Chapter 19
The bell above the door chimes as Matt pushes it open, a paper cup held carefully in his hands. There's a new lightness in his eyes as he looks at me, one I'm not quite used to seeing. He steps outside, releasing the trapped wasp onto the curb.
"There," he says as the insect takes flight, a small smile playing on his lips.
"Thank you," I murmur, relieved that we won't have to share our shift with an angry, stinging coworker.
As we head back into the Grind Stone, my mind is racing.
The way Matt's looking at me, the almost-touch from earlier.
.. Is he flirting with me? Or am I reading too much into this?
I give my head a little shake, trying to clear it.
If he's messing with me, two can play at that game. Maybe today will be fun after all.
"So," I say as we make our way behind the counter, "there are a few tasks I'm supposed to pass along to you."
"Okay," he replies, his tone casual.
I nod towards the hallway, and Matt takes the lead since the store is empty of customers.
"See those cups?" I ask, gesturing to a stack on the shelf.
He nods, eyeing them curiously.
"They need to be facing the same way. Like this." I demonstrate, aligning a few cups so the designs match perfectly. "Got it?"
Matt gives the cups a skeptical look, but before he can comment, I press on.
"That's not all. Everything needs to face the same way.
These boxes, the utensils inside - all lined up.
Boss says it should only take an hour tops.
I'll handle the front while you organize back here.
" I grab some metal tins. "These need dusting and organizing too. "
He looks around the closet, disbelief etched on his face. "The containers too?"
"Absolutely. Go wild."
I turn to leave, but his voice stops me. "You're not helping?"
I glance back, fighting a smile. "Can't. I've got to check the buns for their expiration date."
Instead of checking the buns, I busy myself cleaning tables and chairs, and restocking the customer station. It's a slow day, not a customer in sight.
I'm pretending to inspect the bread when Matt rounds the corner. "You're messing with me, aren't you?"
"No idea what you're talking about," I say, keeping my face neutral.
He grins, leaning against the counter. "What, you don't want to be near me? Is that it?"
I can't help but laugh. "Boss's orders. Now get back to work."
"Are you the boss?" he asks, eyebrow raised.
I stop laughing, shooting him a glare.
His smile widens. "Knew it. I did the cups and containers, but that's it. Since it's dead in here, where's the window scraper?"
"You mean the razor blade?"
"Yeah," he nods. "Got a ridiculous sticker to remove from my truck."
I smirk. "Aw, I was so looking forward to honking at you today."
"Well, in that case, maybe I'll keep it on for one more day. You know, for your honking pleasure."
My smile drops. "Top shelf, all the way to the right."
He grins, that mischievous glint back in his eyes. "I think I'll leave it for just one more day."
"Matthew," I say, my tone a warning.
"Amby," he counters, grinning. His expression shifts, becoming more serious. "So, where is your brother these days?"
I grab the broom, arching an eyebrow. "My brother? What, you need the hookup or something?"
He snorts. "No, nothing like that. The talk from the other night had me thinking about your family, and I’m just wondering how they’re doing."
I shrug, questioning his sudden interest. "Well, like I told you the other night, I don't talk to them much. No idea what my brother's up to. What about your stepbrother? You two still play hockey together, right?"
Matt leans back, running a hand through his hair, his gaze distant. "We're not stepbrothers anymore."
I focus on sweeping, not wanting to meet his eyes.
"Our parents divorced a while back," he continues. "Grey's on my team because of my mom. Those stepbrother days are long gone though."
I frown, thinking about the divorce paperwork I've been handling recently. The timeline doesn't add up. Looks like his mom's keeping secrets.
"I remember all the fights you two used to get into in high school," I say, trying to keep my tone light.
He chuckles, a hint of bitterness in his voice. "Yeah. It didn't stop there."
"So, you do believe in violence," I tease, attempting to make light of our complicated history and of what Michelle did the other night. If we can't joke about it, how can we move forward?
"Hey, a few years back, you thought so too." He pushes off the counter, mimicking boxing moves as he approaches me. "What was it you did to me again?"
Suddenly, he's behind me, his arm around my neck in a loose hold. His body presses against my back, and I'm hit with the scent of his cologne. Has he always been this solid?
"Then we tumble down the stairs," he says, releasing me as quickly as he'd grabbed me.
I stand there, frozen, broom still in hand.
He’s touching me, and to my defense, I’m well aware we were dancing the other night.
But I thought that was a one-off. I didn’t expect it to bleed into work.
It’s daylight with zero alcohol involved.
We’re both wearing Grind Stone aprons for crying out loud and he’s still pressing his body against mine.
"What?" he teases. "Like you didn't Superman me down the stairs."
I tear my eyes away from his playful gaze, mumbling, "I sure did do that, didn't I?"
He laughs, patting my shoulder. "It's all good." His hand moves to my other shoulder, gently guiding me behind the counter. He takes the broom, leaning it against the wall where it definitely doesn't belong. "This is still your fun job, right?"
I nod, eyeing him suspiciously. What's he playing at?
"Yeah, and I hope it stays that way," I say cautiously.
"Cool, cool. So, uh, there's this thing..." he starts, suddenly looking nervous. "It's kind of dumb, but I was wondering if you'd want to go with me. It's pretty stupid." He stops abruptly, his expression turning serious.
I side-eye him. "What?"
"It's fine if you're busy," he backtracks. "But you do owe me."
I scoff. "I owe you?"
