I walk to the side entrance, casually, but inside I am anything but casual. Honestly, I’m anxious that things might be awkward after last night.
Grayson is already there, leaning against the brick with his hands in his pockets, hoodie on, hair still damp but mostly hidden, like he stood in front of the mirror too long trying to decide whether he looked like a person or a problem. He looks up when he sees me. And something on his face shifts—small, quick, real.
Not a grin. Not a smile. Just…open.
“Hey,” he says, stopping next to me and instantly wrapping me in a hug.
How does he smell so freaking good all the time?
Breathing him in, I hug him back. “Hey.”
We pull apart and start walking toward the coffee shop. He falls into step beside me like we’ve done it a hundred times, like our bodies already know the pace that doesn’t make me feel tracked or watched. A few steps in, his hand finds mine.
I look down at our intertwined fingers, a small smile tugging on my lips, and look up to find his eyes waiting for me, a far too cocky smirk on his handsome face. He bites his lip and looks away, letting out a low, rumbling chuckle.
The coffee shop is busy, but manageable. We move into line.
“Do you know what you want?” he asks softly.
My mouth opens automatically to say,Nothing, I’m fine, because my brain is built out of default responses and routine deflection. But I’m tired of lying as a reflex.
“Iced vanilla latte,” I say. “Extra sweet with caramel drizzle and whip.”
His mouth twitches. “Need a sugar rush?”
I narrow my eyes, sending him a teasing glare. “I’m not ashamed.”
He looks pleased by my answer and leans forward, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. “Good.”
He pays for our order, then we pick a table near the window. I take the seat with my back to the wall without thinking as he grabs our coffees from the counter. He doesn’t comment or look at me weird. He just sits across from me, coffee in hand, posture relaxed like he’s trying to make the world quieter by existing in it differently.
For a minute, we don’t talk.
We just sip coffee.
Outside, a group of people laugh too loudly, and my shoulders tense on instinct.
Grayson’s gaze flicks to me, and then he shifts his chair a fraction so his body blocks some of the view of the room. Not obvious. Not dramatic. Just…a small adjustment that makes it easier to breathe. It’s infuriating how much it works.
“You okay today?” he asks.
I can feel my cheeks grow warm as I nod my head. “Yeah, I’m good. Are you?”
A low chuckle leaves him, his free hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “I’m definitely good.”
I smile down at my coffee, and when I look back up, his blue eyes are waiting for me.
We talk about nothing for a few minutes—Weston being a menace, the donor dinner being a weird adult fever dream—and it’s easy in a way that makes my brain suspicious.
Because easy never lasts.
My phone rings while I’m brushing my teeth.
An actual call.
For a second, I just stare at the screen, foam-mouthed and suspicious, like the universe is trying to trick me into social interaction before I’ve had caffeine.
Then I realize who it is that’s calling.
