Fall For You: A Reverse Grump Romantic Comedy (A Season's Detour, Book 2)

by Hayleigh Sol

  When I finally texted him around one in the afternoon, wondering if I should eat lunch or wait for him, the dude didn’t reply until two hours later. He said he’d gone somewhere with a friend and didn’t know what time he’d be back. I texted back that I’d thought we had plans. His response?

  Calvin: For someone who doesn’t want a relationship, you sure are coming across as clingy.

  I laughed aloud, the sound bouncing off the walls of my otherwise quiet apartment. Had I just been negged? “Oh my God, I’ve dated you before!”

  My on‌–‌again, off‌–‌again relationship with Aaron had taught me the signs, though I hadn’t seen them at the time. One of our biggest blowout fights‌—‌and our penultimate breakup‌—‌had been over a line he’d given me that was nearly identical to Calvin‌–‌the‌–‌dickhead’s.

  Aaron was well aware of my stance on calling a woman the c‌–‌word; in my opinion, and those of any woman I’d ever discussed it with, it was the ugliest insult for a woman in the history of the English language. I’d told Aaron that calling me the c‌–‌word was grounds for a breakup, I didn’t care what the circumstances were.

  One day, we were arguing about something and he interrupted whatever I’d been saying, glaring at me with purpose in his brown eyes.

  “Boy, for someone who doesn’t want to be called a cunt, you sure are acting like one.”

  He’d not only said the taboo word, he’d leaned into it. He had deliberately tried to hurt me with the sharpest knife in his arsenal. It was that choice that made it easy to break up with Aaron. That time.

  My ex had done a number on me, in lots of ways, but now I was grateful for all I’d learned under his tutelage. I’d identified the same negging behavior with Maya’s last boyfriend and I was keeping an ear tuned for similar comments to come from her current guy. Nobody deserved to be treated that way, especially one of my best friends.

  Thanks to Aaron, it was easy to call a spade a spade‌—‌or an asshole an asshole‌—‌like Calvin‌–‌the‌–‌dickhead. My response to his text?

  Me: It’s just common courtesy to let someone you made tentative plans with know that something’s come up. I’d expect that of a friend, or even an acquaintance. If that’s “clingy” to you, I don’t have any interest in being either.

  He never replied‌—‌shocking, I know‌—‌and I was so disgusted with the reminder of my ex that I’d put my dating app accounts on hold for the past few months. It had been a relief, even if I was getting a little restless for a good dicking.

  Tracie’s upcoming nuptials had gotten me thinking about relationships. My own, naturally, and society’s general expectations for women in their thirties. Either we were sad spinsters, married to our careers, or desperate to find a man and start making babies. I hoped Tracie hadn’t agreed to marry Noah out of a misplaced sense of obligation or pressure.

  My brother only reinforced my concerns for my friend when he told me he was thinking it was time for him to settle down; he was planning on proposing to his girlfriend in the next few months.

  Jeez, was it a marriage pandemic? Thank fuck I’d been vaccinated.

  I’d never liked that term, “settling down”. Was Dustin feeling pressured by Lindsay? She hadn’t given me the impression of being the type over the family vacations and get‌–‌togethers she’d been to. Dustin chuckled when I asked him why and if he was sure.

  “Lindsay is the best person I know, my best friend, really. I love her, Bay.”

  Well, that was surprisingly sentimental.

  There’d been a time that I was convinced my brother was heading down the same douchey path as our father had‌—‌nope, not thinking about that right now‌—‌and I was stunned to hear him speak of his current girlfriend with such sincerity and depth of emotion. It made my nose sting and my eyes water. Dammit.

  I put my own emotional response on lockdown and told Dustin I was happy for him. Proud of myself for not voicing the entirety of my thoughts‌—‌wonder if they’ll make it‌—‌like I’d done for Tracie and, knowing his sense of style was hopeless, I made him promise to check with me before he bought a ring. We said our goodbyes just as Tracie texted.

  Tracie: Ok, so I looked at pictures again, did a buuunch of thinking‌…‌and I’m going with the dress from the first store we went to yesterday. The boob displayer. As long as we can cover the girls up a little.

