Chapter Two Griffin #3
“Wouldn’t you know—a warm muffin is my favorite thing in the world,” I said, giving her a friendly smile.
She rolled her eyes, lips fighting a smile, pulling the tray from the case. “I bet it is. For here or to go?”
“Here, I think.” If I went back to that house too soon, I’d start climbing the freaking walls. What had Steven said? Go for a walk or something?
Nodding, she set the muffins on a plate, then added a lid onto my iced coffee. “Cream and sugar are on the counter over there,” she said, tilting her head toward the back of the shop, where the blond woman sat at the table closest to the back entrance.
“Thanks.” But her back was already turned. Definitely not a football fan.
Blowing out a slow breath, I glanced around the shop, but it didn’t seem like anyone was paying me much attention.
Before I slid my wallet back into my pocket, I glanced down at the counter.
The tip jar next to the register had a few singles in it, and while her back was still turned, I slipped a fifty inside.
Balancing my plate of muffins and my coffee, I wandered back to the counter to fix my drink, my eyes snagging on the woman sitting by herself.
Her hair had blocked most of her face when I walked in, but when I set my coffee down, she was staring directly at me. Or rather, staring directly at my hands.
She was a tiny thing, her petite frame covered in a simple ivory blouse, with a collar buttoned up past her collarbone, and black pants that hugged her legs and ended high on her waist. But it was her eyes that had me narrowing mine.
Something about those eyes—dark silvery gray and huge in her face, surrounded by thick, dark lashes—tugged at something in the back of my mind.
I knew her.
How the hell did I know her?
She must have noticed I was staring, because she finally yanked her gaze off my hands and up to my face. Her mouth fell open slightly, and without realizing what I was doing, my lips curled into a pleased little smile.
Oh yes. I knew her. Hadn’t seen her in years, but I could see the hints of her younger self in the more refined features in front of me.
Briefly, I turned away and added a splash of cream and snagged two packets of sugar for my coffee. When I turned back, she had her gaze firmly locked on the table. I walked closer, gesturing with my plate of muffins to the empty seat across from her. “Anyone sitting here?”
If she recognized me, I couldn’t read it in her face. She rolled her lips together for a moment, sucked in a short breath through her nose, then shook her head in a quick jerky motion.
Setting the plate of muffins on the table halfway in between me and her came first, then the coffee in front of my chair. I took a seat, easing my long legs out while I studied her.
“Good morning, Ruby Tate,” I told her.
She blinked a few times, but I tilted my head when there was no shock or surprise or . . . much of anything. Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink, and the slender column of her throat worked on a swallow. At the notch in the base of that throat, I could see her pulse flutter wildly.
I took a slow sip of my coffee and watched her. Her mouth was wide, almost too wide for her face, but something about her features was . . . nice. Not too perfect. I liked that they weren’t perfect. “Imagine my surprise at seeing you here. After so many years.”
The slightest pinch in her brow was the only reaction she gave me.
She’d been a quiet kid—a little prickly, in fact.
In the back of my head, a memory sprang up: her climbing into the tree that straddled our backyard and hers, watching my brother and me play football or soccer or whatever it was we were training for at the time—all big gray eyes and a serious expression, like she could never quite figure out what the fuck we were doing, why we were so loud and boisterous.
I blew out a slow breath, crossing my arms as I sat back in my chair. “Do you not recognize me?”
Her pink lips finally fell open, then snapped shut again. Her eyes pinched shut, and based on the minute movement of her mouth, she was counting breaths.
Waiting while she reached ten was as close to meditating as I’d ever come, because for those ten seconds, I wasn’t thinking about anything else.
Not my brother. Not my new team. Not the inevitable end of my career because my body was so fucking tired that each season got harder and harder to complete.
Under her breath, she muttered something like This is not happening, this is not happening.
My smile spread. I’d never been met with this particular reaction before.
Why was this so fun?
Her eyes fluttered open, landing unerringly on me. “I recognize you,” she said quietly. With a smile playing around my lips, I watched her gather her composure. She wasn’t doing a very good job. “But I didn’t expect you, Griffin King.”
“But you know it’s me and not my brother. Well done.” I held up my coffee in salute. “Our parents can’t even tell us apart half the time.”
That was bullshit, but she didn’t call me on it.
Instead, she eyed me warily. “I always found it easy. Your brother never smiled.”
“Still doesn’t. I’m much more pleasant to be around, trust me.”
Ruby ignored that, which was probably wise. Her fingers were long and graceful, tipped with sensibly trimmed nails in a clear gloss, and at the moment, they were shredding the absolute hell out of a napkin.
“Want one of these muffins?” I asked, pushing the plate closer to her.
Instead of answering, Ruby stared over at me, a slight furrow in her brow.
I broke off a piece of the sugar-topped confection, moaning slightly when it melted in my mouth. “Fuck, that’s good,” I said, my voice a pleased rumble.
She did that nervous-swallowing thing again, another soft flush of pink blooming over her cheeks.
“This feels like a monumentally bad idea, Griffin,” she said carefully.
My eyebrows shot up. “It’s breakfast, Ruby.” I smiled, and her eyes darted to the dimple buried in my three-day-old stubble. “Granted, when I partake of a morning meal with a beautiful woman, we’ve usually enjoyed other activities leading up to it . . . but I digress.”
Trembling hands came up to cover her face, and her entire frame slumped as she sighed. “No. No, no, no. I can’t do this,” she muttered.
“Can’t do what?” Consider me officially fascinated.
Oh, and fascination was dangerous, wasn’t it?
She dropped her hands, motioning wildly between us. “This.”
Swallowing another large bite of the muffin, I eyed her as I licked a leftover crumb off my bottom lip. Those big dove-gray eyes tracked the movement. “Why’s that?”
After a short exhale, she crumpled up the decimated napkin and smoothed her hands out on the table. Her eyes locked on mine, and over the sudden jump in my pulse, I realized just how very incredibly, wildly not bored I was.
“Well . . . when I hired an escort, I didn’t expect it to be the former neighbor boy.”