Chapter 13 Grumpy X Sunshine
Grumpy X Sunshine
I’m surprised the High Elves aren’t here already. The jocks are, of course. They’re intimidatingly big this close up, towering over everyone else with ease. The cameraman behind them has to stand on a chair to film over their shoulders. They nod down at us when we join the circle.
Directly across from them are the Cowboys.
The man grins. “Howdy,” he says, Southern accent slow and rich like molasses.
If that’s not a word he uses daily, and I imagine it isn’t, he deserves a gold star for how well he understood the assignment that is Adventureverse branding.
Seconds into knowing him, and I already see a bright future for him in sweet tea sponsorships.
He gives me a firm handshake. “I’m Ashley. ”
The woman beside him tips her hat at us. Oh, they are so clever. Good for them. “I’m Marina. We’re barrel racers.”
“Noelle and Yumi,” Yumi says, pointing to each of us respectively. “We’re superfans.”
“And gays,” I add.
“Hey, us too!” one of the football players says, raising his enormous hand for a high five. I meet it, a little surprised at how soft it is. He looks like he could break my fingers. “Sports gays. I told Gabriel we wouldn’t be the only ones.”
Gabriel (apparently) nods. “Times, they are a-changing,” he says by way of agreement, his voice deep and gravelly.
“I’m KC, by the way,” the first jock says, reaching around Gabriel to offer us fist bumps.
The last couple in the circle has been quiet so far, but now the girl waves enthusiastically. Her delicate glasses bite into her full cheeks as she smiles at us. “I’m Morgan! This is Matt. I’m not sure what we are.”
“Grumpy x sunshine,” Matt says gruffly.
“Ah, grumpy x sunshine, that’s right,” she says, tapping her palm against her forehead. “But for the record, I can get pretty grumpy, and I probably will. I don’t do well on less than nine hours of sleep. Matt knows. I’ve been a nightmare about it since we met.”
“How did you two meet?” Yumi asks, her gaze darting between them.
“Swing dancing!” Morgan gives a little shimmy. “Matt and I have competed in the same regional Lindy Hop circles since we were kids. He always placed way higher than I did, though.”
“Because your partner was trash,” Matt comments matter-of-factly, his jaw working. “And his footwork was sloppy. Couldn’t pick up his steps for shit.”
My eyebrows rise. I didn’t peg them as the fighting couple of the season.
But Morgan just shakes her head, closes her eyes, and surprises me by agreeing.
“He was trash. He once told me—can you believe this?” Her eyes fly open, and she scans each of us in turn to make sure we’re listening.
“He said I was too heavy to do tricks, and that was why we never did well.”
I inhale sharply, the pain of weight and womanhood visceral, even though I’ve always fit into straight sizes.
And then there’s the echo: feeling guilty because I noticed her body, feeling guilty about feeling guilty because bodies aren’t shameful, feeling guilty about feeling guilty that I felt guilty, et cetera, until I die.
“And that’s bullshit,” Matt spits, interrupting my pity party.
“Because the follow holds most of their weight if the lead knows what they’re doing and puts in the work to find the right moves for their partner.
Obviously, I can’t hold Morgan above my head and spin her, and that’s why we don’t fucking do that. ”
The jocks’ mouths contort in synchronized distaste.
Ashley wraps an arm around Marina and pulls her close. “Trash,” he concurs as Marina gives Morgan a sympathetic look.
“So, when Matt’s partner retired, he asked if I wanted to dance with him,” Morgan finishes, adorably dreamy gaze turned on Matt’s frowning face. “And now we win comps all the time.”
“Hell yeah we do,” Matt says with a sharp, angry nod.
And I think I almost see it, the endearing part of him. The opposites-attract energy that made the producers cast them.
But then Morgan says, “Can we show them the end of what we did at the pro showcase?”
Instead of responding, Matt shrugs off his pack, helps Morgan remove hers, offers her his hand, and transforms into a different person.
The worry lines on his face melt away as he leads her to the empty area in front of the check-in desk. By the time they’ve posed, feet turned out, and Matt begins humming a tune I vaguely recognize from amusement park commercials, he’s grinning.
And I think I see it then, too. More. The love she pulls out of him. His animated expressions, the way they move perfectly in sync, the confidence with which he meets our eyes like we’re a panel of judges.
Yumi lets out a whoop when Matt spins Morgan out, and he fucking winks at her before his eyes settle back on Morgan. He draws his partner in close, and they fly across the shiny tile, avoiding the crowd they’ve involuntarily attracted.
Without breaking his rhythm for a second, Matt easily flips Morgan over his shoulder, spinning to catch her hands the moment she lands and launching right back into a bouncy shuffle that she mirrors.
It’s mesmerizing. The moment it’s over, I want to watch it on repeat.
They bow to the clapping crowd of strangers as it disperses, Matt looking over at Morgan, pride shining in his eyes.
He twirls her one last time, bending down to give her a kiss on the forehead.
When he looks up the scowl is back, like we’re all Morgan’s shitty ex-partner and he just proved us wrong in the most badass way.
That’s when I really see it. The love is the grumpiness. Morgan and Matt both wear their hearts on their sleeves. It’s just that Morgan’s is a friendship bracelet and Matt’s is a smartwatch. And I wasn’t looking for a watch. I was looking for a bracelet.
As I reflect on this shift in worldview, I notice Matt and Morgan’s cameraperson filming them intently, even though they aren’t doing anything.
Their connection is so obvious, it practically radiates off them.
I scan the other two couples, finding Ashley behind Marina with his arms wrapped around her, and KC and Gabriel chatting softly with their heads bent together.
But me and Yumi? We stand a foot apart, not talking. Not even interacting. We aren’t in love. And it’s clear that we aren’t in love. We need to change that.