“Yeah. Okay,” is all I say, torn between letting her have all the power and pushing her away. As much as this should be a deal breaker for me, I can’t help but feel like I’m just starting to get past her walls. I just want to know what’s really on the other side of them.
“You forgive me?”
“You didn’t show up at my door, looking like that, and expect me to hold a grudge, did you?” I say behind a small smile, deciding that’s better than telling her I still want to get to know her.
She rolls her eyes, a small sniffle the only indication that there might have been some tears in them. “Can’t you just be normal and be like, mad at me?”
I huff out a laugh, wondering the same thing. “I was,” I admit. “Maybe I still am. But I guess I have a hard time saying no to you.”
The way she blushes—suddenly, with an inhale that makes her chest rise then fall—has me fighting a smile.
“You’re too honest, Fielder.” She’s grinning now as sheglances away for a moment. “Listen…I don’t know what this looks like. But I think we’re friends…?” Her shyness shocks me, and I take stock of this feeling. Like she wants something, with me.
“I thought we were,” I confirm, smirking.
“Oh-kay,” she laughs, still unsure of herself. “But we’ve never been friends. Especially not in the context of our group. I don’t know how to explain this…to them.”
And by them she means Will.
“I can’t pretend like I don’t know you, Gen.” It comes out more impassioned than I mean it to, but maybe it’s an accurate representation of how I feel. “We don’t owe them an explanation, don’t owe them anything.”
I watch it sink in, the idea that her and I are a we and that whatever we’re doing isn’t anyone’s business. Isn’t Will’s business at all.
“We don’t owe them anything,” she says with this quiet defiance, like she’s taking something for herself. She nips at her bottom lip and her mouth curves into a conspiratorial smile just as her gaze snags on something behind me.
“I’m sorry, were you on your way out? At—” she starts, checking her phone for the time, “seven a.m. on a Sunday?”
“No,” I chuckle. “I just got back from Atlanta. Where areyouoff to so early?”
“The conservatory, but I left early to grab food…my fridge is eerily empty.”
“Let’s grab breakfast,” I tell her, trying so hard to remain casual and noncommittal, despite how bad I want her to say yes.
“Isthisthe date?” Disbelief has her raising her brows, her lips quirking in an adorable smirk.
“No. This isfriends,” I remind her of her previous wordchoice, “getting breakfast. Give me more credit, Genevieve.” She likes when I say her whole name; I can tell because every time I have, her teeth sink into her bottom lip.
Her eyes rake over me, taking her time giving me an answer.
“An apology breakfast,” I suggest, the idea of spending time with her sparking something warm in my chest.
She tilts her head to the side, but I already know she’s relenting. “I knew I’d have to grovel.” She shakes her head, eyes sparkling with an easiness I haven’t seen before. “Where to?”
The breakfast chain right outside of Astor Hill boasts all kinds of food, from biscuits and gravy to avocado toast on dry, grainy bread, which Gen ordered without even looking at the menu. That’s why I’m shocked when she disappeared to the counter, only to reemerge a few minutes later with two pink and white smoothies in her hands. I open my mouth to inquire about the beverage I’m about to down, but she holds up a finger, silencing me.
“Just taste. You can ask questions later.” She wraps her lips around the straw, sipping for a long, protracted moment with her eyes closed, a guttural moan leaving her. I can’t help but laugh before I take a sip of mine.
And holy shit—I get it now. A moan escapesme, shocked by how good this smoothie is. It’s not a typical smoothie, with its fruit forward, banana centric flavor profile. No—this is… creamy? The strawberry reminds me of childhood, and it’s almost like I’m drinking?—
“Gen. Is there ice cream in this?”
She grins up from her drink, childlike mischief flitting across her features. “Yes. Yes there is.” She sighs again, her head lolling back as she savors themilkshakeshe’s drinking at eight o’clock in the morning, and she’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.
I shake my head, laughing, and indulge in the drink I’m just now realizing she paid for. I grab my phone and send her what I think was the cost of two smoothies. Her phone pings, her eyes rolling as soon as she sees the message.
“Oh my god, Grant. It was like ten dollars.”
“Cool. Get yourself a coffee with the other ten,” I shrug. I can see her about to fire something back, but she relaxes in her chair instead, shaking her head.
