Making Up (Shacking Up 4)

The next day it’s more of the same. More flowers, more gifts, and more apologies. I’m working an evening shift at STW that overlaps with Helix again. She’s just finished stocking the magazine section—she lost the rock-paper-scissors game—when the bell above the door chimes.

My mouth goes dry, and my palms dampen. Griffin is in the store, dressed in a pair of jeans and that band shirt from our first date. And he’s holding flowers and a box.

He glances from Helix to me. I look at Helix because I’m not sure I can make eye contact with him. Her eyes are wide. She leans in and whispers, “Is that him?”

“Yeah.”

“Holy shit, he’s hot.”

“I know.”

“Do you want to deal with him or do you want me to?”

“I’ll deal with him.”

“I’ll stay in the back, just in case?” she offers.

“Please and thanks.”

She pats me on the shoulder. “Good luck staying angry at that one.”

She disappears into the stockroom, and Griffin approaches the sales counter. From across the room he looks totally put together, but up close he looks . . . uneasy and like maybe he slept like crap last night, which would make two of us.

“I’m sorry.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell with the excessive number of gifts.” I’m being rude and sarcastic, but I’m also nervous and scared about my feelings for this guy. I think he might’ve been right about the whole it should be with someone special thing because now that’s what I want him to be.

He holds out the flowers. “Can we talk?”

I don’t make a move to take them. The bouquet has to be heavy based on the way the muscles in his forearms flex and strain. Also, there must be at least three dozen roses. “I’m working.” It’s not the best response, but it’s true. I’m overwhelmed and feeling kind of sensitive.

“What time do you get off?”

“I’m closing.”

He sets the flowers and the box of chocolates on the counter. “I can wait.”

I scrub a hand over my face. “Griffin.”

“Please, Cosy, I’m only asking for a few minutes. I feel awful about this whole thing.” He looks so distraught and tired.

I don’t want to feel bad for him, but I can see the conundrum. “Fine. You get three minutes, but not now. After work.”

“Okay.”

“And please stop sending me gifts. It’s bordering on stalkerish, and I have literally no more surface space in my house for flowers or vases, and I’m halfway to a sugar coma thanks to all the cookies and chocolate.”

A hint of a smile quirks up the corner of his deliciously full lips. I’m slapped on the vagina with memories of what he did with his mouth the last time we were together, before I found out about Nev. How has my life been turned upside down so quickly? His expression sobers when I don’t return his smile.

“No more gifts.” He gives me the Boy Scout salute.

“I’ll see you when my shift is over.”

* * *

The second I turn the OPEN sign off, Griffin appears at the door. It’s locked, so he stands there with his hands in his pockets, looking contrite and nervous.

I sent Helix home with the most recent flowers half an hour ago while I procrastinated with closing up, but I kept the chocolates because they’re Godiva and second only to orgasms. Griffin looks down at my purse, possibly noticing the absence of the giant bouquet of flowers. I cross my arms over my chest as if it’s going to somehow protect my heart. “Okay, I’m here, go ahead and talk.”

“Can I drive you home?”

“No.”

He looks around nervously. “Is your sister picking you up?”

“No.” Nev isn’t very good at being on time, so I don’t rely on her for things like rides.

“How are you getting home?”

“The bus.” God, this is uncomfortable. I don’t know what else to do, and I can’t seem to look at him directly, so I start walking across the lot, toward the bus stop down the street. I don’t see his pretty black car anywhere.

Griffin rushes to catch up. I don’t expect it when he jumps in front of me, so I stumble right into his solid chest. He smells good, which is not something I’d like to notice at the moment.

He grabs me by the shoulders, gently, thumbs rubbing over the bare skin next to my tank strap. Goose bumps flash down my arms and legs. I hate that such simple contact affects me in such a profound way. I also feel like I’m on the verge of tears.

“Please, Cosy. Let me drive you home. After that, I’ll leave if that’s what you want.”

Taking the bus at night sucks, which is the only reason I give in. It has nothing to do with the way his pleading tone makes my heart feel all scratched up. “Fine. You can drive me home.”