Which might as well be me talking about my dating life.
I’m ready to try it and see if I like the taste.
Hope I think it’s gross, like I hope she’ll think coffee tastes gross.
But I have a feeling in my case that the bigger worry is making sure I don’t get addicted to it.
23
GUARDIANS OF THE WINERY
Cricket
After dinnerand a quick check-in with Mabel about the latest response from GrippaBeav’s legal team—still no luck in getting that channel taken down—I invite Ginny with me back to my little apartment.
I tell her I want to talk to her about something, but really, I don’t want to be alone there.
Not after telling Heath that I was getting on the dating apps.
I wasn’t lying—I do think I need to get out there, and I need to be exposed to other men than just Heath to make sure that all of these feelings I have for him aren’t just about him being the only man here.
So I want Ginny’s take on the dating pool around here, as well as to talk to her about my idea about managing the grapes myself.
I don’t know if it’s a viable option, but I don’t want to suggest it to Mabel until I’msure.
“You are ridiculously neat,” Ginny says as she surveys the apartment.
My bed is made, the counters are clear, and my luggage is in the closet under the stairs.
Fairly normal.
I was trained at an early age to not make messes, so it’s habitual at this point to take as little space as possible, even if I always delay doing my laundry for as long as humanly possible.
I could make a mess if I wanted to, but honestly?
I don’t want to.
“It’s something I’m in control of,” I tell her. “But also, it’s not my house, so I don’t want to be a rude houseguest.”
“The whole point, Cricket, is that you haveyour space. This isyour space. You can do whatever you want with it.”
I glance through the sliding glass door at the chicken that followed us back here.
Pretty sure I have a pet chicken now.
I’m taking up space, and I’m good with that here.
“I want my messy space to be outside,” I say.
And then I gesture for her to sit with me at the edge of my bed while I tell her what I’m thinking about the grapes.
As I’m finishing, she bursts into sobs.
I shrink. “Sorry. Sorry. I don’t have to—I mean, I know it’s too early to talk about staying forever, and you probably already have someone in mind, and?—”
“Oh, Cricket, no, it’s not you,” she says through sniffles. “I want—we want you to stay. We’ve needed more sunshine here. But I can’t—we haven’t—I don’t think?—”
My heart is in my throat, and even if I wasn’t a sympathetic crier, I’d be crying right now too. “You don’t have to protect my feelings,” I say through my own sobs.