  Me: Excellent choice, you looked beautiful and I think it’ll let you move like you want.

  Tracie: Thanks, I feel really good about it. But, now that I’ve decided, I should try to get it ordered today. They’re closed tomorrow and we’re on a time crunch, I know. Is there any chance you’re free to meet me there? I want to make sure we get the insert and everything else with alterations right.

  Having Tracie choose her dress was a big deal so, of course, I’d be there for her. It was just part of my maid‌–‌of‌–‌honor duties. The coffee shop she’d spotted next to the bridal boutique was where I told her I’d meet her. Caffeine was in order for what I hoped was the final round of wedding dress shopping.

  Chapter 4

  “Bailey, I have your iced vanilla chai tea ready.” A female barista slid my cup across the counter and turned back to handle the Sunday afternoon rush.

  Starbucks wasn’t my first choice for a caffeine fix‌—‌overpriced and a bit too chichi, in my opinion‌—‌but there was one on every corner, making it too convenient to fully boycott.

  “Garrett, your green tea’s up.”

  I took a sip from the strawless lip of my plastic cup as my eyes feasted on the male yumminess walking past me on his way to the counter. Glacier‌–‌blue eyes met mine and one side of his mouth tipped up in a smile. Not one of those cocky, I‌–‌know‌–‌I’m‌–‌God’s‌–‌gift‌–‌to‌–‌every‌–‌woman‌–‌with‌–‌a‌–‌pulse smiles, either. A friendly one. One I returned automatically.

  Sun‌–‌streaked blond hair that looked like it was a month or so overdue for a haircut, combined with the slightly darker scruff on his face, shouted surfer dude. I made my way to the cart for drink‌–‌doctoring and picked up a napkin to shield my hands from the condensation on the cup, surreptitiously peeking over at Blue Eyes. He was heading my direction, so I stepped aside to make room for him, taking another sip of my drink.

  Something was off.

  But my cart neighbor smiled again, a little bigger this time, and it flipped a light on behind those beautiful irises. Who could concentrate on trivial matters like drinking and breathing in the presence of those orgasmic orbs? I’d always thought Bradley Cooper must’ve made a deal with the devil for his peepers. This guy may have been the devil for how eager I was to sign over my soul for a chance to keep staring at him. For‌—‌oh‌—‌ever.

  And then, he spoke. The timbre of his deep voice gave me goosebumps while my neck simultaneously flushed with heat. I blinked at him, having missed most of what he’d said. Something about a name. He raised his eyebrows, lifting his cup to gesture at mine.

  “I think we swapped drinks.” I glanced down reflexively, stupidly, at my cup. Which, now that I squinted at it, read “Garrett” in loopy black Sharpie.

  “Don’t get me wrong, it’d be a cool coincidence if we had the same name‌—‌well, middle name for me‌—‌but I suspect slightly less metaphysical factors at play here.”

  My brain came back online, thankfully, and I realized what had been wrong with my tea. It wasn’t mine.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said as I reached my cup‌—‌his cup‌—‌out to him, then immediately pulled it back, causing his eyebrows to climb higher toward his tousled hair. I was suddenly struck with a vision of running my fingers through those beachy locks and giving them a tug before falling into those oceanic eyes while I straddled his lap.

  “Uh‌…‌”‌—‌Lord save me, Satan was full‌–‌on grinning at me with perfect white teeth now‌—‌“did you want to keep it? I can get another.”
<
br />   Once more, I snapped myself back to the present and made a big show of wiping off the lip of his cup with my napkin. “I had a couple sips, didn’t want you to catch any of my cooties.” I laughed awkwardly as I accepted my cup and finally relinquished his.

  “Cooties”, Bailey, seriously? Is this third grade?

  I forced my gaze away from his eyes and smile, annoyed enough with my total idiocy to wrangle myself back under control. So he was gorgeous. Big deal. Lots of people were attractive. He was still just a person. He probably made chicks drool all over themselves every time he went out. It wasn’t like he was the first hot guy I’d ever scoped at a coffee shop.

  “So, Bailey”‌—‌I dipped my chin at the lift in his voice, confirming he had the name right‌—‌“you come to the ‘bucks and get tea instead of coffee, too. Wonder what else we might have in common.”

