25 - Grayson
Grayson
I’ve spent all week pretending I’m not nervous about today. Despite that lie, I’m still here ten minutes early, staring at her apartment like I’m waiting for a playoff game instead of a date.
I told her this would be low-stakes, but it doesn’t feel low-stakes to me. I’m stressing the fuck out.
Talking her into the date was supposed to be the hard part, but I’d underestimated the way planning it would consume me. I’d originally planned for a nice dinner, but decided it wasn’t Avery enough.
Because apparently, at some point, I started knowing her well enough to know what she’d want out of a first date.
I’d googled date ideas, finding tourist traps, mini golf, bowling, each idea seeming worse than the previous. Eventually, I gave up.
Now, I’m sitting outside her place, with a basket in the backseat and only the faintest outlines of a date.
Just as I’m about to go up to her door, she pushes through it, and I forget how to breathe.
I’d told her to dress casually, but damn it if she doesn’t make dressing casually look so fucking good. Her jeans ride low on her hips, exposing a small strip of skin above them. Her crop top is blue, and it sits under an oversized jacket.
My eyes catch on the messy braid that is very clearly not messy at all when you actually look at it. She took time for this.
I don’t make it out of the car before she’s climbing in.
“I was going to come up and get you,” I say.
“You’ve been sitting out here for ten minutes. I was worried you’d gotten stuck.” She smirks at me.
I run my tongue across the front of my teeth, trying to hide my embarrassment as I pull onto the road.
God, she’s distracting. She’s just staring out the window, but focusing on the road is nearly impossible when she’s this close to me.
“You know you look really beautiful, right?” I ask.
Her lips tilt up. “I do. But it’s nice to hear it, too.”
The car grows silent, and panic starts to set in when I think about the fact that we might not actually have anything to talk about.
“How was your game yesterday?” My fingers tap against the wheel.
“We lost. First loss of the season. Coach is going to kick our ass tomorrow.”
“That sucks, but you guys have a lot of season left. Right?”
“We do.” She nods. “Meanwhile, you’re almost done, Mr. Playoff Bound.”
A slow warmth spreads up my chest knowing that she’s been paying attention to how my team is doing of her own volition.
“By the skin of our teeth. Having Nathan back for the past couple of games got us over the finish line. Hopefully, we can just keep it up throughout the playoffs.”
“You will.”
We fall into an easy rhythm after that. Small things. Season talk. Travel. The conversation doesn’t lull once as Boston slides past the windows in that quiet weekend-afternoon way where everything feels slower than it actually is.
It’s one of the first times that we’ve let each other be like this, actually talking instead of trying to deny whatever force keeps pushing us back together.
I’m aware of her beside me the entire time. Every small shift. Every glance out the window.
In what feels like no time at all, I turn into the parking area and kill the engine. I watch her reaction as she climbs out of the car, wondering if I picked the absolute worst date place ever.
We’re at the Boston Public Garden.
At first, she just sits there. I’m tempted to pretend it was a joke and throw her back in the car, driving to a restaurant like a normal person would’ve done in the first place.
“You brought me to a park,” she says finally.
“It’s not just a park,” I correct as I round the front of the car. “It’s a good park.”
She huffs a laugh and shakes her head, but when she turns toward me, her shoulders relax.
“Okay,” she says quietly. “This is… actually kind of nice.”
I join her on the sidewalk.
“Casual enough for you?” I ask.
She glances at me and then at the path ahead.
“Yeah,” she says. “Annoyingly so.”
And that’s how I know that ditching the fancy dinner and scheduled plan was exactly the right call.
It takes less than a mile of walking before I’m wondering where the hell this woman has been the past four months.
One second she’s ranting on about something ridiculous, and the next she’s wandering beside me through the park, hands shoved into her jacket pockets, content to let the silence settle between us.
The paths wind beneath towering trees, the late afternoon sun filtering through the branches and casting long shadows across the pavement as we make our way deeper through the garden.
