Page 71 of Pucking Matt
Suddenly, he's behind me, his arm around my neck in a loose hold. His body presses against my back, and I'm hit with the scent of his cologne. Has he always been this solid?
"Then we tumble down the stairs," he says, releasing me as quickly as he'd grabbed me.
I stand there, frozen, broom still in hand. He’s touching me, and to my defense, I’m well aware we were dancing the other night. But I thought that was a one-off. I didn’t expect it to bleed into work. It’s daylight with zero alcohol involved. We’re both wearing Grind Stone aprons for crying out loud and he’s still pressing his body against mine.
"What?" he teases. "Like you didn't Superman me down the stairs."
I tear my eyes away from his playful gaze, mumbling, "I sure did do that, didn't I?"
He laughs, patting my shoulder. "It's all good." His hand moves to my other shoulder, gently guiding me behind the counter. He takes the broom, leaning it against the wall where it definitely doesn't belong. "This is still your fun job, right?"
I nod, eyeing him suspiciously. What's he playing at?
"Yeah, and I hope it stays that way," I say cautiously.
"Cool, cool. So, uh, there's this thing..." he starts, suddenly looking nervous. "It's kind of dumb, but I was wondering if you'd want to go with me. It's pretty stupid." He stops abruptly, his expression turning serious.
I side-eye him. "What?"
"It's fine if you're busy," he backtracks. "But you do owe me."
I scoff. "I owe you?"
His eyes flicker to my mouth, then back to my eyes. "Yeah," he says softly. "For that Superman move down the stairs."
My mind races. What kind of 'thing' is he talking about? Dinner? No way. A hockey game? Another party? And since when do I owe him anything?
The bell above the door chimes, breaking the tension.
"Finally," I mutter, turning with a customer service smile. "Welcome to the Grind Stone."
As the customer smiles back at me, I remember why I applied here. It’s silly, really. But it’s an easy, light-hearted job. Now that things are smooth with Matt, I can appreciate it again. The customer studies the menu, so I glance back at Matt. "Yeah, this is still very much my fun job."
"You can thank me later," he says with a wink.
I feel my cheeks warm as I turn back to the customer. "I can take your order whenever you're ready."
We fall into our routine – Matt making the sandwich while I prepare the drinks and gather condiments. He places the sandwich in the bag, hands it to the customer, then turns his attention back to me.
"So?" he prompts, eyebrows raised expectantly.
I roll my eyes, not wanting to give him an answer to his invitation. "So, is it true you made a teacher cry in history class, lost your virginity inside the skating rink, and never won a fight against Grey?"
He chuckles, running a hand through his hair. "Is that what they said about me in high school?"
I nod, waiting for his response. He doesn’t look like he’s in high school anymore, and I’m thankful for that.
"Yes, I made Miss Hershland cry. I was being an ass," he admits with a smirk. "Lost my virginity in a bedroom but did hook up with someone on the ice. As for never winning against Grey? Please. Why do you think he'd attack me on the ice? Public space, people to break it up." He shrugs, his cocky attitude on full display. "What about you? Did you really date that snob, sneak your brother out of rehab, and still get straight A's despite everything?"
A family of five walks in, interrupting our trip down memory lane. "Welcome to the Grind Stone," we say in unison.
I glance at Matt before turning to the customers. "Order whenever you're ready."
We're busy for a while, each kid ordering a different sandwich. We make sandwiches side by side, falling into an easy rhythm. When the sandwiches are made, they eat, filling the cafe with noise. And I can't help but feel a twinge of envy as I watch the family with their funny banter. It's a reminder of the normal family life I've always wanted for myself and would never have.
As I watch the family laugh at each other’s jokes, a familiar ache settles in my chest. Maybe it’s all this high school talk, but it brings me back to my least favorite days. It's a feeling I've known since childhood - this longing for normalcy, for the kind of family where arguments are about who gets the last pickle, not about bail money or drugs. I find myself imagining what it would be like to have grown up in a home filled with warmth instead of chaos, with parents who showed up for school events instead of court dates. The noise of the kids squabbling over napkins fades into the background as I picture myself at their table, just another face in a happy family photo. But then I catch Matt watching me, his expression unreadable, and I'm snapped back to reality.
"So, is it true?" Matt asks, pulling me back from my thoughts.
