“No,” I say, and it’s the truth. That crush I had in high school was based on his looks, his charming personality, the way he seemed larger than life in a way that was extremely appealing to someone more reserved like I am. I spent my weekends in the garden with my mom, and he spent them at parties on the lake, with pilfered alcohol and no shortage of female attention.
Whatever confusing feelings I’m wrestling with now are wholly unrelated. That version of Grey soured to me in high school, when he told Holden I was like an annoying little sister to him. But he’s different from the person he was fifteen years ago,and I don’t know why I was so convinced he couldn’t change. Why all these little facets I’m discovering are so surprising to me. Why I’m shocked to be drawn to them.
I feel myself slipping, and I don’t even know if it’s a bad thing.
“Enough about me. How is Veer’s toddler music class going?”
Nora lights up, a Christmas tree in the window, and launches into a story about Veer playing the drums in his class. Our pancakes come shortly after the waitress arrives to take our order. Mine are stacked high with blueberries and powdered sugar, while Nora’s are covered in pecans and syrup. It’s the same breakfast we ordered when we would come here on Saturday mornings in high school or between classes at the community college, where we both got our associates degrees.
It’s nice to have Nora all to myself. I knew the day she met Raj that he was the one, that the little bubble we’d created around ourselves to keep out the rest of the world had popped. It was no longer just Finley and Nora. It was Nora and Raj, with me on the side. I made room in my heart for Raj, and I’ve grown to love him like a brother. And when they had Veer, I felt my heart open again. And then Devina. I love them all so fiercely, but I miss when it was the two of us. When we were each other’s only priority. Nora has an entire family now, and I’m still alone, without even her in my bubble.
The more time that passes, the more desperate I’ve felt to find someone, to find the person who will share my life with me, take on a role even more integral than the one Nora vacated. She’s still my best friend, but Raj is her person now. I want a person of my own.
Nora launches into a story about something Devina did, and it brings a smile to my face, drawing me out of my thoughts. We sit at that table long after our plates are cleared, drinking terrible coffee and laughing loud enough that we garner looks from other patrons. Nora has syrup on her boob, and I have powderedsugar on my shorts, and we’re a mess, but we’re together, and everything feels simple again.
“I love you, Finny,” Nora says on a sigh, reaching for my hand and squeezing it. The dark circles have disappeared from under her eyes, and her cheeks are a rosy pink. She looks like the best friend I grew up with, and it makes something warm in my chest to know that I can still be the one to bring her back to life, just like she is for me.
“I love you too,” I echo, gripping her hand back, giving it three squeezes like we always used to do.
It makes her smile stretch. Her eyes focus on something behind me for a moment, then widen. Her grin turns mischievous. “Grey is standing in front of Unlikely Places.”
I spin around so fast that I know she’s going to give me shit about it later. Sure enough, he’s there, reading the note I taped to the door that saysBe Back Soon. I stopped in two hours ago to scribble it quickly, figuring Nora wouldn’t have long before she had to head back home.
My heart ratchets when he starts to turn, heading back down the street.
I swivel back to Nora, but she’s already waving me on, looking just as frantic as I feel. “Go, I want to know what he was there for. I’ve got breakfast.”
The chair squeals across the floor as I stand. I smack a kiss on Nora’s cheek and hear her laughter behind me as I power walk toward the door.
I don’t know why I’m rushing, why I’m trying so hard to get outside to see him, but I want to know why he came by. I want to know if he’s as jumbled up as I feel, if I’ve been on his mind the way he’s been on mine.
“Grey!” I yell the second I’m out the door. He turns at the sound, wind whipping his hair, making it even messier than usual. As I cross the street, drawing closer to him, I have theoverwhelming urge to lift my hand and smooth it down, see what he would look like if I did.
“Hey,” he says when I’m close enough to speak at a normal volume. Something about the rasp of his voice, the deep timbre of it, makes heat climb up my chest, a blush I hope he doesn’t notice.
But then his eyes drop, and I remember what I’m wearing. The damn cleavage tank, stark white against my tomato red chest. His gaze snaps back up to mine, and he palms the back of his neck.
“Hey,” I manage to choke out, not sure why my stomach is twisting, why butterflies are taking flight. It’sGrey, but also not. He’s a Grey I don’t know, one I think I want to discover.
“Where you coming from?” he finally asks, breaking the heavy silence hovering between us.
I nod in the direction of the pancake house. “I was having breakfast with Nora.”
He follows my line of sight right as Nora is coming out, waving at us before heading to her car. “Oh, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You didn’t,” I promise. “We were done.”
When he looks back at me, he’s smiling, one side higher than the other. It makes my breath hitch. When I said the charming, swaggering version of Grey had soured to me, I wasn’t being entirely truthful. Because this version, when directed right at me, is potent.
“I brought you something.” He holds up a plastic grocery bag that I hadn’t noticed in his hand. He gestures at my shop with a dip of his chin. “Let’s go inside, and I’ll show you.”
My hands are shaking as I unlock the door to my shop. I hope he doesn’t notice. I’m not sure why I feel so on edge, why I’m noticing things about him that I haven’t in so long. The breadth of his shoulders as he moves sideways to fit through the narrow doorway. His large, calloused hands setting the plasticbag on my countertop. The messy, windblown waves of his hair, desperate to be smoothed down. The striking pale blue of his eyes, lit up like the sun peeking through the clouds into the sky on the first day of spring.
Grey peels open the plastic bag, revealing half a dozen or more books. Worn paperbacks with cracked spines. He looks up at me through the fringe of his lashes. “I don’t know what kind of books you want to stock, or if these are even any good, but I saw them at a garage sale today and thought they could be the first of your collection for the shop.”
I stare at the books, watching my fingers reach out and trace the covers. If I were to crack them open, I know exactly what they would smell like. The same scent I want baking into the walls of my dream bookshop.
Something stirs in my chest, an ache that feels unfamiliar, as I look up at him. He’s smiling, but it’s not the charming one he uses when he’s trying to pick up tourists at Matty’s. It’s something softer. Maybe even a little bashful. If I look closely, I think I can even see a hint of pink on the tips of his high cheekbones, over the curve of his ear.