We pass an old man trying to take a selfie while failing miserably, and it makes Avery stop immediately.
“Here, I can help.” She pulls the phone out of his hand as if they already know each other.
“My daughter wants proof that I’m out and about, but this damn camera won’t work.”
She smiles at him. “Sounds like she cares a lot about you.”
“Yeah, well, she’s quite the mother hen these days.”
“There are worse things.” She shrugs, holding the camera up. “Now, say cheese.”
I stand off to the side, watching Avery coax an actual smile out of him before handing back the phone. By the time we walk away, he’s laughing behind us.
“That was nice of you.”
“I am nice.”
I chuckle. “Maybe to most people, I’m just not usually there to see it.”
She scrunches her eyebrows. “Well, I am.”
“And apparently, you can talk to anyone. Quite the gift.”
“You’ll like my gift.” She bumps her shoulder into mine. “You’ll see.”
I want to tell her that I don’t need to wait to see, that I already see it. Her.
Because somewhere along the last few months, I stopped noticing how much space Avery takes up in a room and started noticing how empty places feel when she isn’t there.
Considering I’ve been trying to avoid jumping back into a relationship, I’d have been better off not noticing anything at all.
Before I realize it, we’ve circled nearly half the park, and the lake comes into view through the trees.
Avery notices it at the exact moment I do.
“No. Absolutely not.”
My mouth falls open as I feign ignorance. “I didn’t even say anything.”
“Yeah, but you were thinking it.” She pulls away from me and stops in her tracks.
“So, what if I was?” I shrug, grin widening at the look of horror on her face.
She shakes her head. “It’s embarrassing.”
“It’s a rite of passage.”
Ahead of us, the famous swan boats drift across the water, a line of tourists waiting for their turn. They’re objectively corny and ridiculous, which is exactly why we’re here.
Avery folds her arms. “I’m not riding a swan boat.”
“Why not?”
“Look at them.” She spins and points to the lake as if that answers the question.
I watch as someone waves to the ducks in the pond so hard that the whole boat starts rocking.
“Chaos. It’s a date. What’s more romantic than riding on a swan boat around a small pond while sitting shoulder to shoulder with strangers who stare at you?”
Her lips twitch, and I hold out my hand.
She stares at it, then up at me. For a moment, I think she might say no just because she enjoys being difficult. Instead, she rolls her eyes and grabs my hand.
“This is so stupid.”
The contact of her hand in mine sends a spark up my arm. I don’t think she’ll ever fully understand the effect she has on me. Hell, I don’t know that I’ll ever understand it either.
While we’re waiting in line, she’s still teasing me about it. “I can’t believe you planned this. You’re an itinerary person, aren’t you?”
“An itinerary person?”
“Yeah, you know a person with an itinerary.”
I look offended. “The horror.”
“I saw the picnic basket in the backseat, Grayson.”
“I checked the forecast and packed some dinner. That’s hardly an itinerary.”
Her eyes widen with delight. “I bet you even had a backup plan.”
I don’t answer immediately, and she keels over in laughter. The attendant waves us toward the loading platform before I can defend myself, and Avery skips ahead of me.
“Tell me the backup plan.”
“No.”
“Was it another park? Or a second picnic?”
“How many picnic baskets do you think I carry around?”
She makes a show of considering it. “At least two.”
“That’s it.” I point toward the boat. “Get on the giant swan.”
It rocks gently as we step aboard, and Avery trips ahead of me when she almost misses a step because of it.
My hands shoot out to her waist, steadying her.
My thumb and forefinger are pressed against the sliver of skin showing between her jeans and crop top, and that’s all it takes for my entire body to come alive.
“Thanks,” she says, flashing me a smug grin as if she knows exactly what road my mind started heading down.
I narrow my eyes. “Aren’t soccer players supposed to be good on their feet?”
She swats at me as we slide into our chairs, waiting for everyone else to get on. A few pieces of hair have escaped from her braid, and I watch as she tucks them behind her ear.
