Chapter 13 #3
injury last night. My brain is a bit slow
this morning. But… I remember. ??
An emoji? Really, Tobin? She cringed at herself, but didn’t have time to linger in annoyance—those telltale little bubbles popped again as Grier responded.
Harrow elbowed her. “Breathe, Tobin. You won’t make it anywhere if you pass out every time you talk to her.”
“I’d like to revisit my previous comment: don’t you have somewhere else to be? Like, working? Or running? Or anything?” Tobin leaned away, trying to prevent Harrow from reading the texts. Harrow silently stood and entered the house, leaving Tobin to her texts.
GRIER—8:21 a.m.
Points awarded to House Maes.
Tobin stared out at the horizon, the water of Lake Aether glassy in the quiet morning. She loved the lake in all its moods, even during the tempests of missions she often faced—but mornings were her favorite.
Much like the orchard of her youth, Lake Aether had become a variable basin of emotion.
Her moods could meet the energy of the wind and waves, excite her, calm her, invigorate her, and cleanse her soul.
She could match her feelings to the elements around her—their fury or their peace—or surrender them to the abyss, carried into the depths by the synchronous dependability of the waves.
TOBIN—8:22 a.m.
I think you’re the one avoiding questions
now.
GRIER—8:33 a.m.
No. My answer is also my explanation. I
am/was swimming. Just finished.
That explains those gorgeous shoulders. Tobin was on the brink of losing focus, her mind eager to explore that very enticing redirect.
TOBIN—8:34 a.m.
I didn’t mean to disturb your workout.
GRIER—8:36 a.m.
I was almost done anyway. I felt the text
come in so I checked my watch while resting
before my cooldown.
TOBIN—8:37 a.m.
I think I’m honored?
GRIER—8:40 a.m.
Yes. Well… to say you were the reason I’m
here this morning is an understatement.
Answering your text seemed like the most
direct step toward resolution.
Tobin hesitated, unsure why Grier was assigning her responsibility for this morning’s workout, but found comfort in knowing she was on Grier’s mind at all.
Did Grier regret kissing her? Was Tobin’s expeditious retreat a final strike?
Or was she just as conflicted, seeking a physical outlet for her feelings?
Tobin hoped Grier approached swimming the way she approached cooking—and hedged her resolve in a straightforward response to her.
TOBIN—8:46 a.m.
I owe you an explanation.
GRIER—8:52 a.m.
You don’t owe me anything. But I’d accept an
explanation. And, judging by your first text, it
may involve food. Lucky for us, I happen to
love food.
Tobin didn’t hesitate. She knew she simply needed say what was on her mind.
TOBIN—8:53 a.m.
I’d like to cook for you.
TOBIN—8:54 a.m.
I like to cook. It’s… one of my things.
And I think we could both use the
opportunity to get to know each other,
without the runaway flirting.
GRIER—8:59 a.m.
Hmm. I agree to your terms.
Tobin’s shoulders eased from their anxious hold.
Her stomach flipped—first settling with the acceptance, then resuming its steady churning as the realization hit: she now had to explain herself.
She still had to accept that her carefully laid plans might be fraying along their reinforced seams. And she was the one steadily picking at them.
She’d lost the ability to formulate intentional conversation.
TOBIN—9:02 a.m.
When?
GRIER—9:03 a.m.
My sister is still in town through Tuesday. I
can’t take off any more work this week.
Saturday?
Saturday. A rudimentary plan formulated in her mind.
TOBIN—9:07 a.m.
Deal. It would be easiest to cook at my
place, if that’s not too forward. I can have
it ready before you arrive. Or, if you’d be
interested, you could come with me to
the farmer’s market to pick out the
ingredients, and then we can talk while I
prepare.
GRIER—9:11 a.m.
I don’t think you could possibly be too
forward at this point, Tobin.
GRIER—9:12 a.m.
That sounds great. I love the market. And I’m
intrigued by the prospect of watching you
cook.
Tobin couldn’t help but smile. She loved the market—and having Grier with her while they shopped, and later while she cooked…
well, it felt an awful lot like hope. The realization was as terrifying as it was exciting.
She needed to make sure she approached Saturday with the right mindset, and into wherever that might lead. Whatever this was with Grier.
TOBIN—9:13 a.m.
Great! Do you have any food allergies or aversions?
GRIER—9:15 a.m.
I’m rather adventurous.
TOBIN—9:16
Got it. 11 work for you? We can grab a
snack while we shop, and I’ll cook a late
lunch when we get to my place.
GRIER—9:16
That works.
Tobin felt a surge of satisfaction at the plan falling into place. But one thing still needed to be addressed. She knew their communication and interactions could easily be misconstrued, and she needed clarity before Saturday—they had to be on the same page.
TOBIN—9:20
Hey, Grier?
GRIER—9:20
Yes, Tobin?
TOBIN—9:20
This isn’t a date.
She waited, watching the read receipt appear immediately. The typing bubbles formed, then disappeared. Formed again, then disappeared again. She flipped her phone face-down, refusing to watch the indecision play out in real time.
GRIER—9:23
Okay.