Every muscle in my body went on alert as his shoe bumped my leg in the process. Was he getting comfortable to talk about his dead grandpa? After all the questions I’d asked him over the past few days, was he finally about to show a bit of vulnerability? Over his glasses, of all things?
He took them off, and I was momentarily mesmerized by the sight of him without them. They were such a Grant Wilder staple that my brain didn’t know what to do with his naked face. There was something boyish about him without them.
He looked at them for a second, then set them down on the desk and met my gaze, a little twinkle in his eye. “I’m totally kidding. My grandpa’s still alive. Nearly perfect vision too. I bought these on a clearance rack a few years ago.”
I smacked his arm. “You’re the worst. So much for the truth.”
He just grinned. “Come on. If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”
I pushed my chair away from my desk and stood. “Reallygenerous offer, but I’ve got stuff to do.” That stuff happened to be at my desk, but I would find other things to attend to elsewhere.
Some part of me understood that I was only making things worse for myself. There was no reasonable explanation for my reluctance to let him have my glasses.
My choice to wear them had always been a business decision, but just now, it felt desperate and cringey. I really didn’t want Grant to think me desperate or cringey, and it wasn’t only because I worried how it would reflect on Matchify.
His grin held as he followed me, matching every step I took backward with one toward me, like a spontaneous tango.
I glanced over my shoulder at the approaching glass wall.
“What are they, some kind of AI glasses?” He tried to swipe them, but I dodged him—barely. His brows went up as though he’d thought of something. “A Matchify version? Maybe it gives compatibility data for whoever you’re looking at based on publicly available information.”
I huffed. “That’s ridiculous.” It was actually an interesting idea—if it hadn’t been so ethically questionable. My heel caught on the edge of the rug, and my ankle wobbled dangerously.
Grant gripped my arm and pulled me toward him before my body could go down hard.
“Whoa,” he said, his fingers pressing into my skin. “You okay?”
I nodded, but my regular heartbeat had been replaced by something chaotic and riotous.
“Good.” He snatched my glasses.
“Grant!”
He dodged my attempt to get them back and hurried to the other side of the office and out of my reach.
I could’ve followed him, but I knew when I’d lost. There was no way I was getting those things back if Grant didn’t want me to have them. I held my breath while he put them on and looked around.
His eyes fixed on me like he was expecting something to happen. Did he really think they were about to go Tony Stark and give him our compatibility data?
And if hedid, what would he expect—or hope for?
He lifted them up, then lowered them again, his brow furrowed. “What are these, -0.15?”
My heart pounded. “Um, yeah, I think that’s right.”
He looked through them for another second, then nodded and took them off.
He walked over to me, his loafers stopping just shy of my heels. He set the glasses back in place on my face, his gaze intent as he made sure they were even.
I stood impossibly still, my eyes fixed on his, trying to make sense of them without their usual tortoise-shell border. It felt like seeing a painting outside of its frame. The art hadn’t changed, but it looked different anyway.
Once the glasses were stable, he slipped my stray lock of hair behind my ear, sending chills across my arms and down my back.
“That’s how you like it, right?” He asked it like he’d ask how I took my coffee.
It robbed the gesture of any flirtatious undertones, but my voice didn’t care. It was paralyzed, just like my muscles, so I nodded, wondering how many things he’d noticed about me that I hadn’t realized.
He didn’t move away. He just looked at me. Through me. “You don’t actually need glasses, do you, Vivian?”
