Page 38 of Anatomy of a Meet Cute
Grant snorted. “Are you calling me stubborn?”
“Yes. And a snob.”
“What happened to thank-you Sam? I liked her.”
Sam was opening her mouth to say something as Grant made a right when a sign on a gray building with stained glass windows and friendly-looking planter boxes caught her eye.
HOST YOUR PARTY HERE
“Hey, do you know that place?” Sam asked, changing subjects abruptly enough that Grant did a double take at her before following her finger to where she was pointing.
“The Bishop? Yes.”
“It’s called the Bishop. That feels on the nose.”
“It makes sense for the clientele.” Grant shrugged. “Why?”
“My mom is determined to throw a reunion party in San Francisco. On October twenty-second, in fact. It’s mostly for friends that my parents made when my dad was stationed in the Bay Area like twenty-five years ago. But because it’s my mom, she wants me to plan it. Anyway, is the Bishop a good spot?”
“Meh. It’s fine. A favorite for the kind of tech bro who wears sneakers made of supposedly thermodynamic plastics and is super into optimizing his diet based on whatever that six-hour-workday guy says.”
“That is an extremely specific and deeply unpleasant-sounding archetype of a person,” Sam laughed. “I’m guessing you are not a fan of him?”
“Just wait until you end up dealing with one when the ER is understaffed. At least one of those guys comes in there a day, typically with a shattered wrist from ignoring traffic signs on their motorized skateboard.”
“Noted. So much for the Bishop. I guess it’s back to scouring the internet,” Sam sighed, watching out the window as Grant made a right turn onto a street so steep the incline forced her to lean back into the plush car seats.
It took Sam a moment to notice the silence between them. It was unexpected ... and comfortable. She should not feel so comfortable around someone who was effectively judging her career choices and medical knowledge every day. The thought shook Sam, and she felt her mind race to find a topic of conversation to try to fill the silence.
Sam was taking a deep breath, determined to say something banal about the big hills, when Grant spoke. “You know, if you are looking for venues, I could show you a couple that I like.” She looked over at Grant to find him watching her out of the corner of his eye. Haltingly, he added, “You know. Just so you can check something off your list and focus on opening the center.”
“Oh ... I—”
Catching her eye, he turned his attention back to the road, focusing intently on the stop sign near her house. “That is, if you want help.”
“I would ...” The offer caught Sam off guard, and she was surprised at the answer that rolled off her tongue. “... like that.”
“Okay. I’ll come up with some ideas,” Grant said, sounding almost as surprised by her answer as they pulled up to the front of her apartment.
An idea hit Sam a minute too late, and she felt her face begin to flush.
“Are you asking me out?” Sam blurted, feeling the heat in her cheeks come to a boil as soon as the words came out of her mouth. She hadn’t intended this to be a date or anything, but then the way it wasphrased left some room for ambiguity. Not that there was much that she could do about it if it was a date—it wasn’t like the idea of dating Grant was so terrible that she’d throw herself from a moving vehicle to avoid it or anything. And help plus a date wouldn’t be so bad, but still, a little clarity here would be good.
“Do you want to be asked out?” Grant asked, his expression giving away almost nothing as he eyed her before returning his attention to the road, where exactly no cars were driving toward them.
How was she supposed to answer that? If he wasn’t asking her out and she said yes, then she’d sound like she’d been picturing him in the shower and biding her time until she could trap him into some kind of good-guy sneaky date. If she said no, was she closing a door to something? Did she even want that door open?
“Um.” Better to just stay in the middle until he gave her a hint. Before she could think too hard about her body’s reaction, she reached for the car door and her seat belt simultaneously, tangling herself up in her limbs as she stammered, “I’ll see you at work, and we can talk about all this.”
“Sure,” Grant said, amusement tingeing his voice as he watched her twist around in her seat.
“Great,” she said. The inward cringe at her own inability to articulate her thoughts was only cut short when she finally managed to escape the hostage situation that was his passenger seat. Pushing the door open and jumping out, she said, “Thanks for the ride,” before closing the door just as quickly. With a short, jerky wave, she turned and began speed walking up the steep driveway to her front door as she fumbled around her bag for her keys.
Unlocking the front door, Sam forced herself to take deep, calming breaths before looking over her shoulder. Grant was still there, apparently making sure she made it inside despite the fact that it was broad daylight. She smiled, then closed the door.
Walking just far enough down the hallway that she could watch Grant pull away, Sam leaned against the cool wall to think. She wasn’t sure what was going on or what he was thinking, but Sam was sure of two things. Grant Gao was not who she thought he was. And she liked that about him a little too much.
“How’d it go?” Jehan’s voice floated through the hallway as soon as Sam closed the apartment door.
