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“You should go talk to him,” my mom says softly, interrupting my train of thought. She leans into me before pulling me into a gentle hug.
“Who,” I say, playing dumb. Because no one needs to know that I’m staring at the town grump and wondering how I can make him happy.
“You know who, mister.”
“Oh, Ma. He doesn’t like me,” I rumble back, and she shakes her head.
“I think he could. He’s lonely. He could use a friend.”
I swallow and then glance back over at Braxton, who is eyeing me once more. Our gazes connect, and he glances away quickly.
“Alright, yeah. I’ll try again, Ma, but he’s not gonna want me to.”
“You’d be surprised what people really need, deep down.”
My mom presses a kiss to my cheek, and I hesitate a moment before squaring my shoulders and stepping forward. I move through the crowd at a glacial pace, feeling my heart jump the closer I get to him. I don’t know why I’m like this when I’m around him, but I can’t help it. At the same time, I don’t wantto seem too eager because I might scare him away. Or he might finally explode and hurt my feelings.
I don’t want that either.
But before I can overthink it, there he is, right in front of me, glancing up into my eyes, looking all sorts of angry that I’m so close.
“What do you want?” he asks, clearing his throat and fiddling with the ring in his ear. For just a second, he looks a little nervous before his face hardens and he stands up a little straighter. His arm falls to his side, and he clenches his jaw. When he does it, those pink lips form a pout and his lip ring pokes out a little more.
It’s…cute.
“Hi there, Braxton. Just thought I’d offer you a bite to eat.”
I hold out my plate, an untouched biscuit slathered with jam waiting for him.
He glances at it and then away once more. “No.”
I pull the plate back and shrug, pretending like his curt response to my offer doesn’t bother me. Dammit, Ma. I shouldn’t have bothered coming over here, trying to talk to him. He clearly doesn’t want me engaging.
“Alright, well…” I let my words trail off and glance down at Braxton, who is twisting his lip ring around, his tongue poking out and prodding it.
“Why do you keep looking at me?” he hisses, and I blink at how venomous he sounds.
“Because you’ve been staring at me.”
He swallows and shakes his head. “No, I haven’t.”
But he has. He’s even doing it now, peeking out from under those dark lashes before looking away once more. He’s wearing his dark clothes again—dark-wash jeans, a faded black hoodie, and black Converse with worn laces on his feet.
“Um, well, I just came over to be friendly. My mom says she doesn’t know why you’re here.”
His cheeks flush, and I feel bad for pointing that out. Maybe he’s embarrassed about the reason he comes here and sits while we practice. Maybe he just needs to come here to escape something. Maybe this is his safe space.
“You know what, Jimbob?” He hesitates a moment and then wets his lips. “Fuck you,” he whispers and then turns his back, storming out of the church. I stand there, staring at him. A sigh escapes me, and I close my eyes.
Well, I got that entirely wrong. I really messed up, it seems.
I’ll have to try again another time.
Abra-ham takes that moment to squeal up at me, probably admonishing me for my stupid words.
I glance down at him and hand him another carrot.
“No need to berate me, little guy. I know. I’ll do better next time.”
