Page 41 of No Match Found
“My turn,” he said.
I pushed aside my disappointment and braced myself for a retaliatory question.
“What color do you consider the perfect ripeness for eating a banana?”
I stared at him.
“What?” he asked, all wide-eyed innocence.
“I just…” I tilted my head to the side and looked at him through completely bemused eyes. “That’sthe question youwalked here to ask me on your day off? What banana peel color I prefer?” For some odd reason—a masochistic one, probably—I was disappointed. I wanted him to ask me somethingreal. To feel like he was interested in me on a deep level, the way I was interested in him.
He lifted a shoulder. “Most people have strong opinions on the topic. But I’ll happily ask a different question if you prefer.”
I didn’t even know what I preferred. All I knew was, every time I thought I knew what to expect with Grant, I was wrong. Was I any closer to understanding him than I’d been the day he’d waltzed in here in his jeans and loafers (which he was still wearing, by the way)?
I felt like I was, but I also suspected that might just be an illusion.
“When did you start wearing glasses?” he asked.
I went still.
I should’ve answered the banana question.
Should I use my pass?
It felt like such a waste. I had a sneaking suspicion that the moment I used it, he’d bring out the big guns and delve into all my trauma.
Or maybe he’d just ask me whether I liked basmati or jasmine rice better.
What I was discovering with Grant, though, was that he could ask me what laundry detergent I used, and it would always lead to an interesting, deeper discussion. It made me think of that phrase—it’s not the tool but the person using it. Grant might be using an Allen wrench, but I had the sense he was taking me apart little by little.
I cleared my throat. “Um…about six years ago, I think?” Like I didn’t remember the exact day. I’d been trying some blue light glasses in one of my classes after developing headaches, and I’d been struck immediately by the difference it made in how people talked to me. Like they were finally taking me seriously.
He nodded, then sighed and got up from his AffectionPuff.
Shortest question-and-answer session ever. He spent less time here than he’d spend walking back to his hotel.
But instead of taking the Affection Puff back to its place, he walked over to my desk.
I looked up at him. “What’re you doing?”
He made acome onmotion with his hand. “Lemme see ‘em.”
“See what?”
“Your glasses.”
My eyes widened, and I drew back. “What? No.”
He smiled. Smiled like he knew. “Why not? I’m very gentle with glasses.”
I put a hand on either side of mine, protecting them. “Your crooked frames beg to differ.”
His smile morphed into a frown. “They were my grandpa’s before he died.”
My hands dropped out of sheer dismay. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, Grant.”
Brow in a deepV, he took a seat on the edge of my desk.
