Page 28 of Anatomy of a Meet Cute
Shit. Grant was standing next to her. There went her perfect night. Maybe she’d still have the wine ...
“Hey, Grant.” Sam finally looked up from the door handle. Compelling herself to smile took superhuman strength, and if she was honest, she was shocked she had it in her after tonight’s disappointment. “What’s up?”
“You left so fast.” Grant laughed as he ran his hand over the back of his hair, the sweat making the ends of it stick together. “I wanted to talk to you about the program.”
“Uh-huh,” Sam said, feeling her smile go rigid.
Grant must have sensed her trepidation, and his own smile faltered in response. She watched as he stood up a fraction of an inch straighter, as if the act alone would make whatever it was he was trying to do less awkward. “You seriously want to start the doula thing?” Sam opened her mouth to correct him, but Grant caught himself. “Program. The birthing program?”
“Yup. That’s why I got funding for it.” Sam dropped the smile in favor of something closer to a dubious baring of teeth.
“Of course. That is why you found funding. And who wouldn’t find funding? ’Cause it’s a good idea.” He said the last sentence more to the lines delineating the parking spaces than to her. His voice sounded stretched, as if he had run out of helium to talk with.
What was happening here? It didn’t seem like he was making fun of her. Whatever this rambling was, it seemed sincere. Was Grant nervous? For the life of her, Sam couldn’t imagine why. It wasn’t like he had just lost a program adviser betting on a basketball game, then run from the gym so no one would see him sob over it in public.
“Right. So I was—man, it’s cold out here. Aren’t you cold?” He gestured at her with his free hand, before wrapping it around his biceps, as if giving himself a hug. “No, you’re probably not. You’re from a cold place.” Sam felt her eyebrow tick up, despite her best efforts to schoolher expression. Where was he going with this discussion of the weather? Grant was succinct. His wordy meandering made no sense, and she was getting colder. Not that she would admit it, being from Ohio and all.
Grant’s eyes seemed to follow the trail of his words toward the moon, as if its glow somehow held his train of thought. Giving himself a shake, he said, “Let me start again.”
“Yes.” Sam nodded.
“I’m struggling here.”
“I can see that,” Sam said, forgetting to hold her tongue.
Grant’s yelp of laughter echoed around the parking lot, drawing looks from a knot of players as they walked to their cars. “Leave it to you to point out my faults when I am trying to admit I was wrong. Wow, my sister is right. I am not great at apologies.”
“Oh.” Sam could feel the surprise lines wrinkling her forehead. She opened her mouth to say something, but Grant was faster.
“Or I wasn’t really wrong. I was more flippant,” Grant said, tilting his head as if pondering the precise usage of his vocabulary.
“I’m confused. What are you apologizing for?”
“For betting on being the senior adviser of your program. Obviously, that is a serious job, and you take it as such. And I should have treated it with the seriousness it was due, but I didn’t. And now I messed that up ...,” Grant said, bringing his meandering apology to an end with a shrug. “I guess what I am trying to say is that ... if you still need an adviser, I’d be willing to do it ... or whatever you need.”
“I ...” Roughly sixty emotions ran through Sam. Irritation. Anger. And relief. Sam wanted to block that emotion out. She wanted to stay angry. Really, what kind of jerk left someone guessing about their research? Then again, she didn’t want to have to deal with Dr.Schwartz. She wanted Grant to be the program’s senior adviser. He was open to the idea, and at least he had a sense of humor, sometimes. Not that she would admit that to him after what he’d just put her through.
“I see. Just to be clear—you put me through the workout from hell so that you could change your mind and help out after all?”
Grant’s expression relaxed into his easy smile, its wattage rivaling the moon overhead. “You have to admit that was a really good game.”
“I don’t have to admit that. You could have just said yes.” Sam shook her head. “My thighs will be screaming for a week.”
“Fine. Pretend you don’t like a side of healthy competition to go with your physical activity.” Grant smirked, then let his expression relax into something more serious, the angles of his cheekbones highlighted by the moon’s glow. “So would you still like help?”
“You know there is no extra money in your paycheck for this, right?” Sam asked, placing a hand on her hip. Whatever had brought about this change of heart, she didn’t trust it.
“I know. I genuinely think it is a good idea. Honestly, I’m flattered you even asked.”
Against her better judgment, Sam found herself softening. Maybe it was the gentle glow of the moon, but there was something oddly endearing about the way he’d stammered through his apology. As if he was genuinely worried she might not accept it. The fact that he was nervous talking to her was almost adorable.
Almost. Sam gave herself a shake, grateful that the cold provided her with a way to clear her wandering thoughts. His being adorable was neither here nor there. Really, even if his apology hadn’t felt sincere, what choice did she have? No one else was going to do this.
Exhaling like a put-upon horse, Sam said, “Fine. If you still want to be the senior adviser, I’d be delighted to have you, but—” Sam held up a hand as Grant’s smile spread, his features softening as his shoulders melted away from his ears. “No more funny business. And no more basketball games. Just tell me what you think and what you want. I don’t have time to keep playing guessing games with you.”
“I’m mysterious and I like it that way.” Grant smirked and Sam rolled her eyes. Straightening up, he nodded. “Deal.”
“Seriously. My thighs cannot take that level of defense every time we have to make a decision about intake forms or something.”
