What If (If Only.... #2)(45)

“Are you okay?” I ask, forgetting my disappointment at almost being stood up for a date that didn’t exist.

His fists clench and unclench on the table in front of him, and then he slaps both palms down with a crack, much to the annoyance of patrons surrounding us. Griffin Reed was not made for library subtlety.

“I’m gonna need your number,” he says. One of his hands leaves the table only to return with his cell phone and with it a folded-up piece of paper. He slides the phone across to where my hand rests on Vi’s name in my book.

“What?” I ask, his urgency still a mystery.

“Your phone number. And I mean your number. Not the coffeehouse number, and not a landline, if for some crazy reason you still have one. Type your mobile number into my phone. Please. I’ll wait.”

I do as he says, stunned by the turn of events. I don’t ask what brought this on until I hand the phone back to him.

“I’m gonna ask again, now,” I say. “Are you okay?”

He eyes the screen, and his breathing slows, the frantic nature of his entrance morphing into calm. He breathes out a silent laugh, and when he looks up from the screen, there it is—the grin that threatens to melt me into a puddle.

“Pippi,” he says. “You f*cking wrote Pippi.”

The unmasked joy in his voice startles me more than his entrance does. While I wouldn’t trade having him show up when I feared he wouldn’t, now I fear something even bigger. A phone number. Such a small thing, a tiny gift to give. But what does it mean?

“My Poli-Sci professor ambushed me after class, no doubt set up by my father, and I’ve spent the past two hours having phone and Skype interviews with three different business schools—interviews I wasn’t prepared for and interviews I had no intention of ever setting up in the first place.”

“Why would he do that?” I ask. “Why set you up to fail?”

He shakes his head. “That’s the thing. I’m a master bullshit artist, especially under pressure. Learned from the best. He knew I’d pull it off rather than make him, or me, look like an *.”

I still don’t understand, and the expression on my face must tell him this.

“I’ve been dragging my ass in terms of what I’m going to do next year, and my father has apparently had enough of it. To quote him, ‘It’s time I start giving back.’ Because I guess I owe my parents for my easy upbringing.”

“Why?” I ask. “Why are you dragging your ass?”

He shrugs. “Because everything I’ve worked for since my education mattered has been for a life I don’t want.”

I sigh, wanting to fix this for him but knowing this problem is not mine to solve. But I can still ask him the unanswered question.

“You’re good at so many things. Languages. Cooking.” At the mention of the last word, my eyes fall closed as I smile at the memory of our non-date. “Bullshitting,” I tease. “You have so many talents, Griffin. So much you could do. What do you want?”

His posture loosens as he sags in the chair, and he looks down at his hands before bringing his eyes back to mine.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I never considered what I wanted because I thought I wanted this. I made myself believe I did until it got too close, too real. Now I guess I’m just—lost.”

I smile against my sadness. “I can understand that.”

I pick up the folded piece of paper he must have had in the pocket with his phone.

“What’s this?”

I start to unfold it, and he doesn’t stop me.

“It’s stupid,” he says. “Just something on the job bulletin board in the business building. Kinda ironic, isn’t it?”

When I flatten the paper, I bounce in my chair, then look up at him with the biggest, goofiest grin.

“AmeriCorps? Griffin, this is fantastic!”

He shrugs and looks down, but a small smile tugs at his lips.

“My father does want me to give back…”

I read through the description on the flyer.

“Wow,” I say. “An anti-hunger coalition. This is amazing, but it’s a huge change.”

His eyes fall to the table. “You’re right,” he says. “It was a stupid thought. I wouldn’t know what the hell I was doing.”

“No.” I reach for his hand. “That’s not what I meant.” He meets my gaze, his eyes unsure and searching. “This is amazing. You’d be amazing. All the stuff you’ve never done before, you’d learn. And the food part of it? You grow basil on your freaking windowsill. You just caught me off guard.” I smile at him, hoping he knows how much I mean what I’m saying. “I can tell you want this, Griffin, and that’s all that matters. If you want it, I know you’ll be great at it.”

He raises his head, his brown eyes gleaming.

“I could be pretty good at it, couldn’t I? There’s no money in it, though. I mean, there’s a stipend, but it’s not enough to live on.”

I slide the flyer back to him.

“Maybe not the way you’re living now, but you’re creative. You’d think of something.”

He folds it up again and sticks it back in his pocket.

“It’s an option,” he says, the unsureness creeping back into his voice.