Page 68 of Just My Type of wrong guy

I stare at her with my mouth hanging open, then focus back on breakfast.

“I love getting to know your diva side,” I comment, grabbing the brioche from the cupboard and placing them on the island.

Alex shoots me a look that could kill but says nothing. She grabs the brioche and begins slicing it in silence, her movements precise and mechanical. I turn to the microwave to heat the milk. When the kettle hisses behind me, I pour boiling water into the French press, the scent of coffee filling the kitchen like a truce we’re not ready to declare.

Alexandra doesn’t speak, but I feel her eyes on me as she slips off the stool and disappears behind the cupboard door, returning with a roll of paper towels like it’s the most important task in the world.

We sit — almost at the same time — plates between us like a border. I reach for my coffee first, adding sugar and taking a careful sip. She doesn’t flinch. Just pours a splash of milk into her cup and drinks it with the taste of death that only unsweetened coffee can give.

“So… did you enjoy last night?” I ask as I grab a paper towel, and she smiles, knowing she taught me how to use napkins, but also because of the night.

“I loved it! I love going out with you, of course. But we never went out at night, and I thought it was amazing to understand why they call this place the city that never sleeps.”

“I failed you, sorry. But what did you do?” I grab my sandwich and watch Alexandra ’s eyes light up with the memories.

“The bucket list with mom had some of her dreams, some of mine, and some of ours. Like I told you, New York was on the list.” She reminds me, with a huge smile. “Of course, we could visit this place, but we were addicted to rom-coms and wanted to spend time here… And it seemed impossible because of all the commitments with work, study, and everything else.”

“I’m happy for that, you know? Even though I’ve never lost someone that close, I imagine it’s like losing our real pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.” Alex nods with a serene smile on her lips and I touch her hand. “Hearing you talk about last night is special because, besides seeing you fulfilled, your mom also got to live that moment through you.”

“She’s not here, A.J.” Alexandra swallows hard, looking away for a fraction of a second, and pulls her hand away from mine.

I hold her fingers and lift her chin with my free hand. We stare at each other for a few seconds. Her eyes speak a river of tears, but I’m not going to let her shed them, not because of this.

“She’s in you,” I say, touching her shoulder. “She’s your mother, flesh and blood you carry. You are part of the legacy she left, but she’s also part of you,” I assure her, because it’s true.

A girl living such a huge opportunity, but with her mind set on fulfilling the dreams she shared with her mother, deserves much more than a “She’s happy somewhere.”

Alexandra doesn’t reply, she just jumps off the stool and comes up to me, hugging me from behind. Her head rests on my back, and her arms squeeze me so tightly that all I want to do is hug her back.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

I gently peel her hands off me, already moving to pull her into a real hug — but she slips away before I can, gliding back to her seat at the island like nothing happened.

“You know, A.J., you were right and I was wrong,” she hums, this time with a mischievous laugh, tearing into the brioche like she hadn’t just emotionally ambushed me.

I narrow my eyes, still catching up.

“Right? About what?”

“Remember when you said I judged a great classic book by its cheesy cover?”

“And you accused me of being a best-seller of questionable quality?” I ask, with accusation in my voice.

“I said the cover was cute!” she argues, and I toss my hair to the side, signaling for her to continue. “Actually, you’re a classic. A contemporary classic,” she adds, as soon as my smile opens. “But with a beautiful cover and really good content.”

“A beautiful cover, huh?”

“No teasing, I… I don’t talk much about myself, and I don’t open up much. Thank you for being someone I feel safe talking to.” I watch her, thinking that we talk all the time, and she quickly adds, “About me, I mean.”

And that just flips the switch. Because, like she said, trust doesn’t come easy for Alex. Maybe it’s not even something she’s used to. So hearing her say I’m a safe place… it makes me want to be honest.

The kind of honest I can’t even be with the boys.

“I like listening to you. Even if you think I’m just some smooth-talking flirt… the truth is, I became that guy because people got superficial.” I shrug, and she laughs, saying it can’tonlybe everyone else’s fault. “It’s not. But social media, fame – they mess with things. It’s easier to just cut to the chase from city to city than to try and build something real.” I pause. “But it’s different with you.”

“Really?” She blinks twice, a hint of a proud smile on her face.

And I nod.

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