Page 18 of Curveball: The Baby and the Grump

I scoff. “What do you mean, why? Why do you think? You’ve come to my house almost every single day these past few weeks, like your own life doesn’t even matter. I’m not even that nice to you. I’m not that nice to anyone. I don’t understand why you bother. I’m barely worth it.”

I kind of wish I hadn’t just said so much, but by the time I realize I’m doing it, it’s too late.

Still, it doesn’t put her off even when it should. “And so you got me flowers?” she says, grinning like she’s trying not to, her eyes flashing with a kind of light that makes me want to back out of doing this altogether.

I purse my lips tightly as I frown to prove that I disapprove of her happiness. “Yes. Yes, I did. You’re welcome.”

She looks down at the flowers and smiles, and I feel that really weird warm rush spread through me, the one she keeps giving me, where all my nerves tingle. Like I never want her to stop giving me attention and liking me.

I guess this must be the feeling of delight… or something.

“Right, come on,” I say, not wanting to linger in feelings anymore. “We have plans today.”

“We do?” She blinks up at me, her lips falling ever so slightly open in shock. Not that I’m paying attention to her lips.

“Yes. I made plans.”

“I thought we were going to go for a walk.” She folds her arms, challenging me, but I refuse to be drawn. I’ve decided this is going to be a surprise for her, so a surprise it is going to be.

“I’ve got better plans than that.”

“O-kay…” She draws out the word as if suspicious, narrowing her eyes at me. “I’ll trust you this time.”

“You can trust me every time.” I wince at how corny that sounds, and she laughs, a sound that’s musical to my ear.

Am I in too deep?

“I’ll drive,” I say, beckoning her to follow.

“You drive?” she asks, surprised, as she jumps to her feet. “I thought you would have had a chauffeur or something.”

“That’s what you’re for,” I say without thinking, then quickly correct myself by adding, “I can do some things for myself, you know.”

“All right, I’ll believe it. You’re sure your arm is up to it?”

She gestures to my sling, and I shoot her a poison look. I’m only wearing this thing because she’s still making me. “How many times do I have to say that I don’t really need this?”

“At least another hundred. So, where are we going?”

“Surprise. Come on.” I lead her through the house and into the garage, Freya pestering me for details the whole time. But I stand strong and silent. It is a surprise, and she will like it. After all, when was the last time someone took her out to a fancy restaurant?

I hesitate at the doorway for a second when we get into the garage, contemplating which car to use. I don’t want to use anything too flashy in case she thinks I’m even lamer than she already does.

I settle on one of my hatchbacks. We slide in, I start the engine, and the radio comes blaring through. As I scramble to turn down the volume, Freya raises an eyebrow at me. “Country?”

“What’s wrong with country music?” I say defensively.

“No, nothing. I just wouldn’t have thought you were the cowboy-boot type.” She giggles at that, and I press my lips together to try and stop myself from smiling too.

I haven’t wanted to smile this much, this often in years. But there’s something about Freya, about her relentless optimism, her generosity, the way she’s refusing to give up on me. It’s doing something strange to me. It’s making me into a nice person.

We hit the road, and I mutter to her, “We’ve got to take a quick detour first. To my mom’s.”

“I thought you didn’t speak to your family…” Freya says.

I can feel the questions bubbling under her words, but I choose not to answer any of them. “Yeah, well. We’re not all perfect. I’m taking her some flowers, that’s all. Just to say hi.”

“Okay, sure. Then where are we going?”

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