He rolls up his window and drives away.
We both watch until the car lights disappear around the corner. Then Sol faces me, rubbing his neck with his hand. “He can be quite dramatic sometimes.”
I move closer. “Is it true? Have you been driving around for four hours?”
He shrugs and drops his gaze to the floor. “I might have been a little nervous.”
Shuffling closer, I wrap my arms around his waist in a hug, then pull back. “Coffee and waffles?” I nod to the diner.
His gaze lifts to meet mine. “I have a better offer. Movie?”
“Sol—”
“Just come watch a movie with me, Gracie. We can talk after that. Just one movie.”
I shove my hands in my coat pockets. “I wanted to talk about your uncle—”
“I got the tickets in advance. Come on, Gracie.”
“But—”
He carefully leans forward on his crutches and shuts me up with a finger against my lips. “It’s either this or kiss you, but I need you to stop talking.” He sucks in a deep breath. “I’m nervous and scared. I’m not ready to talk because I’m scared. Whatever we need to talk about can wait. Watch a movie. With me.”
“Let me say what I need to say. We can go after. I promise you.” His mouth dips in a frown, and he drops his hand. “Promise, okay?”
He nods and waves his hand awkwardly toward the diner. “Lead the way.”
We make our way inside and grab an isolated booth in the far corner. As if reading my mind, my mother brings coffee, waffles, and cupcakes before flashing us a smile and walking back to take the order of the couple sitting a few booths away.
Sol doesn’t touch his coffee or waffles; he just sits there watching me.
“I can’t sneak around, Sol. I don’t want to be a dirty little secret. I can’t do that again. Your uncle asked me to stay away from you. I tried at the beginning, but I wanted to see you so badly at the hospital. To make sure you were okay, and that you made it. If something had happened to you . . . I wouldn’t want to live without you. Not without you.” I suck in a deep breath. “I’m not going to sneak around while waiting for Father Foster to decide if I’m good for you or not.”
Sol’s face softens, his mouth parting on an exhale. “Oh, God. Gracie. You are not a dirty little secret.” His Adam’s apple bobs a few times as he swallows. “I’m so, so sorry I made you feel like that before. It wasn’t my intention. I was a coward.”
My hands form fists on the table as tears form in my eyes. “I know.” He rubs his palms down his face a few times, and when he pulls them away, his eyes are red. I reach for his hands. “You held me and asked me to let you take care of me, and it felt so good, Sol. I want that. I want to be friends with you. I want you to hold me and tell me you’ll take care of me. I love that you call bullshit when you know I’m lying. And I want to do the same with you. But I respect your uncle because he’s right. I made a mess of things where you are concerned. I need him to be okay with us being friends, Sol. I can’t go back to being that girl I was two years ago. I just can’t.”
His fingers lace with mine. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.” His mouth hitches up on one side. Letting go of me, he leans back in his seat, reaching for a chocolate cupcake and biting half of it. Some of it smudges on his cheek.
“There’s chocolate here.” I point at his cheek. He grabs a napkin and wipes the spot. “Not there. Let me do it.” I take the napkin from his hand and wave him to move closer. “There,” I say once the smear is gone.
“Did you just ‘mom’ me?”
“What? No. I just did what any friend would do.”
He laughs. “It feels good to be taken care of.”
We share a smile. Then I take a sip of my coffee, watching him over the rim of my cup. “Does Luke know where you’ve been all day?”
“I told him I was hanging out with Seth.” He reaches for his mug and brings it to his lips. “His heart is in the right place. Luke, I mean. He’s scared. I feel like he’s blaming himself for me dropping out of seminary.”
“Did he say something?”
He shakes his head. “He was my mentor, and I failed. It’s simple math.”
“Maybe you two need to talk?”
He shrugs. “I guess.”
We spend the next hour catching up on our week.
“So about the movie . . .” Sol says as we walk out of the diner. “I didn’t mean to corner you about it.”
“It’s fine.” I dig out my cell to check the time. “What time was it starting again?”
“About an hour ago?”
“Ugh. Crap. I’m sorry. You mentioned you had tickets, but I wanted to talk to you first—”
“I’m glad you did. When you said you wanted to talk, my brain went there, you know? I thought you were going to cut me off. I panicked and spent the day in a car with a teenager who was hell-bent on giving me relationship advice.”
“Sorry I made it sound worse than it was.” I clear my throat, and now that we’re confessing . . . “I’m sorry I was a pain in the ass when we talked yesterday. Every time you say her name, I feel . . . I just want to punch something.”
He stops walking and stares at me, eyes round. “Do I talk about her that much?”
“Like all the time. Even on non-therapy days.”
He eyes me, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth as if he’s fighting back a smile. “And you, um, you want to punch something?”
I shoot him a glare. “Shut up.”
“You look really cute when you’re all worked up.”
Ugh. I march forward several steps. He laughs, his crutches clunking on the asphalt as he follows me.
I whirl around to face him while tapping the Uber app on my phone. “Your ride will be here in three minutes.” I don’t look at him. My face is on fire, and I hate him for making me feel everything.
I feel his warmth on my back. I shiver when his fingers brush against my earlobe as they lift the hair on my shoulder and push it back.
“Turn around.” I chew my bottom lip, eyes focused on the flies buzzing around the lamp. “Turn around, Gracie.”
“I hate you,” I repeat the words I said in my head moments ago. “You make me feel everything. You make me lose control. You make me reckless. I hate you.”
“I didn’t realize I talked about Fin—her often. I’m sorry.” His voice is so close I can feel his warm breath tickle the tiny hairs on the back of my neck. “I’ll avoid it from now on.”
Inhaling a quick breath, I turn slowly to face him. “I like to hear how PT is going, just . . . I think you have a crush on her.”
“I don’t have a crush on Finley.”
Ugh. “Even the way you say her name.” A pair of headlights illuminate our surroundings as the vehicle enters the parking lot, pulling to a stop a few feet away. “Your ride is here.”
He sighs, readjusting his hold on the crutches. “I don’t have a crush on her.” He turns and begins making his way to the Uber.
“I don’t hate you, Solomon Callan.”