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“You already know that,” I realize. “You called me Ellis a minute ago.” I disconnect my hand from his, the warmth still lingering on my skin. Impulsively I wipe it on my jeans like he has a virus, and I know he sees. Honestly, my palms have just been really sweaty lately. If he’s offended, it doesn’t show asidefrom the unamused emoji face he still has going on. “I’m so sorry,” I say. “I’m actually pretty nervous about this.”
Something that I can only describe as a miracle happens. Griffin looks down, a breathy laugh escaping as he smiles. It’s like the expression changes his entire face–making him look far kinder than a rude man who laughs at struggling women in parking lots. It’s the kind of shy smile that makes me question my reality and helps my shoulders to relax infinitesimally.
He looks–nice.
“I know,” he says, his eyes meeting mine–green and brown with a touch of humor. That hazel color looks more interesting when he doesn’t look like he loathes the world and everyone in it.
I smile, matching his expression as he gestures to the table. “Why don’t we just sit and drink coffee? You can complete a full background check before we start focusing on you.”
“Focusing on me?” I question, my head tilting to the side.
His smile disappears, his nose scrunching in confusion as he looks away briefly. “This is for your birthday, right? I have a whole thing planned.” He licks his lips, shaking his head once as if he thought of something else to add, but skipped it.
I chuckle nervously, moving around the table to pull out his chair and immediately realizing that out of the two of us, based on my behavior, I’m more likely to go off murdering kind strangers and wearing their skin. “Right,” I say. “My birthday, yes.”
He makes a singular sound–one that hints at a laugh but isn’t quite there before sitting in the seat I pulled out as I hustle to the other side of the table to sit across from him.
“Like I said, I’m just nervous.” I bring the coffee to my lips trying to find something to do with my hands that doesn’t involve selling cars to this man or pulling out his chair like I’m seventeen and taking him to a pre-prom dinner with my aunt’s credit card.
When he doesn’t say anything, a desperate need to fill the silence creeps up my throat. “You’re the guy that laughed at me when I spilled my coffee a few days ago.”
That smile breaks free again, and he leans forward, his elbows on the table as he grips the coffee with both hands. A hint of a tattoo peaks out by his wrist, and I wonder if I should ask him about what others he may have. This will help me identify him if I have to call Rupert and tell him to send his son to pick me up–though something about Griffin’s presence tells me that won’t be necessary.
Lennon would call itvibes.
I bet his family and friends pay good money to see him smile like this–it sure as hell beats the RBF he supported earlier.
“Sorry about that.” He leans back again, his knee bouncing beneath the table–the only indication that he’s nervous too. “It just snuck out.”
“The laugh?” I press my lips together before continuing. “I was having a rough day.” I don’t offer any more information, just wait for him to respond, but he simply nods before bringing his own coffee up to his mouth and drinking.
The silence stretches, and I begin to wonder how much this guy gets out of the house. “So, what did you have planned?”
Griffin clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “Right, well, I know you wrote about the song thing, and I’m actually an audio engineer.” His brow furrows. “You could see that on my profile. I do production stuff on the side. I really work as an AV tech for one of the colleges a little ways east. Anyway, I thought about doing the song thing because I have everything we would need. A keyboard, well-treated room. Diffusion and acoustic treatments, various outboard gear. I also love music.” He pauses, blinking at me, and I know he must register the confused expression on my face. I knew about two of the words he used in that long run-on sentence. “Never mind,” he says quickly. “I was thinking we’dwrite a song from your list, but I didn’t want to weird you out by taking you to my apartment. We’re doing something else.”
“Okay,” I drag the word out, running my finger along the lid of my coffee cup. “What is the something else?”
“Well, you’re going to need to change your outfit.”
I look down at my outfit with my brows pulled together. When I look back up, that smile returns. I can see the excitement in his eyes, and something about it makes me feel it, too. One corner of my mouth turns up. “I didn’t bring extra clothes.”
“We can stop at a thrift store and get you something. You’ll need to wear a dress–a nice one. I’ll have to change, too. I have a suit in the car.” He takes another drink, and I watch the column of his throat when he swallows, quickly averting my eyes because I’m not blind, and when he smiles like that something warm rushes through my blood.
“What are wedoing, though?” Getting this guy to talk is like trying to lasso a grain of sand–impossible.
When I look back, his smile widens, soft eyes looking down at me from the other side of the table. “We’re going to crash a wedding.”
My eyes widen, my heart suddenly pounding in my chest. “What?” I screech. I’m wringing my hands under the table, listening to the soft chuckle that passes through his lips as he takes in my wild expression.
“It was on the list,” he explains.
I don’t say anything. He’s right–I did ask for this. In fact, I’m the one that gave him the list. For my entire life, I’ve been so used to doing the right thing–the reasonable thing. I’ve bent over backwards, stressing myself out about what other people need and how I can make their existence on this planet easier. I think that maybe at this moment, it’s time for me to do something different–to think a little less.
“It was,” I admit.
The look on his face threatens to take me right out, and I decide that I’m going to stop thinking–stop worrying–at least for tonight.
Griffin’s eyes cut to mine, glittering with something like adventure. “Happy Birthday, Ellis.”
