Grapes, Wrath, and Maybe Sierra
Maisie
By the end of the workday, I felt ready to pop.
Nearly twenty-four hours had passed since my ill-fated visit to Griff's apartment, and the day had been gloomy to match – drizzly and dark with storm clouds on the horizon.
Did I have regrets? Sure. I mean, if I'd been a little more composed, I would've stuck around to ask Griff exactly where he'd slept the previous night.
Of course, asking would've been beyond awkward – with or without an audience, especially when I got to the part about eavesdropping from the balcony.
The whole thing was a giant mess, and I had no clue how to fix it, assuming it was fixable at all. After all, if Griff had spent the night with somebody else, there was nothing worth fixing.
Sure, we had never agreed to be exclusive, but it still felt like cheating, even if things were never spelled out.
So now, here I was, manning the front counter, with my mind on everything but the shop.
Business was slow, but my heart was racing. From somewhere in the back room, I heard a clunk, like Griff had dropped a tool or walloped a bike. Soon, I heard more clunks, followed by a high-pitched squeak – metal on metal, dry and rhythmic.
It matched the scratchy edge of my thoughts, like everything needed oiling, including us.
As far as the noise, I wanted to crack open the door and check it out. But I didn't . Instead, I stayed in my own area, just like Griff was staying in his.
It had been like this all day. We'd seen each other off and on without stopping to exchange more than a few words. I'd even brought him lunch like always, which he'd accepted with a terse thanks.
But hours later, the same lunch bag still sat there – unopened and untouched.
Yes, I had checked – twice – once when Griff was rolling out bikes for a family of four and a second time when he was adjusting a tandem for a couple who looked a lot happier than us.
So, Griff wasn't eating?
Or was he just not eating anything from me?
Unprompted, a vision of Sierra slithered into my head. In this one, she was feeding him grapes and bite-sized sandwiches a lot fancier than mine. And Griff was liking them. A lot. There might've been a groan or two – and not only from Griff.
Just the thought of it made me want to scream.
I rolled my eyes. Grapes. Wrath. Sandwiches.
I was losing my mind.
Damn it.
For all I knew, Griff didn't even like grapes. He might even hate them. They were the source of raisins, after all.
In fifteen minutes, the shop would close, and Griff and I would go our separate ways with exactly nothing resolved – unless I made a move.
But did I want to?
Yes.
Definitely – unless he'd been up to something funny with Sierra or someone else.
I gave a hard swallow. Had he?
Sometimes, I was so sure it was all innocent. He could've spent the night almost anywhere – and not necessarily a hotel. Maybe he'd slept under the open stars. Or in a canoe on the water. Or on a hammock strung between two trees.
Hey, anything was possible, right?
But then I recalled him threatening his friend to keep him quiet.
In my own mind, I could still hear what he'd said. I swear to God, if you say anything about me not coming home last night, I'm gonna toss you off the balcony.
If this wasn't a huge red flag, I didn't know what was. Nobody threatened anyone over a night in a canoe.
Finally, I heard myself sigh. There was only one way to find out.
And better now than later. Tomorrow was Wednesday. The shop would be closed, which meant that Griff and I would be spending the day apart unless we resolved this one way or another.
Someone needed to step up, and apparently that someone was me.
Before I could stop to overthink it, I flicked off the OPEN sign and made my way to the front door. I twisted the lock and killed the lights.
And then, I turned toward the back room, squared my shoulders, and began marching. I pushed my way through the connecting door, took a deep breath, and just said it. "We need to talk."