His eyes flicker to my mouth, then back to my eyes. "Yeah," he says softly. "For that Superman move down the stairs."
My mind races. What kind of 'thing' is he talking about? Dinner? No way. A hockey game? Another party? And since when do I owe him anything?
The bell above the door chimes, breaking the tension.
"Finally," I mutter, turning with a customer service smile. "Welcome to the Grind Stone."
As the customer smiles back at me, I remember why I applied here. It’s silly, really. But it’s an easy, light-hearted job. Now that things are smooth with Matt, I can appreciate it again. The customer studies the menu, so I glance back at Matt. "Yeah, this is still very much my fun job."
"You can thank me later," he says with a wink.
I feel my cheeks warm as I turn back to the customer. "I can take your order whenever you're ready."
We fall into our routine – Matt making the sandwich while I prepare the drinks and gather condiments. He places the sandwich in the bag, hands it to the customer, then turns his attention back to me.
"So?" he prompts, eyebrows raised expectantly.
I roll my eyes, not wanting to give him an answer to his invitation. "So, is it true you made a teacher cry in history class, lost your virginity inside the skating rink, and never won a fight against Grey?"
He chuckles, running a hand through his hair. "Is that what they said about me in high school?"
I nod, waiting for his response. He doesn’t look like he’s in high school anymore, and I’m thankful for that.
"Yes, I made Miss Hershland cry. I was being an ass," he admits with a smirk.
"Lost my virginity in a bedroom but did hook up with someone on the ice.
As for never winning against Grey? Please.
Why do you think he'd attack me on the ice?
Public space, people to break it up." He shrugs, his cocky attitude on full display.
"What about you? Did you really date that snob, sneak your brother out of rehab, and still get straight A's despite everything? "
A family of five walks in, interrupting our trip down memory lane. "Welcome to the Grind Stone," we say in unison.
I glance at Matt before turning to the customers. "Order whenever you're ready."
We're busy for a while, each kid ordering a different sandwich.
We make sandwiches side by side, falling into an easy rhythm.
When the sandwiches are made, they eat, filling the cafe with noise.
And I can't help but feel a twinge of envy as I watch the family with their funny banter.
It's a reminder of the normal family life I've always wanted for myself and would never have.
As I watch the family laugh at each other’s jokes, a familiar ache settles in my chest. Maybe it’s all this high school talk, but it brings me back to my least favorite days.
It's a feeling I've known since childhood - this longing for normalcy, for the kind of family where arguments are about who gets the last pickle, not about bail money or drugs.
I find myself imagining what it would be like to have grown up in a home filled with warmth instead of chaos, with parents who showed up for school events instead of court dates.
The noise of the kids squabbling over napkins fades into the background as I picture myself at their table, just another face in a happy family photo.
But then I catch Matt watching me, his expression unreadable, and I'm snapped back to reality.
"So, is it true?" Matt asks, pulling me back from my thoughts.
I shrug. "It's true."
My phone buzzes in my pocket. It's Riley, finally responding to my text about Matt from yesterday. I ignore it for now.
"Do you remember Riley?" I ask, tucking my phone away.
"Riley? Yeah. You still friends with her?"
I nod. "Best friends. She just texted me."
"You know she actually threatened me once," he says, a hint of amusement in his voice.
My eyebrows shoot up. "What?" I can't help but smile.
He laughs. "Yeah, told me to leave you alone. Said I didn't understand shit, and if I did anything to you, she'd hurt me…bad."
I laugh, picturing Riley trying to intimidate high school Matt.
His eyes flick to my hands. "What do you tell her about me?"
"What?" I ask, incredulous. The audacity of this guy.
“Yeah,” he says, leaning in. “I know you probably told her about all of this from the last few weeks. What do you tell her?”
“That’s private.”
He clicks his tongue. “Ah, so you have told her. That’s vital information right there.”
I scoff. “You’re impossible. See, this is why I don’t like you. You’re keeping a mental list so you can hold it against me later.”
He snickers, letting out hot air, as his eyes meet mine. “I can think of other things to hold against you.”
Our eyes connect as I scowl.
“You walked into that one,” he teases.
And my heart gallops in my chest. I lean in closer and whisper, “You better be careful there, Matthew.”
He smiles, his gaze softening. “Or what, Amber?”
I look between his eyes because the spark in them right now could set me on fire.
“Or what?” he asks again, daring to lean in further.
If I grabbed him by the balls, would he let me? Yeah, by that smirk, I think so.
"Excuse me, can I order some cookies?" a voice interrupts us.
I hurry to the register, grateful for the distraction and embarrassed about that heated moment in front of these customers. "Of course. How many would you like?"
After the customer pays, I give them their cookies and then they leave. Once they’re out the door, Matt holds out a cookie. "Want one? I could go for a few myself."
"Don't even start," I warn. "They're addicting."
He grins, still offering the cookie. "Then I'm definitely getting you started. I've never seen you addicted to anything…well, except for hating me."
I snatch the cookie, glaring at him as he laughs. "I'm not addicted to that."
"You’re just always trying to one-up me," he jokes. "But hey, I get it. I like to win too."
I throw a piece of cookie at him. “You are so arrogant.”
He shrugs, catching the cookie and eating it. “Or observant.”
"What's gotten into you today?" I ask, exasperated. "We should go back to how things were before."
He pauses, his expression turning serious. "Amber, I don't think I can ever go back to how things were before."
"What?" I ask. "You said it was fun trying to one-up each other."
He shakes his head. "Because now I know you. There's no undoing that."