Grant strolling in early.
Over Kameron’s shoulder, brown hair and green eyes come into focus. Hands in the pockets of his dark washed jeans. Cream sweater and white collared shirt combination hiding the hickeys I left along his shoulders.
He smiles, and my heart flips in my chest.
Kam must catch the way I’ve lost focus on what he’s saying, because he throws a glance over his shoulder.
Laughing, he teases. “Hey, Grant. We were just talking about you.”
“Oh really?” Green eyes meet mine in a smile before replying. “Good things, I hope.”
“Just talking about how this…” He motions between the two of us, jutting out a lip. “Was somehow a surprise and totally predictable at the same time.”
I don’t remember this conversation at all; so checked out from whatever Kam was just saying, that I can’t deny or agree. I just part my mouth and struggle to think of my own part in this.
Grant’s laugh is deep and comforting. “You know what? That’s so accurate.”
I can’t fight my smile off.
When he confessed his feelings, he pointed out that we chose the same school again. That he happened to walk into my job, by chance, and see me working.
Yesterday, while replaying the moment in my brain for the millionth time, I thought of other strings. We ended up in the same program. His textbook happened to be laying out that day, and Kam felt weirdly drawn to it—enough to mention it to me and theorize whether those topics relate to our class. Locke caught Grant red-handed right as I was leaving and propelled our deal, despite my loathing of him.
A bunch of small instances had to occur to bring Grant and I together again. But they did.
I think we were inevitable.
Grant and Kam start talking to each other, discussing a television series I’ve never heard of. I go to clean up the area behind the counter before my shift ends.
Ten minutes later, when everything’s done, my belongings are in hand, and there’s a punch through my timecard, Grant is cooly leaning against the granite countertop.
“Hey.” He pushes off the edge.
His frame envelopes my vision and space. My heart starts going off-beat. I’ve been waiting days to be near him again.
