21
LEXI
“Ican’t believe you like to do good deeds too!” I squealed while Grayson winced.
“I’m not doing good deeds,” he grumbled as I tried to decide if I wanted my cake in the trunk or in the back seat of the car. Even though it was covered with plastic wrap I decided the back seat was better. Then I could keep an eye on it.
“You were giving me so much grief about being nice to others, and yet here you are, giving things away to strangers,” I said as I set the bag of lunch on the floor of the car next to the cake.
“I am not complimenting strangers or allowing them to live in my home,” Grayson corrected. “I’m making donations.” He walked a few paces away to pick up an empty plastic bottle.
I swooned.
“And he picks up trash. Be still my heart. Oh, I see a piece of trash too! It’s mine!” I raced ahead of him to pick up an empty chip bag while Grayson shook his head.
He followed me to a trash can on the other side of the parking lot.
“What other acts of kindness do you do?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said shortly, tossing the empty bottle in the recycling bin.
“Kindness buddies!” I held up my hand for a high five.
He ignored it.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” I said, hurrying after him back to the car.
Grayson paused next to a dark-green SUV and flicked his hand. A crumpled hundred-dollar bill landed under a tire.
I grinned and kept grinning as I slid into the passenger’s seat of the luxury car.
“You look demented,” Grayson remarked as he slipped on his sunglasses.
I clasped my hands together. “You’re a nice person!”
He grunted and put on his seatbelt.
As soon as he turned on the car, “Part of Your World” fromThe Little Mermaidblared out of the sound system.
“Man, this is like being in the IMAX theater,” I remarked over the music.
Grayson turned down the radio with a scowl.
“Aww, Ariel is the representative of us redheads,” I said as Grayson exited the parking deck.
“I don’t have red hair.” His mouth twisted in annoyance.
“In the sunlight your hair has a very, very tiny bit of red,” I said, reaching out to point. “The tiniest.”
“You’re hallucinating; it’s all that cake.”
“Yum! Cake.”
Grayson pulled up in front of a brick building with an ornately carved wooden door. A sign for the nonprofit, Mary’s Nest, hung in the window.
A bell chimed over the door as we went inside, Grayson carrying the bags of shoes.
“Hi there!” I trilled to the volunteer at the front desk. “We have a donation for you all—some very fancy business shoes.”
