Page 21 of Her Pretty Words
She sets her laptop aside and peeks in each box, settling on the order of shrimp tacos. “All this food is going to go to waste.” She takes a bite, and a piece of grilled shrimp falls out of the taco.
A second later, the same pelican perches itself on her railing. I reach into Macy’s box. “Don’t,” she says fiercely, pointing a finger at me. I toss the shrimp to the bird, who gobbles it down without chewing.
I feel myself smile as I take a seat on the chair across from her. “You don’t like our friendly neighborhood pelican?”
“He stares at me as ifI’mthe one with the pea sized brain.”
I want to laugh at that, but her expression is so serious that I think better of it. “Are you afraid he’s right?”
She rolls her eyes and finishes her taco, moving onto the next one.
“How do you do it?” I ask, digging into my french fries. “Come up with an entire world with characters that seem so real.” I shake my head. “Judith is my favorite, by the way.”
She laughs. I would teach myself to be the best comedian if only I could hear it daily.
“Everyone else thinks she’s bitchy.”
I give her a long once over. “I think she’s misunderstood. I like her fire.”
Her eyes soften and she nods in agreement. She holds up her last taco. “Thank you.”
I know she’s referring to the food I bought, but I need to stretch that kernel of niceness she’s given me, so I ask, “For?”
She shoots me a pointed look.
I grin.
“I feel like I should try to eat the seven remaining boxes, so it doesn’t go to waste.”
“You can,” I say. “Tonight, for dinner.”
She glances at the ensemble of food and then I clarify. “With me. At my house.”
She shakes her head immediately.
I carefully place all the boxes of food back into the bags and step down her porch, calling over my shoulder. “See you at seven, Tato. Or else I’ll have to throw away all this perfectly good food.” I won’t let the food go to waste, but I don’t tell her that.
Chapter 9
Macy
I’m not going. It was out of the question as soon as Grayson invited me over for dinner at his house, which I’m currently standing in front of. I don’t even know how I ended up here to be honest, but before I can decide to turn and go back home, the door swings open and his woodsy scent wafts around me.
“I was just coming to retrieve you.” He smirks.
I roll my eyes and think better of walking away like a coward. I brush past him and pad into his house, the one I spent an entire summer playing in as a kid, but it looks completely different. The walls are a crisp white that nearly strains my eyes, contrasting his dark brown couch and minimal furniture. As I walk further in, I see a plug-in airfreshner, which explains the sweet scent I caught before that must linger on his clothes. “Is that strawberry scented?” I gesture to it.
Grayson stands a few feet behind, probably observing me as I take in his house. It doesn’t feel like a home. It’s pristine and clean but not cozy and warm. There isn’t even a dinner table.
“It became my favorite scent ever since losing a bet,” he says. I think back on the strawberry daiquiri he ordered in New York.
I notice a book laying open on the countertop. I flip it over, seeing that it’s one I wrote. It’s open to page three hundred and one. He’s almost finished reading it.
“You’re a phenomenal writer.” He picks it up and inspects it closely.
“I-um, thank you.”
He doesn’t say much more, he just opens the fridge, and pulls out the to-go boxes. He microwaves them on plates.