Page 23 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
NINE
ELI
My phone buzzeswhere it’s face down on my desk, the sharp little trill cutting through the quiet. I flip it over and there it is—Max’s name lighting up my screen.
Grinch: Ready for dinner.
That’s all it takes. Butterflies slam into my ribcage as though they’ve been waiting all damn day for permission to wake up. I’m already toeing into my boots before my brain catches up enough to remind me, this isn’t a date. Really. Just two guys grabbing food because campus is a ghost town, and eating alone sucks.
Except my pulse doesn’t get the memo.
I tug the laces tight, shrug into my coat, and grab my beanie, glancing at myself in the mirror by the door. No reason to check twice, but I do anyway. Then I’m heading for the lobby, telling myself over and over that this is just dinner.
Not a date.
Except I can’t make myself believe it.
Max is already waiting when I step into the lobby, leaning against the wall by the doors. The first thing that hits me isn’t thesight of him—it’s the scent. That same cologne I’ve caught hints of before, only now it’s stronger, fresher. Like he just put it on.
My breath catches.
Not a date. Fuck.
What if itisa date?
He pushes off the wall with a nod and an almost smile that makes my heart pound in double time. Shit, I’m not going to make it through the next hour if my heart spontaneously combusts.
“Hey, you ready?” he asks.
Uh, yes. I’ve been ready for this for months. I manage a nod as I move toward him. “Yeah, let’s go freeze together.”
We’re alone. The world outside is quiet and white, the snow still falling in slow, lazy drifts under the streetlights. It’s the kind of night people in cheesy romance movies call magical.
We step out into it together, and the cold bites at my cheeks, but the space between us is warm. Close enough that when the path narrows, our shoulders brush; light, accidental, but enough to make my pulse stutter.
Not a date. Definitely not.
Except…it feels like one.
Max pushes the door open, the little bell above it chiming in the otherwise quiet night. He steps aside, holding it for me, and the blast of warmth from inside smells of coffee, bacon, and freshly baked pie.
We’re the only ones here—just a lone waitress behind the counter and the hum of the old heater. Max heads for a booth by the window, sliding into one side, and I take the other. The vinyl squeaks under me, and suddenly my hands feel too big, my coat too heavy, my heartbeat too loud.
Nerves assault me, zipping around in my stomach as if I’ve never sat across from a guy in a diner before. Which is ridiculous…because this really isn’t a date.
Still, the quiet between us feels different. Thicker. As though the whole world outside has gone silent just to watch what happens next.
Max tugs off his beanie, tossing it onto the seat beside him, and rakes a hand through his dark hair until it sticks up in a way that should look messy but somehow just makes him look ridiculously hot.
“You’re staring,” he says, deadpan, one brow raising with amusement.
I snort, shaking my head. “Not even close.”
He smirks, and it’s clear he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t mind. The knot in my stomach eases just a little, enough so that when the waitress ambles over with a tired smile and a notepad, I’m not completely choking on the air in my lungs.
“Coffee for me,” Max says, glancing my way. “And…let me guess, you’re gonna ruin yours with hot cocoa and peppermint. Whipped cream, too?”
My lips twitch. “Obviously. Why drink something boring when you can drink dessert?”