  Chuckling, I shook my head. “Does anyone ever actually fall for that line?”

  He took a small step back and placed a hand on his chest in mock effrontery. “Not a line, I swear.”

  At my eyeroll, he dropped the hand and the act, a sincerity shining from his direct gaze that was far too intense for a Starbucks on a Sunday afternoon. It made my breath catch.

  Hiccup. Must’ve been a hiccup. I refuse to acknowledge it as anything else.

  “Truly, I’m not a line kind of guy. Or the kind who picks up beautiful women over coffee.”

  “Tea.”

  He grinned again, nodded once. “Right, tea.”

  “Alright, Garrett, let’s say I give you the benefit of the doubt on the line thing‌—‌”

  “Oh, you absolutely should.”

  I sighed but couldn’t quite smother the smile that tugged at my lips.

  Whoo boy, this guy is bad news. Handsome, sexy, hints of funny‌…‌

  And then there was that indescribable magnetic pull‌—‌or was it an electric zing?‌—‌I felt when our eyes connected. Definitely bad news. Not something I had time for or was interested in pursuing.

  “Is the basis for your premise that we have something in common simply that we both chose iced tea on a hot afternoon? Because, I have to tell you, it’s a weak one.”

  Head tilted, he continued to sparkle at me. That’s what it was like to have those eyes and that smile aimed at me, like he was sparkling. And I was not the kind of person who believed in sparkles, for heaven’s sake.

  “It might be weak, but it’s a start.” He glanced over my shoulder, out the window, and looked back at me. “If you’re willing to take a walk with me in that very public park across the way, maybe we could find out if it’s more than a preference for cold beverages on a hot day.”

  One hand slipped into the pocket of his shorts, the movement drawing attention to the flex of his chest and biceps. I wanted to bite one of them‌—‌all of them.

  People were moving around us like eddies in a river; we were the boulders in the path of the flow on this busy afternoon, but I couldn’t seem to make my feet move.

  “If nothing else, it’d be nice to get out of this crowd. Get some fresh air. I’ve been stuck inside all week. Is there anywhere else you need to be?”

  I heard myself agreeing that a walk in the park sounded good, surprised that I had. Then, I remembered why I was there in the first place and checked my phone for the time. Tracie had texted she was running a little late and I wondered if the devil really was at play here.

  Garrett, I corrected myself. Satan’s going by his middle name today.

  My eyes ran over his face and I decided, why not. I told him I was meeting a friend next door but had a little time.

  “At the bridal place?” His eyebrows lifted. “You’re, um, not the bride, are you?”

  The trace of disappointment in his eyes was delightful. “No, I’m in the wedding party.”

  Leaning in, he dropped his voice and I felt an answering tug in my core. “Must be my lucky day then. Let’s go.”

  Did he mean he was lucky that I was available for a walk or available in the other sense? I mentally shrugged and followed the Prince of Darkness‌—‌who just happened to be fair‌–‌haired with icy blue eyes, go figure‌—‌out of the crowded, noisy shop. He held the door open for me and, passing tantalizingly close by him, I caught a whiff of his manly scent. Unsurprisingly, it reminded me of a day at the beach.

  What the hell. If I was dancing with the devil, at least he was pretty. And smelled like heaven.

  Having jogged around this very park the day before, I silently directed the route we chose. Several minutes in, I was questioning why I’d taken him up on his offer. We were mired in the awkward silence of strangers, casting glances at each other every few feet. I couldn’t speak for him, but I was enjoying the eye candy. Even if it was quiet.

  “So‌…‌what do you do for work, Garrett?” Assuming he did work. Maybe he was the beach bum I had him pegged for, spending the outrageous inheritance his grandfather had left him on weed and wax for his surfboard.

  His steps slowed and he turned toward me more fully, head tilting as he studied me. At least, I assumed he was studying me behind his sunglasses. I did the same behind the lenses of my own.

  “You know, I read somewhere that something like seventy percent of people cite their jobs as their biggest regret in life. Can you believe that? The article was suggesting you avoid asking about the work of someone you’ve just met.”

