14. Graham
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
graham
She walks in and steals
Not just my words but my breath
I don’t want them back
“ Quinn , sweetheart, do you take cream or sugar in your coffee?” my mom asks.
She’s been buzzing with excitement since the moment we walked through the front door, peppering me with questions all evening. How did you two meet? Where was your first date? How did you know she was the one?
I managed to avoid two of the questions, but my own mother was close to punching me when I said we hadn’t been on a date yet.
“ Just creamer, please. Thanks , Claire .” Quinn is next to me on the sofa, with Jo and Patrick on her other side.
It’s a full house this evening. Jo’s dad, George , is chatting to Dex and Booth in the corner; the latter having had nothing but a smug smile on his face all evening. Clearly , his plan is working, because all of our mother’s usual matchmaking questions have been aimed at me.
“ Uncle - Graham’s - Girlfriend - Quinn , what are you dressing up as for Halloween ?” my niece loudly asks from her spot on the rug where she’s playing with a pile of LEGO .
“ Her name is just Quinn .” Patrick laughs.
“ Ohhh . Sorry .” She giggles. “ Just - Quinn , what are you dressing up as for Halloween ?”
This kid. Cute as a button and sometimes too smart for her own good.
“ Well , Just - Lottie , I thought I was a little old for dressing up. What do you think I should be?”
Lottie taps a finger on her nose, contemplating her answer, before pointing it in the air triumphantly. “ A lobster!”
“ That’s a good one. What are you being this year?” Quinn asks.
“ I wanted to be Rapunzel .” She aims a pout at her dad. “ But Daddy said no.”
“ And we all know why that is.” Johanna laughs, while my older brother groans and drops his head into his hands.
“ That’s what you get for canoodling with Johanna at your own daughter’s party.” Dex snickers before giving George an apologetic look.
Dex isn’t wearing his hearing aid, but he has no issue lip reading the slew of insults Patrick mouths at him, causing him to chuckle.
“ Uncle Gray .” My niece directs her attention to me now. “ Will Just - Quinn be nicer than the old one?”
“ Lottie ,” Patrick warns, while the rest of the room grows quiet.
It’s great to know my ex left a lasting impression on my niece—who was three when we broke up. I don’t blame her; she’s only asking what everyone else is thinking.
“ What ?” Lottie asks with a sassy shrug. “ She never played with me. Just - Quinn smells like sugar and dresses pretty. She can stay.”
I think I stun everyone silent—me included—with my next words. “ She’s very pretty and I’d like it if Just - Quinn stays too.”
Most people in the room would presume I’m saying this to keep up the facade. When really, I hardly thought that statement over before I blurted it out. Such an uncharacteristic moment for me, however it didn’t feel unnatural.
Planned or not, it was the truth.
“ From experience, once Lottie makes her mind up about coupling people together, there’s no telling her otherwise,” Jo whispers in my ear, looking between Quinn and me. She’s not wrong. Out of all the meddling that went on between her and Patrick , Lottie was the chief instigator.
“ I happen to love games. Especially LEGO .” Lottie’s eyes fly open at Quinn’s words, and she starts bouncing on her knees.
“ You wanna play LEGO ? I’m making a fairy kingdom. Uncle Boo usually plays but he said his back hurts today and can’t sit on the floor with me.”
“ It does hurt,” Booth chimes in. “ I’m getting old, you little toad.”
Quinn doesn’t need to be asked twice. She slides off the sofa and settles next to my niece with her legs tucked under her round ass. When I manage to drag my eyes away, they meet the delighted smile of my little brother, who just caught me ogling.
Even without her luscious figure tempting me at every turn, how can I not look at her when, in the last two hours, she’s fit in with my family like she’s been coming to these gatherings for years?
In our decade-long relationship, I didn’t witness anything close with Jenna and my family as I’ve seen tonight. Jenna was quiet at dinners, getting lost in the jokes and laughter of my siblings. She was never made to feel left out but was either too distracted on her phone or chose to be aloof. The minute we were alone, she’d be moaning about one of Booth’s jokes or how she felt my dad didn’t like her. There was always something to gripe about. Eventually she stopped coming. And I gave up inviting her.
That wasn’t long after my dad passed.
Yet when I mentioned earlier to Quinn that we didn’t have to stay long after finishing dessert, she looked disappointed. Quinn wasn’t just joining in with the laughter around the dinner table; she was the reason behind it with her animated storytelling about her travels across the country. Even promising to Lottie to show her the van when it’s fixed.
