Chapter 85 The Grinders
The hiss of the espresso machine and the muffled roar of the morning rush usually acted as a balm for my frayed nerves, but today, every sound felt amplified. I was moving on autopilot, wiping down the counters and tossing used grounds into the bin while the scent of roasted beans clung to my skin like a second layer of clothing.
"He sent a text at midnight saying I was the only person who truly understood him," Eliza said, leaning heavily against the industrial fridge while she waited for a latte to froth. She looked exhausted, her usual spark dimmed by a lack of sleep. "And then this morning? I said ‘good morning’ and he looked at me like I was a telemarketer trying to sell him a cruise. Total ice."
I paused, rag in hand. "Gavin again?"
"Gavin again," she sighed, dumping the milk into a ceramic mug with a frustrated flick of her wrist. "He’s like a radiator in a Brooklyn winter, Mila. One minute he’s so hot he’s burning my skin—being the perfect gentleman, opening doors, telling me things he’s never told anyone. And the second it gets real, the second we have a moment, he pulls back. He turns into this complete jerk, making snide comments or just going radio silent for days. It’s like he’s terrified that if he lets me in, he’ll lose his edge."
"Maybe he's scared," I offered, though I didn't have much room to talk.
"Scared of what? A girl who likes him?" Eliza scoffed, sliding the latte across the counter to a waiting customer with a practiced smile that didn't reach her eyes. She turned back to me, her expression softening. "But enough about my disaster of a love life. How are the girls? I’ve been worried sick since you told me your parents just… went AWOL. Are Grace and Zoe okay?"
I felt the familiar tightening in my chest. "They’re hanging in there. Nate’s been… he’s been a godsend, honestly. He got them groceries, he’s been checking in. He even read Zoe a bedtime story last night because she had a nightmare."
Eliza froze, a sugar shaker halfway to a tray. She stared at me, her jaw literally dropping. "Nate? Nate Salvatore? The man whose face is currently on the cover of Forbes for being a ruthless architectural visionary? He was in your apartment, in a chair that probably cost less than his shoes, reading about a rabbit?"
I bit my lip, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. "Yeah. He was."
Eliza moved closer, lowering her voice so the hipsters in the corner wouldn't overhear. "Mila… tell me. What is happening there? Is it real?"
I leaned my elbows on the cool marble of the counter, looking down at the soapy water in the sink. "I don't know, El. It feels real. When he looks at me, it’s like he doesn't see the scholarship girl or the girl from the docks. He just sees me. And last night… things almost happened. But I stopped it. I told him everything. About being a virgin. About never having time for anyone because of the girls."
"And?" Eliza whispered, leaning in.
"And he was… incredible. He said he was in awe of me. He said we’d go at my speed." I looked up at her, my eyes stinging. "But Eliza, how can someone like me be with someone like him? He’s a Salvatore. He’s a king in a world of glass towers, and I’m just… I’m the girl trying to figure out how to pay an electricity bill with tips. It’s like we’re living in two different physics books. Gravity works differently for him."
Eliza reached over, squeezing my hand with her damp, caffeine-stained fingers. "Maybe," she said quietly. "But maybe he’s tired of living in a world where everything is made of glass. Maybe he likes the fact that you’re the only thing in his life that’s actually solid."
"I hope so," I whispered. "Because I don't know what I'd do if this was just a game to him."
Eliza’s expression shifted, the softness disappearing into a hard, protective glare. "And what about the two people who actually made your life a game? Any word from the 'parents of the year'?"
I shook my head, feeling a familiar, hollow ache. "Nothing. Their phones are still disconnected. I went to the diner and the docks yesterday. They haven't been to work in over a week, Eliza. They lied to my face every single morning before I left for the Hamptons. They were planning this."
Eliza let out a sharp, jagged laugh that was devoid of humor. "Planning it? Mila, they were calculating it. I’ve told you for years that they were toxic, but this? This is a new level of hell. I always hated the way they leaned on you, acting like you were the parent and they were the wayward teenagers, but I never thought they’d actually leave three kids in a freezing apartment with no plan."
"I keep trying to think of a reason," I said, my voice trembling. "Maybe they were in trouble. Maybe they thought they were protecting us."
"Stop it," Eliza snapped, though her eyes were sympathetic. "Stop making excuses for people who didn't even make sure you had heat before they ran. I hated them when they were just lazy and selfish, Mila, but now? Now I want to find them just so I can tell them exactly what kind of monsters they are. They didn't just leave; they betrayed every ounce of respect you ever tried to give them. You’re over here worrying about 'gravity' with Nate, while those two are out there somewhere probably not giving a damn that you're barely keeping your head above water."
"I know," I murmured, the harsh truth of her words sinking in. "I just... I can't wrap my head around it."
"You shouldn't have to," Eliza said, slamming the fridge door shut for emphasis. "They aren't worth the mental space. You focus on those girls, and you focus on that billionaire who actually seems to give a damn. If Nate Salvatore wants to be your anchor, let him. Because god knows your parents were only ever the weights trying to drown you."
I watched her move back to the espresso machine, her movements sharp and angry on my behalf. It was a strange comfort, having someone hate them for me when I was still too numb to do it myself.
"I just hope the fall doesn't kill me when the gravity finally kicks back in," I murmured, turning back to the sink as the bell above the door chimed, signaling the next wave of people who wanted a piece of a world I wasn't sure I belonged in. But as I scrubbed the next cup, I realized that for the first time, I wasn't just afraid of the fall—I was starting to wonder if, with Nate, I might actually learn how to fly.