No Promises

chapter twenty-three

A GROAN OF frustration falls from my lips as I toss my carving tools onto my work table, leaning onto my elbows as I rest the heel of my hand against my forehead. Curling my fingers, I try to keep my clay caked fingers away from my hair, but my efforts go unnoticed, suddenly not caring if I get it in my hair. If I had known sculpture was going to be part of this program, I might have changed my mind about applying.

"What's going on over there?" Isla asks, a small laugh falling from her lips as she turns on her stool to face me. With the semester nearly over, we both decided it'd be a good idea to study together. She keeps me focused on my halfway projects, like this stupid sculpture, and I keep her motivated to write.

So far it's not going great.

"I hate this project," I say. "You want to do it for me?"

"Sure," she says, jokingly as she points to her laptop laid out in front of her. "You want to work on this case for me?"

"Not really," I say as I fall back in my seat. "I hate this class."

"It's part of your requirements?"

I nod. "Unfortunately."

She smiles as she slides off her stool and approaches the block of clay I'm slowly carving hands into. It's slowly making it way to something recognizable, but it's also going to be the death of me. I wish I hadn't agreed to do it.

"Robyn, this is really good," she says, crouching next to the table to get a better look. "I don't know what you're so worried about. You're insanely talented."

"You're only saying that because I'm your best friend."

"Not true," she says. "I wouldn't lie to you. I think you're insanely talented, and you're also in your own head, and you like to make a mess of thing, and—"

I hold my hand up, cutting her off. "Okay, I get it."

She smiles as she moves to sit back down at the table she's claimed in the art studio. "Hey, have you heard anything from the housing office lady yet?" she asks, turning back to face me. "A few of the people in my dorm dropped out."

"Right..." I trail off and grin nervously. "I may have heard from them a week ago."

"What?" she asks. "Why am I just hearing about this now? When do you move in?"

"Probably because I knew you were going to think I'm crazy."

She narrows her eyes. "What did you do?"

"Nothing! Not really," I say and sigh. "Greyson asked me to stay."

"And you think that's a good idea?"

"Yes, actually! Things have been better between us," I tell her. "Ever since I ended things with Jonas, things have been way less weird between us. I was stupid to even start seeing him, I told myself I wasn't using him but I was. I was dumb to think it was going to help me get over Greyson. I don't even know if that's possible."

"Yeah, well, it definitely won't be if you keep living with him."

"Okay, that's fair, but maybe... maybe I don't want to."

"Robyn."

"Okay, before you say anything..." I trail off. "We almost kissed, and we would have, if I hadn't stopped it, but that means something!"

"What do you mean you almost kissed?" she asks. "And if you did, why on earth did you stop it? You've been in love with him since you were a freshmen."

"It felt wrong," I say. "He had just told me what really happened with Mia, and it was really heavy, Isla. When he leaned in, I guess I thought it was a bad idea or that I would take advantage of him in a valuable state."

"Okay..." she says. "So, he definitely tried to kiss you."

"Yes." I nod. "I think so."

"You think so?" she asks, laughing. "Which is it?"

"It's definitely not no," I say and chew on my bottom lip. "I didn't imagine it, Isla."

"I didn't say you did," she says. "Look, Robyn, if you think this thing with Greyson has potential then go for it, but be prepared for it not to be what you imagined. You've liked him for so long that I think you've made up this amazing narrative in your head, and I just don't want you to be let down or get hurt if it doesn't end up turning out like you always hoped."

"I love you," I say with a smile.

She returns it as she turns back to her computer. "I love you, too," she says. "Now get back to work. We don't got all day."

And just like that, I'm able to focus on the task at hand. Even if I do feel like my brain might explode from the depth of the carving. It doesn't matter because there's definitely something with Greyson, and Isla isn't at all turning it down the way I expected her to. She wants me to be happy, and at the end of the day, that's all I want too.

***

After a few more hours in the studio, I get my sculpture to the point that I'm happy to call it a night and wrap it up for my next work session. With the middle of the semester approaching, I've been more stressed than I've possibly ever been. I have so many things to get done, and it doesn't feel like I have enough time to accomplish it all. I half expect to go crazy before I reach the finish line.

"Greyson?" I call out when I get home and don't see him sitting on the couch like I usually find him. I wait a few seconds for a response, and when I don't hear anything, a sigh falls from my lips as I lock up behind me and move towards the kitchen table.

I set my bags down on one of the chairs when something out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. My curiosity grows when I see the yellow post-it note attached to the fridge door. I can't help the giddy feeling in the pit of my stomach as I move towards it, peeling it off to read Greyson's handwriting, telling me he's at dinner with Emmy and to look in the freezer.

Grabbing the handle, I side step as I pull the freezer drawer open and grin at the tub of cookie dough ice cream sitting inside. My heart flutters at the small gesture as I pick it up and pull the cutlery draw open to grab a spoon as I make my way towards the couch. I settle into my usual spot, resting the tub in my lap as I click through the channels for something to watch.

When I find something to waste the rest of the night on, I lose track of time as I get lost in the cliché storyline and poor chemistry. And no matter how trash the movie is, I can't bring myself to peel my eyes off the screen, wrapped up in the cringey writing. I get so wrapped up that I barely realize Greyson's home until he's kicking at my heel propped up on the table.

"Hey there." He chuckles when I look up to meet his gaze.

"Hey!" I drop my feet to let him by as he sinks onto the couch next to me. He doesn't seem to realize how close he is, his thigh pressed tight against mine. "How's Emmy?"

"Busy," he says, and leans over, taking a bite of ice cream off my spoon before leaning back on the couch. It feels weirdly intimate as I clear my throat, swallowing hard. "What are we watching?" he asks as he rests his head against my shoulder.

"Some dumb thanksgiving movie."

"Thanksgiving?" He lifts his head slightly. "I thought they only did Christmas movies."

"No!" I shake my head. "They do all the holidays."

"Aren't most of these films garbage?"

"Oh, total trash," I say, a wide smile crosses my lips.

"Likes trashy movies, duly noted."

"I wouldn't say I like them," I argue. "We can change the channel if you want to."

"No, I'm just warning you that I might start making fun of it." He grins up at me and I roll my eyes as I bring the spoon up to my lips. I can't keep the smile off my lips as I tighten my grasp on the silver handle. He's being so gentle, so smooth, and my chest feels like it's running a hundred miles a minute.

"That's the best part."

His lips curl up as he snuggles closer, and it somehow settles my racing my heart, easing the pitter-pattering. I've gone from being unable to breathe around him to him being the only thing that can settle my pacing heart. He steadies me, and I'm not sure he even knows it.