Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
The next day, Graham isn’t in the office and won’t be until later in the day.
According to the email that hit my inbox at ten p.m. last night, he’s up north in Hudson City for a meeting with Rowan and the Daydream team.
With him gone, I find the morning dragging, an uncomfortable boredom weighing me down.
It’s strange to think that even though we spend most of the day completely separated, I’ve come to expect, and, in some way, enjoy Graham’s companionship during the workday.
By the time lunch rolls around, I’m desperate for a change of scenery.
Grant and the guys are on the deck, finishing up some things before next week’s inspection, so while I want to sit out there and enjoy my lunch, I know I would just be in the way.
Instead, on my lunch break, I grab the towel I keep in the trunk of my car.
Weighing my options, I think about going onto the beach, but realize the sand is bound to be wet from last night’s rain and cold.
Instead, I walk to the side of the building, carefully lay my towel out on a dry patch of sidewalk, and sit down to eat.
I stretch out my hand and idly move it through the grassy clover patch next to me, half-looking for a four-leaf clover as my break ticks away.
After a while, a voice calls from behind me, making me jump in alarm. I quickly pull out one of my earbuds and turn to see Graham standing over me with a disapproving expression.
“Oh my god, you scared the crap out of me,” I say, rubbing at my chest where my heart is pounding.
“I’ve been standing here for two minutes,” he accuses.
“I was listening to music. I didn’t hear you.”
“That’s incredibly unsafe. You should always be aware of your surroundings.”
I roll my eyes at his dramatics.
“This is Seaside Point on a Wednesday before the season starts, and my brother’s on the deck with half a dozen men who treat me like I’m their little sister who needs protecting. This might be the safest place I could be, aware of my surroundings or not.”
He crosses his arms, clearly irritated with my nonchalance. I smile. “But you have a good point; next time, I’ll leave one earbud out.” He stares a long moment as if assessing the validity of my promise before nodding in approval at whatever he finds.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask, looking at him and really seeing him now. He’s in the same white shirt and black pants as always, but he's holding a brown bag.
“I got back a little bit ago, figured I’d have lunch. Mind if I come join you?” I stare at him with wide eyes.
“Join me?“ I ask, completely dazed by this unexpected turn.
“For lunch,” he clarifies.
“Outside?” Despite my confusion, I shift, gathering my things to one side of the towel so he can sit down, trying to ignore how my heart is now pounding harder for a new reason.
“You said vitamin D might help with my attitude,” he says, taking a sandwich out of the bag after he sits on the towel.
He looks so out of place, all business-man hot sitting on an oversized rainbow beach towel.
For a moment, I wonder if he owns any casual clothes, if he’s ever gone to the beach for anything other than work, and, most dangerous of all, what he would look like in swim trunks, laid out in the sand, sweaty and—
This is your boss, June. Get it together, I remind myself, but it doesn’t seem to help in the least.
“I… I guess I did,” I say, still stunned. “Didn’t expect you’d actually consider what I said, though.”
“Figure it couldn’t hurt, just this once.” He tips his scruff-covered chin toward my hand, still in the grass. “Are you still looking for clovers?”
I nod.
“Could always use a little bit more luck,” I say, happy for the distraction as I divert my gaze to the grass. “I’ve decided to make this my luckiest summer possible, and I’m taking any extra help I can get.”
“How’s that going for you?” he asks, and when I look over at him, I note the question is genuine.
“Well, I got this job.”
“So, bad,” he says, and I let out a small laugh at his unexpected joke. There’s a twinkle in his eyes, though his lips don’t shift into that tiny hint of a smile that I’m becoming addicted to.
“I wouldn’t say that. I’ve been enjoying working here so far,” I say.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he says after a moment, then quickly adds, as if realizing his mistake, “Because you’re really good at your job. You saved the day yesterday.”
I let him have that one, mostly because he’s now moving his hands through the grass as well, and it distracts me thoroughly. He has nice hands: long, thick fingers, short, neat nails. The way they flex as they move feels like my own personal catnip, and—
Nope, nope, nope. We are not doing this. Needing to distract myself, I blurt, “What are you doing?”
“Looking for four-leaf clovers,” he states, as if it’s obvious.
I stare at him for a moment in confusion. “Don’t you have something more grown-up and boring to do?”
