Page 137 of Love Felt Like This

Griffin reaches his palm down to rustle Ava’s bangs. “Yeah, she’s a tough cookie.”

Ava swats him away with a scrunched nose, then snags more pancake pieces.

My phone vibrates. I suck in a breath and put it on silent instead. When I look back up, Griffin stares back at me.

My mouth opens. I almost blurt out, It’s him! Beau is like an evil spirit that won’t go away! Save me!

But I won’t be saved by Griffin. That’s not his job. It doesn’t matter that his rough hands still feel like they’re possessing me even more than Beau’s texts. At night, I feel them ghosting over my waist. The tips of his guitar-calloused fingers, scratching across my stomach, up to my ribs…

He tucks another syrup-coated pancake bite into his mouth. His perfect white teeth slide over the tongs.

I stand without thinking. I don’t know what my objective is, but I can’t sit here like a creep watching syrup slide over his lips.

“I’m gonna go…um…I gotta talk to Greg.” I tuck my phone into my back pocket and stride across the diner, over to the kitchen window. Greg is in his own world at the skillet, slowly squeezing a bottle of batter to create pancake art. Daisy sits at the counter with her notebook, occasionally glancing up at him with a smile. I do not have time to analyze that right now.

I walk farther into seclusion, into the bathroom hallway, where I pull out my phone and finally stare at the buildup of texts.

Beau, Beau, and more Beau.

I haven’t responded.

I wouldn’t know what to say.

And, for some silly reason, it would feel like betrayal if I did.

“Hey.” Griffin’s voice makes me jump.

I turn around. He stands with Ava propped on his hip.

He huffs a laugh through his nose. “You’re like a rabbit today. What’s going on?”

I laugh back, flicking my thumb over my nail polish. “Nothing. Just checking emails.”

My opposite fist clutches my phone tighter. His eyes jerk to it. I pull it closer to me.

I don’t want to keep secrets from Griffin. It’s not like he deserves to know anything; we aren’t dating. But I still find myself leaning closer, wanting to hold the phone up to share.

Ava blinks, looking between me and her dad as if wondering why both of us are silently analyzing the other.

Griffin points to the bathroom door behind me. “Mind if I…?” It’s the women’s bathroom. It’s also the only one with a changing table.

“Oh. Yes, sorry.” I step to the side as he enters with Ava. But not before tossing me a reassuring smile that has my knees buckling.

Oh my God, what am I doing?

He’s a dad with a two-year-old. He’s writing an album. He doesn’t need to be worrying about me. He sure as heck doesn’t need me swooning over him. But sometimes I want to show him my scripts just to see him smile. I want to make up new puppet voices because it makes him laugh. I want to watch him dance his fingers over the piano keys, close my eyes, and soak in his whispered lyrics.

I am totally swooning.

I hear the whir of the paper towel dispenser, and then the door swings open again.

Griffin freezes. I do too.

“Hello again,” he says slowly.

“Not stalking you,” I joke, but with the way he blinks at me, it clearly doesn’t land.

I’m awkward.