Chapter 10
Cricket
The pizzeria is buzzing. Players, family, friends, and even the stodgy ole operations manager have shown up in support of all who participated.
And since I’m the OM, I’m picking up the tab for the pizzas.
I’ll decline any anointing of sainthood since the restaurant gave us a hell of a deal tonight.
They mentioned our dedication to helping both high schools with the fundraiser, which was nice.
Chatter and laughter ring through the air, and indecipherable music we can barely hear plays in the background.
After letting the last of my second beer slide down my throat, I lower the empty pint glass to the table and giggle.
It’s been too good a day. My mood can’t be ruined.
“Do you have money for the jukebox?” I ask my cousin.
She sets a large custom coin down on the table. “It takes tokens. Play something good.”
I push up from the table. “I’m going to walk off the pizza and beer I devoured,” I say, rubbing my stomach.
Although I know it won’t do much to make me feel less stuffed, I take the long way, lapping the place.
The red-and-white checkered tabletops are reminiscent of New York pizza joints.
The red glass candle holders add a romantic glow, although daylight still sneaks in the large front window.
A few velvet paintings hanging on the wall are just a classic touch to complete the vibe they seem to be going for.
It’s nothing like anything Texas and right out of the movies or an old Italian restaurant where I once dined when visiting Rome years ago.
I move to the outside of the center tables and follow a path along a row of booths to the jukebox.
They’re a charming touch, giving the place a vintage flair as if this joint has been around forever instead of officially opening its doors in the past few weeks.
Savvy said this is the second time she’s come out to Peachtree Pass in the past week to eat here.
I can see the appeal—low-key, casual dining, good food, and comfortable atmosphere.
I should bring Jacob. We don’t get out of Dover County as much as I like.
This would be a fun little dinner adventure for us.
I don’t recognize most of the songs on the playlist, so I drop my token into the slot and punch in a random code, taking a chance.
The Flamingos scroll across the small screen on the inside just as a song begins to play.
I lean my hands against the glass and smile when I hear the harmonizing of what sounds like a song from the 1950s, conjuring images of couples slow dancing.
What happened to romance? It seems to have disappeared from my life entirely unless it’s in a book I’m reading, or I catch a movie on TV.
I grin, remembering how much I used to eat up romance, even if it was only a crumb tossed my way.
If some guy I found attractive gave me attention, I was a goner.
Getting hurt too many times taught me a hard lesson.
Now, I can handle my own life and thrive in my independence.
I don’t need a man, but it would be nice to have a partner.
Savvy has a point. Being a single mom doesn’t mean I can’t be an individual with my own needs as well.
Or does it? I have no role model to know the difference.
“I’m starting to think you really are stalking me.
” The deep, dulcet tone wraps around my shoulders like his strong arms once did.
The heat between us electrifies when his arm brushes against mine.
Even his words aren’t so irritating after a few beers.
Damn him. When did I turn into a fan of his?
No way can I let him win. But is it so bad to find him attractive despite his usual demeanor? Sue me for noticing.
I couldn’t have timed his entrance better to snap me back to reality despite the creature comforts I briefly felt. Keeping my eyes on the pastel lights flashing across the top of the jukebox, I reply, “Or maybe it’s you stalking me since I was here first.”
“True.” He comes around, leaning against the side of the machine, acting way too comfortable, like we’re old friends. I’m not even allowing myself to look into those eyes of his. I know I’ll crumble under the intensity. “But it’s not so far-fetched to find me in my own family’s restaurant.”
I look around as if I missed the clues, but I don’t see the name Greene anywhere. Finally, I glance up at him. “It is?”
“It is, but they don’t feel the need to name everything after themselves. And you have nothing to worry about. They allow all sorts in here, even Dovers on occasion.” He only gives me a flash of that smirk I know gets him his way too often.
“Funny,” I remark, but fail to restrain a laugh.
I blame the beer and my lack of defenses in this condition.
Making sure my cousin does not bust me, I slide my gaze to Savvy, who’s oblivious to my current predicament as she yucks it up with her fiancé and some of the other players.
When I look back at Griffin, I show him the indifference he deserves despite that being a difficult emotion to hold on to when he’s standing so close that I can smell his aftershave.
My knees weaken, but I grip onto the jukebox to keep myself from falling for his lines any more than I already have.
Don’t get me started on his stupidly handsome face.
Why does he have to smell so good and then back it up with that incredible gift of attractiveness?
I huff, and then add, “So you’re here for the celebration? ”
“Is that what you want me to say?”
Shifting, I anchor my hand on my hip and tilt my head. “I can’t figure you out. It shouldn’t have to be this hard, Greene.”
There’s a pause as if he’s thinking about it. Then he replies, “You’re right. Weapons down, Dover?”
“At least for tonight, okay?” Dropping my hand to my side, I even manage a smile . . . a small one, but it’s better than the other extreme reactions he usually elicits from me.
He holds his hand out. “I’ll take that deal.”
I hesitate, knowing I’m going to feel some way about that kind of contact with him—hate or the opposite. I won’t know until I-I stop overthinking, take a deep breath, and slip my hand into his.