Everyone is drawn to her.
The sensation building in my chest as I watch her play with my niece, has to stop. This is fake. Temporary . Wanting her isn’t an option, because she’s too good for me, so why even entertain the idea?
A nudge to my arm has me turning to find Jo looking at me curiously. “ How’s it going between the two of you?”
Even though my mom and George aren’t in earshot, I keep my voice low. “ It’s fine. I think. It’s just… I’m absolutely in over my head.”
“ How so?” Patrick peers around Johanna’s shoulder.
“ There’s no way people are going to believe we’re actually together.” I sigh.
“ Word on the street is that you two were caught in quite a heated moment at the bakery yesterday,” Jo supplies with a playful smile. “ Even Mrs . Stewart was overheard talking about it. It didn’t come across as unbelievable to her.”
That surprises me but I’m still not convinced. “ She’s so different from Jenna . Which isn’t a bad thing. Far from it,” I rush out. “ She’s so different from me too.”
“ As cliché as it is, opposites do attract,” Patrick adds. “ Now , let’s say this wasn’t fake, would you be doing anything different than you are now? Minus the roommates situation. ”
Would I ?
Probably not—though, I can’t see myself ever having found the courage to talk to her. I spent the better part of the summer drafting out multiple texts to her, only for me to delete each one. Mostly because I’d convinced myself any interactions with her would be awkward and tumble weed inducing.
But they’re far from that. They’re fun, genuine, purposeful.
“ No . I wouldn’t,” I reply earnestly.
“ Then keep doing what you’re doing. I think you’ll be surprised with the outcome.” Jo squeezes my arm before changing the subject. “ Question . Would Jenna mind if I wore a white, floor-length gown to the wedding?”
Shaking my head with laughter, I bump my shoulder with hers. “ I didn’t take you for the vengeful type.”
“ Pfft . She once told me she suspected my skin was breaking out because of all the cheese I ate. The fucking audacity.”
“ Uh -oh! JoJo swored,” Lottie shouts, holding out an open palm. “ One dollar, please.”
With an eye roll, Jo pulls Patrick’s wallet from his back pocket and drops a bill onto Lottie’s hand. “ Love , you need to start carrying your own dollars if you continue to curse in front of her. She’s got bionic hearing.”
“ But you’re my sugar dad—” Patrick clamps a hand over her mouth, pulls her into his side, and kisses the tip of her nose.
“ Pat , did we put in the application for this year’s Fall Fair ?” Booth calls from across the room, thankfully halting the PDA going on beside me.
“ Yeah , I dropped it off at the town hall last week.” Patrick turns to Quinn . “ Hey , you should apply, they’re accepting applications for a few more days. The bakery would make a killing.”
Excitement takes over her features and she opens her mouth, but then something snuffs it out, and her eyes dim. “ Is it…umm…free?” she asks, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“ We wish,” Booth replies. “ It costs four hundred dollars for the table and then another two for the permits. More if you want to sell alcohol.”
Quinn’s bubbly and positive demeanor fizzles out, and I hate it. It’s irrational for me to be mad at Booth , he’s answering her question, but I really want to throw a cushion at his idiotic head for breaking her spirit.
Since that morning at the bakery when Quinn was crying in my arms, panicking over money and how she couldn’t afford to fix her van—her home—and pay for a hotel, I’d guessed money was a little tight for her. It happens to the best of us, especially when you’re first starting out as a business owner. It’s obvious pride tends to stand in her way, and even now that she’s agreed to let me help the bakery and live with me free of charge, I get the feeling she’s itching to repay me.
Her earlier comment about not having people in her corner replays in my head.
I hate that she can’t have this. I hate seeing her sad. I hate that I can’t fix it.
She deserves all the things that bring her joy. The same type of joy she effortlessly brings others.
Theoretically , I’m not the guy to fix it. But I can sure as hell try.
And , like Jo said, maybe the outcome will surprise me.
“ Would you rather have lobster claws or octopus tentacles for hands?”
“ Easy . Tentacles . Next .”
My roommate lets out an exasperated sigh. We’ve been playing this game for half an hour, each question more ridiculous than the last, but apparently my quick, logical answers aren’t the way to do it.
Quinn arrived back at the apartment minutes after I finished work, ending her day much earlier than usual. My head was aching following hours of back-to-back meetings with difficult clients, so when she suggested we walk Curly together, I couldn’t say yes quickly enough.
