What If (If Only.... #2)(5)

“Griffin,” I interrupt her.

“Griffin,” she says, but the smile fades, and I hear a tinge of regret in her voice.

“Wait,” I call, her back to me now as she makes her way to the door. She doesn’t turn, though, but walks into the shop, blending into the Saturday morning crowd.

I’ll remember you, too.





Chapter Two


Maggie


I duck inside the coffeehouse, weaving my way to the back room. My shift started ten minutes ago, so I don’t bother to punch in. Instead I toss my shit onto the table, find a Sharpie in my bag, and fill in the white space underneath the photo.

Griffin/Fancy Pants

“How ya doing, Mags? And who’s your ride?” There it is, the smooth, familiar voice of comfort.

I spin and thrust the photo at him.

“Who messed up his pretty face? Wait, is he for me?” Miles asks, and I snatch the picture back. “And it’s not even my birthday.”

I groan. “So it’s still boys this week? I can’t keep up because you asked the same thing when I showed you my lab partner’s picture at the beginning of the semester.”

“Uh-oh.” Miles grimaces. “Addison. Uh. How is she?”

I backhand him on the arm with Griffin’s Polaroid. “She’s been a shitty lab partner since you stopped calling her back. That’s how she is.”

Miles bats his thick black lashes apologetically, and I kiss him on the cheek.

“Sweetie,” I say, “I love you, but stay off my home turf, okay? After all I missed last year and being forced to take a part-time schedule this year, I can’t afford to f*ck up, which means you have to stop f*cking my lab partners.”

He winces, but doesn’t argue.

“That means damaged J. Crew is off-limits, huh?”

I give my throat a dramatic clearing. “What about Andrew?” I ask.

Miles sighs. “We’re just having fun. Doesn’t mean I can’t look at pretty things.”

I roll my eyes.

“Oh, by the way, your gran called. She said she tried your cell, but you didn’t answer. You know better than to make that sweet woman worry.” He reaches into my coat pocket and finds my name tag, then waves it in front of the time clock. “It won’t lock you out until quarter after, remember?”

I groan. “Actually, Miles, no. I don’t remember.”

“Mags…” His voice softens.

“Don’t,” I say.

I pull my cell from my bag, and there it is, the missed call and voicemail notification from Gram. Shit. I never miss her scheduled check-ins.

“My phone and I haven’t been getting along this morning.” I smile, my attempt at levity. “I must not have heard it while I was chasing a bus down the street or trying my hand at hitchhiking. I’ll call her back in a minute.”

Miles crosses his arms and gives me a pointed look. “Honey, I have never heard of a hitchhiking story that ends with a pretty, broken boy picking up a pretty, broken girl and one of them not eventually burying the other’s body. Instead you come in here flaunting that Polaroid but telling me I can’t have him.”

I let the tension out of my shoulders. “He gave me a ride, Miles. That’s all. I have no claim on him. Pretty sure he’s straight, though.”

I turn to remove my coat and hang it on the rack. As I do, Miles wraps his arms around my midsection, resting his stubble-lined jaw against my cheek.

“Sexual preference is an evasive response to this situation, honey. You wrote down his name.”

“I didn’t give him mine,” I say, the damning evidence of my hesitation still in my hand.

“Say it,” Miles pushes. “J. Crew is off limits.”

“It’s Griffin. His name is Griffin. And pretty face or not, the boy’s got issues if that’s what he looks like on a Saturday morning.”

It doesn’t change the urge I had to fix it, to make him better. Control what I can to avoid what I can’t—that’s always a good distraction. But Miles doesn’t need to know this. I don’t need anyone new to deal with, especially someone like him.

“He’ll forget me as quickly as I’ll forget him.” But my free hand clenches into a fist, the sensation of his skin on the tips of my fingers too fresh to be forgotten, the wish to touch him again too strong to be ignored.

Miles straightens, releasing his grip on me before he plants a kiss on top of my head.

“You wrote down his name, sweetie. Off-limits,” he says with a sureness I’ll never possess. Then he turns me to face him. “And no one, Maggie, no one forgets you.”

…

Griffin

In the normal world of space and time, showing up at the top of the hour would be fine. No questions asked. I take one last look in the mirror and shrug. No way can I hide how my night went. I throw back the rest of my cappuccino and hop out of the truck, bracing for my mother’s disappointment, or better yet, my father’s silent condescension.

All three of my sisters are here, probably have been for the better part of an hour. I walk up the driveway past Nat’s blindingly green Golf and chuckle. She always did make a statement. I’m sure she picked up Megan and Jen to make sure they weren’t late. If there was room for me, too, in her pocket-sized car, I have no doubt she would have been pounding on my apartment door two hours ago. Never mind that I live an hour out of her way.