Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Anderson’s busy with one of the guys at the bar. I wave but keep walking to my favorite booth in the back corner.
I pull my phone out of my purse and aimlessly scroll through Instagram, searching for a new nail or makeup look to try this weekend.
A text pops up.
Torch: You home this weekend?
My thumb hovers over the message, unsure of how I want to reply.
“Order up.” A thin crust cheesy pizza on a round metal pan slides onto the table in front of me. I glance up into Griff’s stoic eyes. He sets a plate and a roll of silverware on the table.
“Thanks.” I drop my gaze to the eight wide slices. “I can’t eat that whole thing by myself.”
He pulls out the chair on the other side of the table and settles his big frame into it. “I thought you’d never ask.”
“I didn’t…where’s Remy?”
“In the back.”
I slide out of the booth. “I’m going to grab a soda.” Why am I being so weird? We’ve split lots of pizzas together over the years. Taking a breath, I rest my hand on his shoulder. “What do you want?”
He places his hand over mine and stares at me like he’s reciting every beverage the bar carries, but finally says, “Whatever you’re having.”
I hurry behind the bar, pull a pitcher of root beer, grab two cups, and return to the table.
He nods at me to pick the first piece. Too nervous to eat now, I pull the one closest to me onto my plate.
Griff doesn’t seem to share my nerves. He grabs a slice, folds it in half and takes a big bite.
I pour the soda into our cups and hand him one.
“Thanks.” He takes a quick sip. “How was the rest of your week?”
“Good. Busy. You?” I take my fork and knife and cut the big slice in half, then take a small bite.
“Took a few shifts at Jerry’s. Felt good to get back to normal.”
Another place I’ll never be able to show my face again. It’d been hard enough when I went to see Jerry and apologized for the mess I made at his shop. “That’s good,” I mumble.
“I’m glad you unblocked me,” he says.
My gaze flits around the bar. Anywhere but at Griff.
“I…I’m sorry.” I should’ve done it sooner.
“I didn’t want to bug you if you were busy, so…” He takes a bite of pizza without finishing the thought.
“Do you want to go to a movie or something when we’re done?” He nods to the pizza.
Wait, what? “This, this isn’t a…date, Griff.”
He scowls and swipes a napkin off the table, quickly dabbing his lips. “I thought we…Molly, what’s stopping you now?”
My bottom lip quivers. Dammit, I don’t want to cry about this anymore. I’m still drowning in embarrassment that I did something so awful and foolish. “Look what I did. We haven’t even talked about it. You’ve never—”
He frowns in confusion. “Talked about what?”
“My car.” My voice breaks. “The car you gave me. Fixed up for me. I destroyed it because I was so mad at you for…”
Griff stares at me in wide-eyed disbelief, then pushes his chair back so fast, it scrapes against the old hardwood floor. He rounds the table and slides into the bench seat, forcing me to scoot over. Pulls me into his arms, sheltering me from the rest of the bar.
“Molly, I don’t give a fuck about a few car parts.” He blows out a relieved breath, or an amused one, it’s hard to tell. “Hell, you had access to my car too. I’m impressed you didn’t drop a match in her gas tank while you were at it.”
He’s definitely making fun of me. I tilt my head and glare. “Don’t give me any ideas.”
His smile slips. “You don’t know how sorry I am, Muffin.”
The familiar nickname brings a wave of longing and fondness swelling over me. I can’t afford to get caught in the undertow. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve—”
He pulls me against his chest, cutting off my apology. He nuzzles his cheek against my hair and kisses my temple. Tears well up and burn my eyes.
I bury my face in his detergent-scented T-shirt. Underneath I sense his familiar spruce and soapy scent and breathe in deep.
He holds me tight while tears silently roll down my cheeks, finally handing my pain over to him.
“Please, please don’t cry, baby,” he murmurs. “I’m not mad about the car. Never.” In between words, he kisses the top of my head and strokes my hair. “The only thing I was upset about is that you could’ve hurt yourself busting it up.”
He lifts one of my hands, inspecting it closely before brushing his lips over my knuckles. “All that glass. I was worried you got cut up. That’s it. Everything else is just stuff. It can be repaired or replaced. You’re all that matters.”