My first thought, it’s not hate . . .
My second, I’m in trouble.
I pull my hand back like the connection was flaming hot. Not a lie. I hate that I’m so conflicted when it comes to him. Does he not remember our time in Costa Rica? The pregnancy may have been a surprise parting gift, but I don’t regret any part of that night, especially not Jacob.
The more I get to know Griffin, the more I start to loosen the tight constraints on my inhibitions around him. That got me in trouble once before. It's probably best if I don’t repeat that mistake. I’m so conflicted when it comes to Griffin Greene. Why does he have to be such an anomaly?
Hot. Cold.
Friendly. Annoying.
Attracted to him physically. Turned off by his arrogance . . . kind of.
Safe to tell him about Jacob or a danger that he might take him away?
He pulls out so many emotions that I’m not sure what to think.
I want to slap him one minute and kiss him the next.
Surely, that can’t be normal. How does he affect me like this?
I just know I felt something with him during that one night we shared.
I should have acted on it instead of pretending it meant nothing and let him walk out the door.
“Can I buy you a beer?” he asks, his eyes staring into mine as if he doesn’t hear the ruckus over on the shuffleboard table as some players wager over the next shot. He blinks, not rushed, but like we have all the time in the world on our side.
But it’s the subtlety of him leaning closer, just barely noticed but fully caught by me, that sends a zip of electricity through me, reaching my toes, and has me replying, “Yes.”
“Come on.” He nods toward the bar at the back.
With a little pat to my hip, he passes, gliding between tables like he’s familiar with the place, a confidence that makes me tingly.
In turn, I dodge customers and revelry, ducking to avoid a serving tray full of drinks as a server passes between Griffin and me.
He’s in his element, and I have no clue what I just agreed to.
Reaching the bar, I slip onto a vacant stool and tap my fingers on the wooden bar top edged with a fresh brass trimming. He nods to the older gentleman behind the bar who smiles when he sees him. “Son, how’s it going?”
My chest tightens. Oh great. I wasn’t expecting to meet the family tonight . . . me, the mother of this man’s grandson. “I’m in Greene County, alright,” I whisper under my breath.
He chuckles, glancing over at me. The heat from his hand brushes across my lower back in comfort, sending every bump straight up on my body in a thrill zipping up my spine. He whispers, “You’re safe with me.”
God, I want to believe that, but am I? Is Jacob? My heart is softening but my brain won’t let me enjoy any of this. He asks, “What are you drinking, Little Chirp?”
“Is that what we’re going with? Little Chirp? That’s it?” My shoulders fall. “That’s my nickname?”
Spinning on the stool to face me, he rests an arm on the bar. “You don’t like it? I was growing partial to it.”
“You’ve used it once. Now twice. I didn’t even know if I’d see you again after today, and you’re already growing partial to a nickname for me?”
He glances at his dad. “Two lagers please.”
“Coming right up,” his dad replies before walking toward the taps.
“I didn’t want to keep him waiting. Lager work for you?”
“That works.”
He eyes me. “I’m starting to think you might just argue about everything. Do you ever take off your boss hat and relax?”
I’m ready to defend myself, but then why would I? He’s not wrong. I laugh humorlessly to myself, and confess, “No.”
That makes him laugh, his shoulders ease under the rattle of his chest, the sound deep but light with what sounds like genuine happiness.
The beers are set in front of us, and his dad disappears too quick for me to offer to pay.
Picking up one glass, Griffin taps his against mine. “Here’s to honesty.”
With my knee grazing against one of his, I drink, peeking up at him over the glass as I take the first cold sip. “I probably shouldn’t have said that. It’s not very . . . um. I don’t even know cool terms to use anymore. I’m not that exciting, and my life is less so.”
“I can’t imagine anything about you being boring.”
“You’re not so bad sometimes, Twenty-two.”
“Is that what you’re going with for me?” He laughs again. “I thought you were preferring Greene. You know, a Dover bossing around a Greene must give quite the high.” He takes another long pull of beer, but his gaze returns to me faster than it left.
“I can’t say it’s not been fun watching you discover who I am, but don’t you think we’re more than the roles we’ve been playing this week?”
“I’m hoping so.” There’s no waffle in his tone. Nope. He’s as steady and confident as can be. It’s as if he actually did set his weapons down, and I finally get to see the real him. Maybe I should do the same and stick to the agreement we made.
Whether I should or not, I toss caution to the wind, pick up my glass, and hold it between us. “Let’s toast.”
When he picks up his glass, he holds it close to mine. “What are we toasting to?”
I take a breath and leap of faith, trusting this is the real him, the man behind the player, and beneath the annoying layer of cockiness that gets under my skin. At least for tonight. “To new beginnings.”
He grins, and there’s no arrogance to be found, only knock-my-socks-off sincerity. “To a fresh start.”
When his glass clinks against mine, I don’t worry I’ve made a mistake. I drink in the moment I’m sharing with him, reminded of how good we once were together. “Cheers.”