Chapter 18
eighteen
LILIANA
When I finally, hesitantly, trudge home to my own apartment on Monday, Rosie is sitting on the couch with a large mug of coffee and an even bigger grin. I remind her I’m running late for class and don’t have the time to hear her “I told you so”.
Still, she calls at my retreating back as I’m closing my bedroom door, “I knew you were fucking!”
The next day, when she’s comfortably lying next to me on my bed, phone propped against the wall with Kameron on video call, she mentions it again.
“I knew you were full of shit when you said you weren’t fucking.”
“Please, be a little more sympathetic for me.” Kam’s voice edges from the speaker of my phone, dramatic but humorous. “I’m still mourning this loss.”
I laugh. “First of all, we aren’t doing that.” Both roll their eyes.
It’s not a lie. Is it? What Grant and I did was intimate and pleasure-filled, but it wasn’t what they think. Not totally. He stopped before we could go there.
“Secondly, I did not call a group meeting to talk about my sex life. I’m giving you both the details at the same time so I don’t have to repeat myself later.”
Hours are spent recalling the events of the weekend, how and why everything happened, rehashing the parts that send my friends screaming and jumping away from the phone in shock. I keep the most intimate things to myself. Specifically, the details of how well Grant can use his hands.
They don’t need to know all of that. The swoon worthy Lily nickname and sketchbook confession are more than enough to satisfy their need for gossip.
For a few days, at least.
On Thursday night, Kameron arrives fifteen minutes early for his shift just to bug me over the café counter.
“You haven’t seen him at all since Monday?!”
There isn’t anyone in Caramel so checked out from whatever Kam was just saying, that I can’t deny or agree. I just part my mouth and struggle to think of my own part in this.
Grant’s laugh is deep and comforting. “You know what? That’s so accurate.”
I can’t fight my smile off.
When he confessed his feelings, he pointed out that we chose the same school again. That he happened to walk into my job, by chance, and see me working.
Yesterday, while replaying the moment in my brain for the millionth time, I thought of other strings.
We ended up in the same program. His textbook happened to be laying out that day, and Kam felt weirdly drawn to it—enough to mention it to me and theorize whether those topics relate to our class.
Locke caught Grant red-handed right as I was leaving and propelled our deal, despite my loathing of him.
A bunch of small instances had to occur to bring Grant and I together again. But they did.
I think we were inevitable.
Grant and Kam start talking to each other, discussing a television series I’ve never heard of. I go to clean up the area behind the counter before my shift ends.
Ten minutes later, when everything’s done, my belongings are in hand, and there’s a punch through my timecard, Grant is cooly leaning against the granite countertop.
“Hey.” He pushes off the edge.
His frame envelopes my vision and space. My heart starts going off-beat. I’ve been waiting days to be near him again.
One hand finds purchase on the side of my waist, fingertips touching the patch of skin peeking out between my white pleated skirt and baby blue crop top sweater. The other hand grabs the tote bag off my shoulder, slipping it onto his own.
“Hey.” I rest my palm on the soft fabric of his sweater, right where his ribs are.
“Are you…” He pauses, glances around the empty space of the café. No one is around but I suspect Kam is in the shadows spying on us. “Okay with me kissing you in public?”
The café is public by technicality, but the deserted tables and neat bench cushions are a reminder that it’s partially private. No one is here to see us if we kiss.
I’m disappointed he asked. Both because I don’t want him to ever doubt he can, and because no one will be around to see that somehow, Grant is mine.
Tugging him towards me, our lips meet in an answer. He grins into the kiss and grabs onto the other side of my waist. I don’t want him to ask me that question ever again.
I can control this part of Thursdays. Grant may have offered to take us somewhere new for the night, but besides that, Thursdays are for academics. I still have a grade to secure and I’m determined to stay focused.
But I can’t help myself from staring at Grant while he drives, one hand on the steering wheel and the other wrapped in mine.
And I try to be normal when he tells me his passenger seat is better when I’m in it.
And I can definitely look away when he parallel parks, his hand coming over to hold my headrest when his body twists.
As soon as we get into this new café, I swear to myself that I’ll be focused.
I’m baffled but not surprised at the matcha café he chooses, branded with different shades of green and a matcha mascot printed on their front window. I’m laughing at the ridiculousness of it when Grant opens the door, leaning over to whisper, “They have hazelnut drinks, too. I checked.”
He makes it so hard to stay focused.
This new spot is more colorful than Caramel & Latte, vibrant hues splattered on their branding and bright lights bouncing off the marble tables. The hazelnut latte Grant buys for me isn’t so bad, either.
I settle myself into the large chair cushion and grab my laptop out of my tote bag. Grant places his black leather sketchbook on the table beside it.
“You brought your sketchbook?”
“Yeah.” His grin is teasing. He knows what day my mind is stuck on. “I have to do my daily drawing. It’s a good exercise for creativity.”
I almost point out that it can’t be too good for creativity if he draws the same thing every day. I keep the joke to myself, because his countless lily illustrations are adorable and make me feel revered in a way only Grant has shown me.
But also, because he knows more about this art stuff than I do. I noticed it when I started getting positive feedback. After the mini golf breakthrough, I’m positive he’s my key to success. Writing six hundred words in one sitting would be unheard of three months ago.
The red ink in my margins have consisted solely of praise lately. I would get the comments tattooed on the inside of my eyelids, if I could. It’s the most accomplished I’ve felt in school since the beginning of the semester. And it’s only possible because of Grant.