Then she catches me looking.
“Again?”
I pretend to cough.
She laughs. “You keep staring at me.”
“You keep existing.”
“That’s your defense?”
“It’s a pretty fucking solid defense, Chaos.”
She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks turn a cute shade of pink. “You’ve gotten weirder.”
I go to deny it, but come up empty.
When we first met, I spent so much energy trying to keep everything neat and controlled around her the same way I do with the rest of my life. Every time she deliberately pushed my buttons, I stayed patient.
Now, she’s getting the unfiltered version that argues and teases her right back. It doesn’t even cross my mind to try to be perfect.
It feels strange.
I’ve always felt like I needed to earn the amazing people in my life, mapping each move I make to ensure it serves everyone around me, whether they ask me to or not, just to prove I deserve what I have.
But that’s the opposite of what Avery wants. She doesn’t want me to be polished or perfect. Every time I try to be either of those things around her, she looks right through it.
I don’t think I’ve ever had to work this hard to get close to someone. But even if after tonight, it all goes to shit, the freedom I feel when I’m with her already makes it worth it.
The swan boat ride is exactly as ridiculous as advertised.
It’s slow and creaks. They only recently opened for the season, so they’re also crowded, forcing us to cram ourselves in like sardines.
Which also means we’re stuck listening to every single person around us, including the college-age couple behind us sucking faces as if they’re all alone.
We exchange a glance as a way of making sure we’re both on the same page about it. And we are. Get a room.
Then the older couple next to us starts fighting about someone’s Aunt Nancy, their volume slowly increasing until I’m positive everyone on the boat can hear them. I owe them because Avery clutches my thigh in response, trying to hold her laughter back.
Eventually, she leans back and pats the swan’s face. “You poor, poor bird.”
“What are you doing?”
“He has to listen to this all day long for months, Grayson. Months.”
“He’s not real.” Then, before I can think better of it, “Instead of groping the fake swan for having to listen to this, maybe you should start groping the very real man who is being forced to endure it.”
Her cheeks flush. “You’re the one who made me come on this damn boat.”
I can’t resist teasing her. “I didn’t make you come, but I could if you’re discreet.”
Her eyes widen, darting side to side to make sure no one’s listening. I’m only joking, but the way she pulls her bottom lip into her mouth makes me wish I weren’t.
A little boy stands up and loudly tells the arguing couple, “My mommy said she wishes you two would shut up.”
My head whips to look at Avery, but her head flies to her hands, shoulders shaking. She peeks up at me, and then we’re both laughing uncontrollably. Every time we almost regain our composure, we look at each other and start back up again.
By the time the boat pulls back up to the shore, I’m already thinking about a second date.
“You were right, the swan boat was fun.” Avery stretches her arms over her head.
“I’m sorry, can you say that again?”
She glares at me. “Nope, I don’t want to risk throwing up.”
“Shit. Can’t have that. Quick, say something mean to me.”
She makes a face, and I can tell she’s genuinely trying to come up with something. I smirk when she stutters, her eyes full of panic.
“Shut up,” she finally says.
“Avery Holt has nothing bad to say about Grayson Shaw. I’ll never forget this day.”
She laughs, and I realize I could easily get addicted to being the one to pull that sound out of her.
Avery’s worried we’re incompatible because we want different things. And I’ve been wondering the same thing.
Every relationship I’ve ever had has been built around practicality. Schedules. Whether our lives fit together easily. If they didn’t, I moved on. I always thought eventually the right person would check the right boxes and I’d have the life and love I’ve always wanted.
But with Avery, everything feels different. When I’m with her, I don’t care if our schedules make things difficult. I don’t care if she’s being difficult. I’m not thinking ten years ahead or trying to figure out how this lines up with the life I’ve planned for myself.
I’m just thinking about another hour.
Another laugh.
Another glance.
And it might only be one date, but I might be willing to do whatever it takes to make sure I get another one.