Page 38 of Giving Grace

“Uhhh…” He looks down like he’s just as lost as I am. “It is a large, double mocha latte, no whip and three vanilla bean scones.”

Because it’s my order exactly and because I have no idea how he would know that, I sit here and stare at him some more, trying to piece it all together. “Why?” I shake my head in confusion. “I mean how—”

“I asked around and everyone said the coffee cart near admissions was the best on-campus and since you don’t seem like a woman who screws around with sub-par coffee, I figured that’s where you’d go.” He lifts a hand to reaches past the collar of his coat to rub a hand over the back of his neck. “From there, I took a shot and asked if there was a pretty blonde nursing student named Grace who stops by on Fridays and if there is, what her order was.” Dropping his hand, he gives me a sheepish grin. A real one. Nothing flat or odd about it. Seeing it, feeling it aimed right at me, takes my breath away. “The latte is a thank you—for the ride.” The grin on his face loses some of its shine, his mouth twisting into something more uncertain. “The scones are an apology for everything else.” When all I do is stare at him in response, the smile re-anchors itself on his face and he stands. “That’s it. That’s all I wanted. Just to say thank you and I’m sorry.” He lifts his hand in a half-hearted wave. “I’ll see you around, Jimmy,” he says tilting his head, an instant before he turns away from the bench and me.

“You can’t just leave.” I blurt it out, the words tumbling out of my mouth, fast and frantic, trying to stop him before he disappears on me again, and it works. Ryan stops in his tracks, but his back is still turned like he’s trying to decide if she should just keep walking. “I am made of questions, right now, Ryan O’Connell.”

When he turns around to look at me, he’s not smiling anymore because now it’s his turn to look at me like I’m seconds away from springing some sort of trap. “What do you want to know?”

I want to know if you still dream about me.

I want to know if you think about that night and wish things and gone differently.

Looking away from him so I don’t say it out loud, I pluck the pastry bag off the bench and unroll its top. “Well, for starters,” I say, reaching into the bag and pulling out a scone. “I’d like you to sit back down and share these scones with me.” I don’t have time for this. I’m supposed to pick my parents up from the airport in forty-five minutes. After that, I’m supposed to take my mom to Anton’s so she can try on the dress Cari had made for her for the wedding, and somewhere in between, I have to pick Molly up from Mary’s after school, feed her dinner, study for an hour and then get ready for my shift at Gilroy’s. But this is Ryan. He’s here and I know if I let him go again, I’ll regret it. “And then I’d like to know what you’re doing here.” Holding out the bag, I give it a little shake and wait.

Hold my breath.

Hope.

That’s what Ryan does to me.

He makes me hope.

He looks over his shoulder, at the sidewalk, teeming with students rushing from class to class, body tense likes he’s considering just bolting into the crowd to avoid me altogether. But then he looks back at me and he gives me that heart-stopping grin that makes me forget my own name.

“Okay.” He gives me a nod and leans in, close enough to reach into the bag I’m holding out to him, and pulls out a scone. Sitting back down on the bench next to me, he shrugs his shoulders before popping it into his mouth. “Shoot.”

Twenty-four

Ryan

I don’t really have time for this.

I texted Con for a pick-up right before Grace showed up so I don’t have more than a few minutes before he gets here. After that, I’ll have about thirty seconds before he starts blowing up my phone, asking me where the hell I am.

But I don’t care about that. Not right now, because this is Grace. She’s here and she’s smiling at me. Seems at least willing to consider the possibility of forgiving me for the giant mountain of fuck-ups I’ve put between us.

For that, I’d do just about anything.

“So…” She cocks her head at me before taking a drink of the latte I brought her. “What are you doing here?”

“I, uhhh…” I feel the back of my neck go hot and I reach up to rub at it. “I go to school here.” Saying it out loud makes me feel like a stalker. This is Boston for fuck’s sake. You can’t swing your dick without hitting a college or university. Between my GI bill and the millions in family money I have at my disposal, I could have my pick of them. Hell, I could’ve had Conner hack me into Harvard if I’d wanted to. But I chose Bay State. Grace’s school.

So, yeah.

I’m a stalker.

When I make my confession Grace lowers her coffee cup slowly to set it on the bench between us. “You go to school here?” She looks around like she doesn’t think we’re talking about the same here. “Here?” When I nod, she reaches into the bag for another scone but instead of eating it, she worries it between her fingers, crumbling it, bit by bit. “Since when?”

“Since fall semester started, so… a few weeks now.” I tell her. “I never was much good in school, even before getting my bell rung, so it’s just one class—English 101. We—I—want to make sure I can handle it before I really dive in—not really my style but Con’s pretty insistent that I take it slow.”

Brushing crumbs off her hands she gives me a nod. “So, just a toe?” she says but I get the feeling that’s not what she wants to ask. Not really.

“Yeah.” I crack a smile over her analogy because that’s exactly what it feels like. “Just a toe.” When she doesn’t say anything else or look up at me, I keep talking. “We is Con and me,” I offer even though she didn’t ask because I don’t want her to think it means something it doesn’t. “He’s been helpful. Annoyingly relentless, but helpful. I had my first big test today and he’s put all his free time into helping me prep for it.”

Her head comes up and realization spreads across her face. “Is that why he gave up Thursday nights behind the bar?”

I nod. “But I suspect it won’t be for long. As soon as I get a handle on things, he’ll be back—next question?”

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