Page 57 of Mess With Me

I swear he laughs under his breath.

“What would a different plan look like?”

Griffin grimaces. “How does Siberia sound?”

“That bad, huh?”

A buzz sounds, and Griffin pulls out his phone. He grumbles and shoves it back into his pocket.

“What is it?”

“Jude’s asking if I want pointers.”

I can’t help but laugh. It turns into hysterics, and even Griffin smiles, though his brow stays furrowed as he tries not to.

After a moment, I press the heels of my hands to my eyes, wiping away the tears. “Can I give you an answer tomorrow, Griffin?”

“We don’t need to decide until Sunday night. How about we just give you a normal weekend? Hang out in town or out at my place? There’s a swimming spot nearby.”

I nod, my eyes filling with fresh tears. Nothing’s ever sounded better.

CHAPTER15

Sasha

After breakfast, I demand Griffin let us spend the morning in Quince Valley. Sweetly, of course.

We need to get groceries, and almost more importantly, clothes. “I desperately need something new to wear,” I lament as we leave the grocery store. “I don’t think I’ve ever worn the same outfit two days in a row.”

Griffin looks down at his own clothes—a black T-shirt and khakis—and I remember Chester’s words about him wearing the same thing every day.

“You probably think I’m shallow, don’t you?”

He’s thoughtful as he loads items into the truck. “Why would I think that? I assume picking out clothes makes you feel the same way I do taking an engine apart.”

I laugh, but it’s refreshing that he doesn’t take what I love at face value. “Clothes can change a person’s whole self-image,” I say, thinking of my mom, who I emailed this morning to let know I was out of town for a bit but would check in soon. She hasn’t written back yet.

I shrug. “Maybe it was her desperate need to fit in when she made the shift to rich man’s wife, but whenever she put on something she liked, it was like the sun coming out after the rain. She was kind, for a little while.”

He watches me for a moment. “I’m sorry she wasn’t kind all the time.”

I shrug. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

I swallow. “Don’t get all serious on me, Griffin.”

“I don’t really know how not to be.”

“Liar.”

He smirks, and somehow that’s better than the biggest smile.

“Can we walk? I want you to show me around town.”

Griffin holds a hand out in an “after you” gesture.

We head out on foot toward a boutique Griff says will have the closest stock of the kinds of clothes I like wearing. This I’m curious about seeing. How closely has he been observing my outfits?

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