Page 9 of My Grumpy Valentine

“Your favorite customer is here,” Angela murmurs up against her propped-up hand.

At this point, I think everyone who works here recognizes Asher’s truck. They’re also happy to let me take a claim.

I’d have rushed out to grab his order if I were still on the clock. He would have ordered the same burger he had during his previous three visits. However, this time, he’s not here for food. He’s here to pick me up to hang out.

There’s an undeniable tingling in the pit of my stomach as I watch him take the spot he’s marked as his own. As I replace my pastel pink coat with my usual hoodie, I can almost hear Angela’s thoughts spoken out loud.

Hell, yesterday, she didn’t even bat an eyelash when she asked me what was going on between us.

Asher suddenly appeared, and my loneliness vanished. It feels like the missing piece has returned, making me feel whole again. Right now, I sense I might appear overly needy or greedyas I struggle to establish boundaries. Maybe I’m being a tad too eager.

Whenever he is close, my heart races, revealing what my mind refuses to acknowledge. I bet from an outsider’s perspective, Angela has spun quite a story.

I’m spending a lot of time with my ex-husband’s old best friend. She doesn’t know the fact, but if she did, I know she’d ask the same question I’ve asked myself so many times.

Am I merely attempting to recapture how I once felt? When the three of us were together, everything was joyful, warm, and perfect. Both men left at one point, and now that one has returned, it feels as though I’m holding onto the past.

I don’t think that’s the case. I can’t look back at the past, not when everything Asher does keeps me right in the present.

In the back of my mind, I know what’s happening. However, I’m refusing to accept it.

I can’t possibly be falling for Asher. All the attention he’s been giving me is only making me think I am.

He doesn’t want me. Not in the way I think I want him.

Today is a prime example. We’re going to hang out as nothing more than friends. Sure, he’ll take me out of town to a nice movie theater, the place with those reclining chairs, but that doesn’t mean much. We’ll share a bucket of popcorn, laugh at a terrible horror movie, and whisper our amused commentary—as friends.

Shaking off her stare, I wish everyone a good night as I grab my bag containing my uniform before I rush out toward his truck.

“I think I should’ve gone home to clean up a bit,” I tell him as I toss my bag on the seat behind us. “I smell sweaty from running around.”

Every time he visits me at work, I’m always worried he can smell the way my job clings to me. From the sweat to the oils.Ugh. Should’ve gone home to shower, but he insisted.

“You smell fine,” he assures me with a crack of a smile. “Kind of like a basket of french fries. I love those.” He barks a laugh when I slap his arm.

It’s not fair. He’s cleaned up his beard and doesn’t have that familiar black stain on his skin. Hell, the cologne he’s wearing is rich enough to make my mouth water. I’m fighting not to scooch closer to smell him up close.

He looks good. I don’t compare. Charming men like Asher don’t have any interest in women like me. Even if he’s grown a little rougher over the years, he’s still way out of my league.

Moving my attention to our surroundings as we pull away from Tee’s, I watch trees pass by. Don’t want to let my hopes get ahead of me here.

I shouldn’t welcome the idea of love with open arms. Not when I still feel an occasional heart throb from time to time. Entertaining such a ridiculous thought only risks repeating the same heartbreak. No thanks.

Even if Asher doesn’t look like he’d hurt me, I don’t want to ruin what we have going on here.

Pushing the worrying thoughts to the back of my mind, I enjoy the music coming from the radio.

Even if I won’t try the impossible here, I’ll let myself enjoy the sensations that come whether I like them or not.

The drive out of town isn’t as long as I’d like it to be. Once we make it to the theater, Asher lets me pick the seats. Of course, he insists on paying for everything. Even when I try to slip a few bills I got in tips into his pocket, he easily catches me, making my skin tingle as he captures my wrist.

My poor heart continues beating foolishly.

One popcorn bucket doused in delicious butter later, we’re tucked away in the dark room. Getting the chance to focus on something that isn’t this guy, I give my brain a break from these thoughts.

The horror movie is just as bad as I expected. I’d laugh and call this a comedy if it weren’t for the few other people inside trying to enjoy what they paid to see.

If I don’t want to think about how poor this story is or about my feelings about Asher, then I’m stuck in limbo. What else is there to think about?

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