Now I know for sure, my pale face is crimson red with that statement. I look down at the bowl he placed in front of me, smiling at it and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” I ask, looking up at him.
“Hide your smile from me. When I was standing at your door when I got here, that’s what pained me the most. You looked so miserable, and I hated that.”
“You…” I pause, feeling confused. “What?”
“You’re growing on me, sweetheart.”
I blink a few times in his direction before looking down at my soup, swirling the spoon around the hot mix of chicken andvegetables. I can feel the smile begin to form on my lips. No matter how much I try to fight it off, I can’t.
Silence stretches between us for a few minutes, only increasing the tension in the tiny home.
“What city exactly are you from?” he asks out of nowhere.
I feel my stomach churn; this time it’s not from the sickness. This conversation was inevitable. Bringing up my past was something that eventually people would want to know.
“San Francisco,” I answer honestly.
“What made you move here?”
He’s getting to know me. That’s all this is. He doesn’t know my husband.
Concentrating on maintaining an even heart rate at his question, I inhale and exhale slowly to calm my nerves. “My life back home was far from ideal. As I told you before, my husband cheated on me. Betraying my trust in the worst way possible…” I pause, swallowing past the emotions of my past. “It left me feeling lost. I realized I needed some space to rediscover myself. It wasn’t that I didn’t love the city. However, I felt as if I was simply lost in the masses. I lost sight of who I was as a person.”
He nods repeatedly as if he understands.
“I come from a life of politics. Always in the spotlight and was molded into this person who was supposed to be professional one hundred percent of the time.”
“And that’s not who you are.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think it ever was. Being here, in Bluestone Lakes, I’ve learned a lot about myself. Who I’ve always been under the mask I had up.”
“You’re free.”
Two words. Hitting me square in the chest.
A feeling that’s grown on me in my short time here, only confirmed by hearing it from Griffin.
Nodding, letting the smile crest my lips. “I am.”
Griffin’s features soften, averting his gaze to the bowl of soupin front of him. His smile matches mine, but it’s cut short when he lets out a yawn.
“Did you work today?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation going without feeling awkward after the discussion of my past.
“I did, and it was an interesting crowd today.”
I eye him in confusion. “Isn’t it normally, like, the same people around here?”
He scoffs. “Yeah, usually it is. But it was Nan and Tucker. Both of them came in arguing over pretzel twists.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “Nan and Tucker would fight over pretzels. Tucker seems so funny.”
“You think so?” he asks, but the shift in his tone sounds all gruff and feral. Like…he’s jealous?
Oh, this could be fun.