We’re strolling along the boardwalk that spans the length of the bay, the old planks creaking with each step as we make the most of the nice weather this evening. A few clouds hang in the sky, each painted a pastel pink or purple to match the setting sun, our lungs filling with fresh, ocean air. The temperature is quickly dropping the closer we get to November , and we’ll soon be trading flannels for thick, winter coats.
A small line of boats bob back into the bay, the shouts and cheers from the fishermen taking in today’s haul ricochets off the row of colorful houses facing the water. Booth was down here first thing this morning when the first load of boats returned, ensuring the restaurant had the freshest catch on the menu. He took a class in how to filet fish a couple of years ago, allowing him to purchase it all dockside, rather than waiting for the fishermen to prep the fish elsewhere.
“ Why not lobster claws?” Quinn asks with a poke to my bicep.
“ It’s highly inconvenient.”
My hand hooks around her hip when a truck speeds past us, and I maneuver her until I’m between her and the street. She’s too busy muttering away about sea creatures to even notice she’s switched sides.
We stop so Curly can sniff a trash can, and while Quinn stares out at the choppy waters, I take in her flushed cheeks and windswept hair.
I avert my gaze when she turns to look at me and asks, “ And tentacles aren’t?”
“ Why won’t you just let me be happy with my tentacles? If you want lobster claws, you have them. I’ve made my decision.”
“ Yesssss .” She drags that one syllable out with an eye roll. “ But you have to explain your answer.”
“ Show me the rule book that says that.”
“ Graham , there is no rule book.” She blows out a frustrated breath—it’s quite fun winding her up. “ Dems the rules, pal.”
Curly trots ahead again, tail wagging, and we follow the light pitter-patter of his paws. I look down at Quinn , arms swinging as she keeps a tight hold of his leash. She’s a stubborn thing when she gets frustrated; her nose crinkles and a little dent creases between her brows.
I give it some thought before replying. “ You can multitask with tentacles. Plus , claws make it hard to hold certain things.”
“ Like what? Actually , I guess it would be hard for you to put your glasses on or type on your keyb— ohhhh . You wouldn’t be able to jerk off.” Her free hand is thrown up in the air, as if to say duh .
I almost go flying into the frigid waters when I trip over my feet at her blunt observation. A cold bath is probably what I need when she talks like that. She does this a lot, says things with zero filter, and now I’m thinking about rubbing one out. With her in the room. God knows I’ve had enough cold showers since she moved in, especially when she skips around the apartment in those tiny shorts that mold to her ass like a second skin.
Imagining her in those shorts is not helping the situation between my legs.
She’s not wrong—the idea of holding my dick between a pincer and a claw does not sound appealing. I just didn’t plan on telling her that was the main reason behind my decision.
“ So , you’d choose lobster claws?” I gruff, trying my best not to let images of Quinn watching me intimately flood my brain.
“ Oh , heck no. We’d be tentacle buddies.”
“ And your reasoning?”
“ Same as you.” Her shoulders jerk.
Fuck . Shit . Fuck . Now I’m imagining her, spread out, hands drifting down to the apex of her thighs. Moaning and writhing under the caress of her delicate fingers as I tower over her. Desperate to touch and taste.
“ I looked over that report you gave me.” Thankfully her words pull me out of my inappropriate thoughts. “ There were a lot of things on there I wasn’t clear about. Could we talk over it one day this week?”
“ Yeah , sure. I can swing by the bakery?—”
My sentence is cut off by the ringing of Quinn’s phone. There are so many pockets to her jacket, it takes some patting down until she finally locates it before stabbing at the screen to accept the call.
“ Hello ?” We carry on walking as she talks on the phone, nodding along and saying okay to whomever she’s speaking to. My hand hovers behind her, guiding her, and ready to catch her if she loses her footing. “ Oh . Is it really that bad?” Her shoulders slump farther with each question and answer until all the spirit she had in her has vanished. “ Right . I’ll … I’ll have to look into that and get back to you. Thanks for keeping me updated, Ricky . See ya.”
Ricky . The owner of the garage I recommended. From the crushed look on her face, the news he’s just delivered isn’t good.
She ends the call but doesn’t look up from her phone, even after it locks, her eyes stay glued to the black screen.
“ Hey . What did he say?” I ask quietly .
