Page 68 of Resisting the Grump

She shook her head at the sidewalk a few feet ahead of us, like it was a sad suggestion.

“Just once.”

She glanced at me. “Once?”

I nodded. “Yeah. So I can explain.”

She sighed. “And if I agree, then what? You’ll go back to pretending you don’t live next door?”

“Is that what you want?”

She slowed to a stop a few doors down from the café to avoid putting on a show. “How am I supposed to believe anything you say?”

I shrugged. “You look at my stats and decide I deserve another at bat.”

She crossed her arms.

“I know I struck out a few times, Avery, but you have to admit there were a few home runs in there.”

“Stop walking me to work.”

“Eat food with me once,” I said. “For old times’ sake.”

She checked her watch and looked towards the café. “You made a fool out of me, Oliver.”

“That’s not true.”

She opened her mouth to object—

“I made a fool out of myself.”

She seemed satisfied with my admission and narrowed her eyes.

“You didn’t do anything foolish,” I said, “Until you found out I lived next door and immediately put an end to the fun we were having.”

Her eyes popped wide. “Don’t you dare put this on me!”

“The blame for this is the last thing I want to put on you.”

She searched my eyes until she sensed my meaning and blushed before taking a step back. “Don’t stalk me anymore or I’ll… be mad.”

I watched her spin on her heels and march to the café, wondering what I was supposed to make of her pathetic threat. “Mad” wasn’t a very descriptive word, after all. What if she was being sarcastic and trying to use reverse psychology?

By the time I reached the café, she’d already disappeared into the kitchen. The only people in the dining area were some female members of the muted sweater club, who were clustered around croissants and cappuccinos in the corner, and Grace, who was tending the register.

“Morning, Grace,” I said, glancing up at the colorful chalkboard.

“Morning,” she said politely, though I couldn’t help but notice she’d stopped calling me by name. “What can I get you?”

“The chalkboard looks great,” I said, admiring the curly script and carefully drawn cupcakes. “Do you do that yourself?”

“No. My lovely assistant does it.”

“Well, she’s done a fantastic job.”

“I’ll be sure to pass on your compliment.”

Damn. So she was really going to hide in the kitchen.

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