“Absolutely,” he replies simply. “I was out of the office all morning. I’m sure my inbox is a disaster.” Again, my traitorous heart beats a bit faster.
“But you’re out here with me?”
He looks around as if assessing the validity before shrugging once more.
“Looks like it.”
I stare at him for a moment, his attention back on the grass as he inspects a clover with a torn leaf so it almost looks like it had four leaves. With a moment of hesitation, I do the same, biting my lip as I move my hand through the clovers, though I’m not even looking anymore.
This is weird, right? I mean, just last week, he could barely look at me without grimacing and was telling me that my little lucky quirks were ridiculous. And now he’s sitting out here in his work clothes, brushing through the grass, looking for a four-leaf clover with me.
I should just enjoy it, bask in the moment, and accept that I’m getting just a bit closer to winning Graham over.
But being me means overthinking every second, unable to simply let anything good just be.
“This is too weird. I can’t do this,” I say.
He looks up at me with a questioning look. “Are you done looking for clovers?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I can’t sit here knowing basically nothing about you.”
His brows furrow. “I don’t see how knowing anything about me impacts your ability to sit beside me.”
“Because it’s uncomfortable! What if you’re a serial killer? I’m pretty sure if a serial killer finds a four-leaf clover, it’s counterproductive.”
His head tips just a bit as he looks me over. I think he might say something about my not being worried about that when I went to his hotel room with him, but it seems we’re both on the same page of pretending that never happened.
“How would getting to know me clarify whether or not I’m a serial killer? From my understanding, they’re great at hiding their motives. That’s kind of the whole point, isn’t it?”
He has a great point, though I’ll never admit it.
“I’m a great judge of character,” I lie, because I’m actually a terrible judge of character, not that I’ll be telling him that.
I’m overly trusting, which, in my life, has been fine since I’ve always had Lainey and Grant, both of whom are so skeptical of everyone on God’s green earth, that it outweighs my own lack of skepticism.
“What do you want to know?” he asks, shifting his position so he’s sitting upright and leaning back on his hands. My chest tightens, partly from how his shirt stretches across his chest and partly from surprise that he’s actually going along with this game.
“Want to know?” I repeat, fumbling for another chip and trying to act casual while my attention jumps between the food and him.
“Yeah. What do you want to know?”
I hesitate, unsure, since I didn’t actually think he’d go along with it, but…
“What’s…what’s your favorite color?” I ask, feeling like I already know the answer. It has to be black, or white, or some other very boring, very basic color that fits his personality.
“Blue,” he says quickly, shocking me.
“Blue?”
“Yeah. Blue.”
“Huh.” I sit there, staring at him for long moments.
“Why do you look surprised?”
“Because you only wear black and white, and your office is beige. I expected something boring, not an actual good option.” I study him. “What kind of blue?” I expect him to brush me off, but once again, he takes it seriously.
“Like…” He closes his eyes. The sun casts shadows on the sharp lines of his face, softening them as he lets out a breath.
I wish I could paint it, capture the moment of peace forever, but it’s gone just as quickly as it came.
“Summer sky blue. The bright kind that means warm days and—” He opens his eyes and stares at me.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” I blink and shake my head.
“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head, trying to find my grip on reality, to knock myself from this strange dreamland I keep falling into. “I just didn’t expect you’d have such a good answer. That’s my favorite color too. More like a robin’s egg blue, though.”
“You wear a lot of blue. It looks nice on you,” he says. I freeze, caught off guard by the compliment, unsure how to react or what to say next, when he continues. “Okay, my turn.”
“Your turn?”
“Do only you get to ask things?” he asks.
“I…I guess not,” I say, confused because I didn’t think he’d actually go for this in the first place. I didn’t exactly think through the rules, but I suppose fair is fair. “Okay, ask away.”
“Favorite movie?” he asks.
“Sixteen Candles,” I answer without hesitation.
He pauses, looking thoughtful as if he’s trying to remember which film it is.
“The one where they forget her birthday?”
I nod and blush. “It happened to me once. My parents are kind of all over the place, wanderers, hippies, that kind of thing, so they left Grant and me with my grandparents.”
“Is your birthday not in June? You’d think it would be easy for them to remember,” he asks.