“This deal-breaker dude sounds like a cheap asshole.”
“Hey, I’m all for a good pizza,” she says, “but the frozen ones are full of additives that can really mess with your system.”
“A girl who’s careful about what she puts in her body. I see.”
“High maintenance, right?” she asks. “Good thing you’re not dating her.”
This time I laugh, but her answers already start to rearrange themselves into a plan. For our non-date.
“Video games are a deal breaker?” A guy’s gotta double check.
“Totally.” Her one word is a challenge, one that I eagerly accept. But now I’m pressed for time and need to get moving if I’m going to make this work.
“See you in an hour, Pippi.”
“Fifty-five minutes, Fancy Pants. Not that I’m counting.”
I am.
When she gets into my truck, I take in the aroma of the coffeehouse, the warmth and familiarity of the place that once held little meaning but now makes me think of nothing but her. I realize we haven’t established a ground rule for how we’re supposed to greet each other. I wait for her to slide to the edge of her seat, to take my coat in her hands like she did last night, but she’s a picture of caution, her body close to the door, seat belt clicked into place seconds after she sits down.
“Where to?” she asks, a slight tremor in her voice, and my pulse quickens at the sound of it. Because whatever label we give tonight, it’s something.
Then I think, fuck it, and I unlatch my seat belt so I can close the distance.
My plan is still to play it safe, to just let my lips touch her skin, but she turns to face me as I make my move, and my mouth is on hers. When she doesn’t push me away, I make full contact.
She’s warm, her cheek heating my palm. She tastes of caramel, espresso, and…mint? This observation gives me all the confidence I need as I let my head dip to her neck, my lips finding the freckles under her scarf. I smile against her, breathing her in, not registering any other scent but Maggie.
“Brushed your teeth for me, did ya?” I tease, and her gasp is her admission.
“Ground rule,” I say, my lips trailing over her throat as she swallows her acknowledgment. “I always kiss hello.”
…
Maggie
I don’t know what I was expecting, but I’m relieved when Griffin pulls into the parking garage of his apartment building. Too much tonight is new, out of my comfort zone, and despite what happened between us the last time I was here, there’s a certain safety in being somewhere I’ve been before.
“You approve?” he asks, noting my smile.
“So far. Yes. I was afraid you were going to take me somewhere and get all…date-y on me.”
We exit the vehicle and head inside. I eye the ingredients strewn across the counter as I unbutton my coat. Fresh mozzarella, tomatoes. A jar of red sauce reads, “Organic pizza sauce. No additives.” Next to it is a pizza pan with dough kneaded into a circle. Homemade crust.
“Not frozen pizza,” I say, swallowing hard against the overwhelming need to throw my arms around him and kiss him senseless. It was a game, everything we said on the phone, but he listened in a way I couldn’t expect.
“Oh, shit, I forgot one thing,” he says.
He strides to the window on the far wall of the living room where he plucks leaves from a small potted plant. When he gets back to the kitchen, he drops the leaves on the counter next to the rest of the ingredients.
My jaw drops, and then my eyes meet his.
“You grow your own freaking herbs?” I ask, and if I wasn’t so impressed I’d want to smack that self-satisfied grin off his face. No, scratch that. I want to kiss him until I can’t remember my own name—the one thing I never forget—for surprising me at every turn, for letting me see all these little nuances I hope he doesn’t share with just anyone.
My eyes dart to the living room again where I remember the PlayStation and the giant flat-screen. Griffin’s coffee table is tidied now, no remotes in sight, and he follows me as I make my way to the couch, sitting down as I examine the stack of board games. Monopoly. Clue. Othello. Connect Four. And on top of the pile, a small red card-box that I pick up, my eyes pricking with unexpected tears.
“Uno. I played this a lot with my grandmother when I…” I catch myself before I go down that road, the one that will show Griffin just how complicated I can be. “Whenever I was sick,” I tell him, redirecting my thoughts. “She would sit with me in my room and play Uno for hours.”
Griffin sighs, and I want to ask him to rewind our entrance, to let me try it again. I should thank him for the most thoughtful date that wasn’t and do what I’m supposed to do—smile and laugh at his reversal of my worst date idea. Instead I swipe a tear from under my eye before it has a chance to fall. Because everything is a reminder of why I shouldn’t be here, why it’s too much too soon.