“Not my number. The coffeehouse number. You know, so you can call and check who’s working on any given day or night.”
He opens his mouth to respond but is interrupted as his female counterparts approach him on either side.
“We won’t creep on your visit any longer,” the girl to his right says as she starts spinning back and forth on the stool next to him.
“But glad we got to see you for a few.” This from the other girl who, although still standing, barely matches Griffin’s height where he sits.
The corners of his mouth quirk up before he says anything to confirm what I already know.
“Maggie, this is my sister Jen.” He nods to the girl on the stool, and her hand juts in my direction, strong and eager.
“So, so great to meet you. You have no idea,” Jen says.
The other girl, the one still standing, rolls her eyes. “What she means is…” She extends her hand as well, and we shake. “…we don’t meet many of Griffin’s…friends. So this is kind of a treat. I’m Megan.”
His sisters. Two out of the three I saw in the photos on his table.
His sisters. He introduced me to family. This is so not part of the deal. “I’m Maggie.” The plan is to plaster on the fake smile I use for any customer I don’t know well, but the plan is averted when I can’t help but get caught up in the warmth that spreads between the three of them, the affection. It spreads like an airborne contagion, and I’m all but willing to let myself get infected by this foreign experience—this connection.
“Well,” Megan says, looking across Griffin to Jen. “We should go.”
Jen nudges her brother in the shoulder with her own.
“We’ll see you Sunday?” she asks, and Griffin nods his reply.
“See you then,” Megan says, mussing his hair, and I let out a small bubble of laughter.
Miles sits across the room with George and Jeanie at their table. His eye catches mine, and the grin I wear falls on him now.
He shrugs, questions me with his dark brows.
I shrug back, not sure how to respond or what the right answer is. I’m starting to remember what it’s like to let go of the fear, to simply live. The old Maggie could have done this. Miles can vouch for that. He has such faith I can be that girl again.
Then there’s this guy in front of me—who doesn’t want complicated but who makes me feel like I might be more than the complications I bring to the table. In his presence I feel like that other girl, the me I could have been, the one who’s fought so hard to get back and steal center stage from the one who took her place.
As Griffin’s sisters head toward the door, his focus comes back to me. He runs a hand through his tousled hair, and my palms itch to do the same.
“So, yeah. I didn’t quite mean to ambush you like that. With Jen and Megan.”
This is my moment where I either encourage him or don’t. Where I take a chance at making room for more, for however long I can keep up.
My deliberation lasts only seconds before I step around the counter, around our metaphorical safety zone, and take over the seat Griffin’s sister vacated.
“If that’s an apology,” I tell him. “It isn’t necessary. They’re lovely.”
He peels the sticky note off his chest and slams it down on the counter.
“Megan texted to ask me a question, and when she said she and Jen were here, I figured I had to ask.”
“Ask what?”
“If there was a gorgeous barista working tonight—and, of course, I first had to read a few of Megan’s thoughts about Miles that I can never un-see.”
Sweaty palms. This fluttering in my stomach. It’s too much. He’s too much, but I can’t back away.
“Soooo…you came here to see Miles?”
Griffin laughs, and this sound is more contagious than anything yet, not because it makes me laugh, too, but because of how it feels to be the one to cause this reaction in him. The bitter edge that hung off his smile that first day we met is long gone, replaced by something far better.
“I came here to not ask you out on a date.” He pauses, but his tone makes it clear he’s not done.
I cross my arms, hoping to hide the thundering of my heart against my ribs.
“Okay,” I say, drawing out the last syllable.
“Because we’re not dating,” he continues. “Which is why you won’t give me your number…and why I have to not ask you out in person.”
“Makes sense,” I admit, playing along, while hoping not to give away how much the anticipation is killing me.
“You work tomorrow?” he asks.
“Early shift!” Miles calls from behind us, the freaking eavesdropper.
I roll my eyes, acknowledging our audience. “I’m off at four.”
“Four it is,” he says, and then he stands up, glancing at the note still stuck to the counter. “I think I’ve done okay finding you without that so far,” he muses and backs toward the door.
What?
“Good night, Pippi.” He turns his attention to Miles. “Miles.”