A corner of my heart cracks and breaks off when she sniffles. Goddammit , people need to stop upsetting this woman because I’m going to get a savior complex. It guts me in ways I can’t explain when her bright spark dims.
I bend at the knees and duck my head, bringing us to a standstill. She still refuses to meet my gaze, so with the tip of my pointer finger on her chin, I tilt her head up slowly.
“ Honey , what have I got to do so I can see that beautiful smile again?”
The corner of her lips pull in, catching the tears streaking her rosy cheeks. “ I don’t know.” Her voice is so weak and full of turmoil. “ My van. My home . There’s more damage to it than we thought. It’s not even just the electrics the rats have chewed through—which costs thousands alone—the air filter is useless. The radiator is destroyed. The rats trashed it with all their nesting. It’s not only unlivable right now, but unsafe.” She worries her lips between her teeth, chin wobbling, and for whatever reason, those glassy, golden eyes look at me like she could… No . Like she does trust me.
Quinn looks at me like I hold all the answers in the universe—its stars, galaxies, and all undiscovered planets. And , fuck, do I want to be that person for her.
I don’t just want to hold the stars in the sky for her; I want to create a million more, to see them twinkle in her eyes.
“ Graham ,” she whimpers. “ What do I do?”
From what I’ve picked up, that question isn’t easy for her. I suspect she’s spent a long time fending for herself, too scared to ask for help or perhaps not having the right people around her.
She’s headstrong to a fault, and I sense there’s more behind that.
The bakery is successful. I’ve seen the figures, but it’s in its infancy. Any new business owner knows it’s tough to make a profit within the first two years; you’re funneling in your own money constantly, investing in new equipment, and that’s before you even hire staff or expand.
For Quinn to be in a position where she has to find temporary housing and fix a rare Volkswagen van that doubles as her home, it’s no wonder why panic and worry morph her features.
I’m not just playing with fire with my next proposal, I’m dancing in the flames barefoot.
It wouldn’t change much. We’d still play along with this fake dating scheme. I’d still help out the bakery. And she would still live with me.
Just for a little longer than planned.
As she patiently waits for me to respond, all doe-eyed and pretty, I step closer to brush away a tear with my thumb before it can track down her cheek. “ I think what we do is go and get the rest of your stuff from the van. Stay with me—for now. Until you can get it fixed and Ricky says it’s safe to live in. It makes sense. You’re already living there. Plus , Curly likes your belly scratches.”
And I like you in my home.
I see her turning the idea over in her head; eyes darting between mine. I expect her to fight me on this, and I’m glad she doesn’t, I just don’t like what she says next. “ It would stop anyone from questioning our relationship.”
That reason hadn’t even come to mind, simply because I was allowing myself to get excited about the idea of Quinn in my space. Her scent, smiles, and warm presence mine to cherish and hide away from the world, like they were made for me. But it would be a tragedy to civilization to keep her to myself.
I never knew the second deadly sin would be one of my biggest vices. Yet here I am; greedy for her.
“ That too,” I stubbornly agree.
“ I need to pay rent though. It’s almost winter. An extra person living with you is sure to increase the electricity and heating bill. I’ll buy my own food. And walk Curly every day.” Her voice rises with each suggestion.
“ It’s not necessary, Quinn . Trust me. I’m not strapped for cash. It means you can save the money needed to fix the van quicker, right? Don’t argue with me on this one, please.” I nod at Curly , who has fallen asleep on my shoe.“ And I enjoy walking this guy. Maybe ...we can do it together?”
“ I’d like that.” She smiles, and hope filters back in as her posture straightens and the tears stop. “ I’ll cook. Every night. No argument.” That last part comes out all deep and surly, and I know she’s mocking me by the cheeky grin on her face.
“ What a hardship for me that will be.”
She pulls her shoulders back, and I’m unsure what her next move is going to be. When her hand falls between us, I think we’re about to shake on it—like my awkward gesture the other week.
That’s not what happens.
Her fingers wrap around the collar of my sweater to tug me down a few inches. Balanced on the very tips of her toes, her lips find their way to the same spot she kissed the other day.
I’m a reasonable man, never one to make rash decisions or let my head float in the clouds. I know what my next steps will be. I strategically plan my life.
There was no planning for Quinn Jackson .
I don’t prepare myself for how this is going to end.
The probability of me falling for her even more is inevitable.
And the chances of her feeling the same: 1,000,000:1.