I hand over the book and candle for my mom, along with forty bucks I fish from my wallet. Kolby gives me directions to the service entrance, but it still takes me a couple of minutes wandering around in the increasing early evening darkness to find it, and he gets there as I’m settling into one of the Adirondack chairs.
“These are for you,” he says, handing me a brown paper bag with the Vino and Veritas logo on it. “Your change is in there too.”
He flops down into the chair next to me, unfolding his lanky frame and stretching out his long legs. The bag seems kind of heavy for a book and candle, so I peek inside. My suspicion is confirmed. There’s an extra book, the gamer geek romance Kolby caught me staring at.
I take it out and offer it to him. “I think this got in there by mistake.”
He waves me off. “No mistake.”
“But I didn’t pay for it.” Did I? I check the receipt, which he also put in the bag. Nope. The only things he charged me for are my mom’s book and the candle.
“Consider it a loaner. I’ve been wanting to use my employee discount to grab a copy for my keeper shelf. You can give it back to me when you’re done. No rush. I know you’re busy with hockey and school and all.”
He crosses his feet at the ankles and rests his head against the back of the chair, smug in the knowledge that he’s got me cornered. I can’t very well argue with him without seeming like even more of a jerk. So I stick the book and the receipt back in the bag and set it down on the ground next to my chair.
“Thanks.”
“I hope your mom likes her gifts.”
“I’m sure she will. She’s pretty easy to shop for.”
Unlike my Dad, who is seriously the hardest person to buy presents for on the planet. I usually wind up breaking down and asking him what he wants. It eliminates the fun of surprising him, but I can live without that.
But I didn’t come out here to talk about how bad—or good—my parents are at receiving gifts. I came out here to apologize for being a jackhole to Kolby outside the Green Bean.
Time to get it done.
“What did you want to talk about?” he asks, giving me the perfect opening. “Is it improv? If you ask me, you’re doing pretty well for a rank beginner. Did you see Frosty’s face when you made Quinn completely break character with your impression of an agitated emu during Party Quirks? That was priceless.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but it’s not about class.” I pause to clear my throat and moisten my suddenly dry lips. “I need to apologize.”
He sits back, head tilted, saying nothing. Okay, so he’s not going to make this easy for me. Not that I blame him.
“I pretended I didn’t hear you the other day, when you were calling my name at the Green Bean. It was a dick move, and I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did it. I guess I was still stewing over the schedule thing.” Or maybe I was more than a little afraid to find out why he was chasing me.
He stares at me, silent, making me shift uncomfortably in the already uncomfortable, cold, hard wooden chair.
“Aren’t you going to say something?” I ask after a long, awkward moment.
“What do you want me to say?” he asks. “You won’t believe me if I tell you it was the computer that wouldn’t switch your classes, not me.”
His breath comes out in little puffs, and it hits me how much the temperature has dropped now that the sun is setting. I’ve got my team jacket to keep me warm, but Kolby, in only his cotton button-down, must be freezing. Although you wouldn’t know it to look at him, lounging in his Adirondack chair like he’s poolside at a resort in the Caribbean.
I fight the urge to bundle him up in my coat. Or in my arms. This protective instinct is new to me, especially where guys are concerned. But something about Kolby seems to bring it out.
It’s not that he’s physically fragile, because he’s not. He may be smaller than me, but there’s a definite strength in his leanly muscled frame. It’s more of an emotional fragility I sense lurking under the outer layer of ego and confidence. I get the feeling that, for all of his swagger, Kolby’s a supremely lonely guy.
I guess in that respect, we’re not all that different.
“Something along the lines of ‘I accept your apology’ would be nice,” I say, shoving my hands into my pockets. It has the dual benefit of warming them up and keeping them from grabbing Kolby and pulling him into a bear hug. “But I’ll also take a simple ‘it’s cool’ or ‘we’re chill.’ And for the record, I believe you about the computer.”
It’s true. I might not have at first. But Kolby’s been super helpful to me in class. It doesn’t make sense that he wouldn’t have helped me that day in the registrar’s office if he could have. Plus, even Coach couldn’t get me out of improv. The more I thought about that, the more I realized it wasn’t Kolby’s fault he couldn’t unfuck my schedule.
“I appreciate that.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “But you’re gonna have to work a little harder.”
I’m instantly on high alert, wondering exactly where he’s going with this. “What do you mean?”
“I have an idea how you can make it up to me.”
