These revolutionary thoughts have me feeling more ready for therapy than ever—realizing I’m fucking my own story up isn’t as hard as I thought it would be. It’s empowering, in a sense, because happiness and the life I really want are all within my grasp. It’s up to me.
Pushing open the back door that leads into the small private alley parking behind Delilah’s, I stop in my tracks.
Atticus is leaning up against his truck, a large white cup of coffee resting on the hood next to him. His hair is down but mostly covered with a black beanie. He’s wearing dirty jeans and boots, his upper half covered in… the hoodie. The one I slept in that night in the cabin.
My heart pounds hard, making my queasy stomach feel light on its toes. I swallow.
“Atticus,” I say to him, just feet apart, as snow drifts slowly down between us.
He nods toward the cup of coffee. “I figured you’d need it for your first day.”
Stepping closer, I eye the cup, turning my head slightly to read the printed label. He got my fancy coffee drink.
“I thought you don’t like all that fluffy shit from Starbucks?” I tease, fairly certain that those would be the exact words he would use to describe coffeehouse drinks.
He doesn’t miss a beat when he answers. “But you do.”
He doesn’t say it, but he follows those three words with four more. And I like you.
“Were you outside this whole time? While we were texting?” I ask, unable to hide my lopsided grin. I like this gesture. I don’t care about the coffee. I care that he came here just… to see me before my big day. It’s… fuck. It’s incredibly sweet.
I didn’t know I like sweet guys, and I’m a little confused because… Atticus is sweet?
“Sit in my car with me for a second,” I tell him, even though it’s a question, I don’t give him the opportunity to say no.
Next to his truck, I unlock my car and we climb inside, me behind the steering wheel and Atticus in the passenger seat, his knees stuffed against the dash. He’s so big, my tiny little car almost doesn’t fit him.
I twist in my seat, so many things I want to say but I really have no idea where to start. I glance at my watch and see that I have forty minutes to get to the dealership, which is only fifteen minutes from here. I like to get there early so I know I won’t be late.
“How’d you know I’d leave early?” I ask him, as he catches me checking the time.
He shrugs, his eyebrows lifting underneath the beanie as he speaks. “You seem like the type of person who gets places early.”
I snort. “I am.”
The edge of his lips turn up for a second. “See?”
Smiling, our eyes hold together and I feel the sudden urge to dump my emotions on him.
“Thanks for the coffee. It was thoughtful.” I reach for the cupholder where he’s placed it and lift it to my lips, blowing through the little oval mouth hole before I drink. “My Mom just called me and tried to make me feel bad about taking this job and not trying to go back to the Brutes.” I never knew I wanted to share how frustrated and upset my Mom make me feel until this moment. Getting it off my chest doesn’t change my Mom, but saying it aloud makes me realize that I’ve been giving her too much access to my emotions.
I laugh a little as I think about what I just said.
“What?” Atticus asks, brows cinched, forehead creased.
“I’m thirty-seven and just now realizing that you really do create your own happiness.”
He narrows his eyes, and the air between us pops, thick and dense with powerful, unspoken emotion. “I’m agrandpa,and I’m just now seein’ that, too.”
I smile and drop my hand to his thigh. His warm, thick, solid, vast thigh. I’ve yet to masturbate to the image of a thigh, but Atticus might break my streak.
“Every time I’m with you, I feel more like myself than I ever have,” I admit, my eyes focused on my own fingertips splayed across his dirty jeans. “I can’t believe I just said that out loud,” I add bashfully. The rawness of my words sears my cheeks, but then his hand comes down over mine, and I feel… safe.
“Same,” he says gruffly. I raise my eyes to his and find them dark and stormy, so much like the weather around us.
I don’t know what to say because my stomach is a mess, and I’m on the cusp of my first day, and I don’t know if I should fill the extra space in my brain with potential complications. Even with him.
“Thank you for the coffee,” I tell him, suddenly feeling self-conscious that I invited him into my car. He curls his fingers around mine, and the car gets smaller. Significantly.