  Well, excuse me, conversation police.

  “Sorry, that didn’t come out the way I intended. I actually like my job. What I really meant was that I want to know more about you, what makes Bailey Bailey. More than just the kind of work you do. I mean, I’d like to know that, too. But‌…‌” He shook his head at himself and I had to smile at his awkwardness. It sounded like he was nervous. The devilishly handsome epitome of hot California surfer dude, was nervous to be with me.

  I wasn’t a hideous troll or anything, and I didn’t suffer‌—‌much‌—‌from low self‌–‌esteem about my looks. To be sure, in my line of work, I knew how to dress, how to wear my hair and makeup, in order to play up my best features.

  But this guy was on another level of attractiveness. To me, anyway. We all had our preferences. Maybe he wouldn’t be another person’s cup of tea.

  Naaah. He was unquestionably bangable.

  “Alright, no work talk yet. You’re right, we can do better.”

  He nodded once looking relieved.

  “Oh, I have an idea. It’s something I do with my clients‌—‌the ones I’m not allowed to talk about,” I said with a wry twist to my lips that made him chuckle sheepishly. “Let’s play a game of This or That.”

  A smile crept over those soft, inviting lips.

  Focus, Bailey. Eyes front.

  “Is that the one where I ask you a question with two options, and you have to pick the best one?”

  Close enough. “I pick my favorite, doesn’t necessarily mean it’s the ‘best’. But I’m going first and I’ll start with an easy one.” I was certain I knew how he’d answer. “Surf or ski? Snow ski, that is.”

  “I thought you were starting easy, that one’s tough for me. Hmm, let’s skip that one and come back to it later.”

  “No no no, there’s no skipping questions.” I elbowed him. Yep, unconsciously, my elbow jutted out and poked into his side. One that was probably sporting the very definition of toned obliques.

  My elbow must’ve been sharpened recently‌—‌or he was ticklish‌—‌because he bent in half and rubbed his side with a pained laugh. “Okay, Spanish Inquisition. Skiing, I pick skiing.”

  “Huh, me too. That surprises me.” His eyebrows lifted above the rims of his shades. “You look like you were born on a surfboard.”

  “Ah, common misconception. It’s my Swedish mom you’re seeing.” He ran a hand through his hair as he said it, leaving a section standing in its wake. Seeing him slightly imperfect was a good thing.

  I reached up and patted the wayward strands back into place.
Before realizing that I was acting like we were old friends‌—‌or more‌—‌where touching was not only allowed but welcomed.

  He’d frozen at first‌—‌probably on guard after I’d stabbed him with my elbow; who knew what my raised hand was capable of‌—‌but he grinned after I’d fixed his hair. “Thanks.”

  Blowing out a breath, I admonished myself to keep it together. And maybe keep my hands (and elbows) to myself for a bit. “Okay, back to the Inquisition. Morning or night?”

  Once more, he didn’t answer right away. I was starting to think he didn’t get the rapid‌–‌fire component of this game. Looking up at him, the half‌–‌smile he was wearing could only be described as devilish. “Morning or night for what?”

  Holy innuendo, Batman.

  “Just, um‌…‌do you consider yourself a morning person or a night owl? When do you perform best?”

  Shit!

  “Think best. When do you think best?”

  I caught him struggling to stifle a laugh and was grateful that he did. “In school, I was a night owl, for sure. But now, maybe a bit of both?”

  “Garrett.” I stopped walking and faced him, hand on hip.

  He mirrored me. “Bailey.”

  “You’re not playing this game right.”

  Rocking back on his heels, he did laugh now. “I beg your pardon, then. Tell me what I’m doing wrong so I can correct it immediately.”

  After explaining that he must choose one of the two options, even if he liked both, and that responses should be faster, we tried it again. “Breakfast or dinner.”

  “Mmm, breakfast for dinner.”

  Alright, he had to be messing with me now.

  “You can’t answer that way.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says me, you big cheater.”

  He was laughing again.

  So glad I was providing him with all this entertainment.

  “Aw, c’mon. It’s not really cheating, is it? The fact that I have a hard time choosing could just mean I’m easygoing. Isn’t that a good thing?”