Chapter 35 #2
“One of us has to be rational, June, and it’s never been you.
” Without meaning to, I smile, just a bit, though a new wave of confusion filters in, my world set on its side once more with the understanding that Grant might not actually be as pessimistic about my art career as I’ve always assumed.
I don’t have time to dwell on that, though, because he’s speaking again.
“But none of that is relevant right now. I’m the first one to be skeptical of anyone who is wronging you, but I’m failing to see how trying to make things easier on you and—"
“He made me think I was lucky!” I say, throwing my hands into the air. “He let me think everything worked out for me.”
“And that made you brave enough to try things you’d been too scared to do before,” he countered. My mouth closes, unable to think of an argument.
“He’s got a good point, June,” Claire says, echoing my thoughts.
When my attention shifts to her, she looks a bit apologetic, lifting a shoulder.
“I mean, was it the best move? Not sure. But would you really have taken the whole lucky girl summer thing as seriously as you did if not?” My mouth purses, and I take in a deep breath, seeing her rationale.
“She’s got a great point. You should definitely listen to Claire more,” Graham says, making Claire smile.
“You’re not off the hook, Graham Hawthorne,” I snap, turning to him, that irritation igniting once more.
“Well aware, lady luck. I earned your ire. Now, can we go outside and talk about it somewhere quieter? I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
“I don’t know, I’m kind of enjoying the show,” Decker says, a shit-eating grin on his face. I roll my eyes, but before I can argue with him, Grant hits him upside the head.
“Shut up and let them be,” Grant says. “I think it’s time for everyone to pack it in for the night.”
“Excuse me—” Lainey starts, but Grant glares at her, and she sighs. “Yeah, you’re so right. I’m actually a bit tired myself.” Everyone murmurs their solemn agreements before we wish each other goodbye.
“Hear him out, June,” Sutton says low as she hugs me. “The man is wild about you.” I nod, then give everyone one last wave before leaving.
The walk to our hotel room takes about five minutes, and we’re silent the whole way. When we get into the elevator, his hand brushes mine as if on instinct. He pulls away quickly, giving me a mumbled apology, but with a sigh, I reach over and twine my fingers with his.
I hate that the second I do, something in my chest eases.
I might be terribly annoyed, angry, and confused by him, but I still love having him close.
It’s not until the hotel door closes us into our suite, a suite I’m now pretty sure Graham upgraded us to, that I slide my hand out of his, crossing my arms on my chest and facing him. I brooded over my thoughts, feelings, and emotions the entire way, but I have only one question that matters.
“Why did you do that?” I ask. My voice is low and even, but the hurt rings clear. “Why did you lie to me?”
His face softens with regret when I speak. “I didn’t lie to you, June.”
“So there was an assistant position?” He looks away, and my heart drops a little. “That’s what I thought.”
“That’s a bad example,”
My brow furrows.
“A bad example?” Something crosses his face, stubbornness or frustration or embarrassment, I don’t know, but either way, it’s a tipping point.
“A bad example, Graham? The entire summer, I thought I was lucky. I thought that the universe was pushing me in the right direction, giving me signs I was on the right path, only to find out it was you manipulating me.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You had my brother’s best friend lie to me and pay for my car.
You had my best friend’s sister make up an entire job for me.
You slept with me knowing damn well that the next day, I’d find out that I would be working for you.
You—” I hesitate as something new hits me, my stomach churning with nerves, and his face goes blank.
“Did you buy my art?” The words are faint even to my own ears, but when he closes his eyes and takes in a breath, I know he heard me.
“June, you have to understand—”
“You bought my art, didn’t you? You were that first sale?” My mind is reeling now, nausea filling me with the thought that much, much more than just my luck has been fabricated.
Has the entirety of my success been fake?
“Just that first sale. I promise. It was partly because it was fucking beautiful, and partly because even after the Daytrip project was done and I was on to the next one, I wanted to have a piece of you and your sunshine and your luck with me at all times.”
Relief moves through me at his reasoning, and even if it makes me an idiot, I buy it. It makes sense, and the thought that even when we were nothing, he wanted a piece of my art to remember me by warms me. Unfortunately, it’s so buried by confusion and frustration that I can’t let the issue go.
“So you let me just believe a stranger found my website and bought my painting?” He closes his eyes again, sighing defeated. “Why would you do that? Why would you lie to me like that? Why did you—”
“Because I’m in love with you!” he shouts, cutting me off, and the world goes quiet. Long moments span as he stands before me, running a hand through his tousled hair, looking at me with pleading eyes. Begging me to understand.
“You’re what?” I ask in a whisper, and he throws his hands up.
“I’m in love with you, June. I have been since the day I met you.
It’s why I went to the coffee shop every day for a week, hoping I would bump into you.
” He did tell me that, at least. “It’s why when you stumbled into my place of business, I couldn’t give up my shot at getting to know you, even if I have never made time or put in energy for any kind of relationship in my entire life.
It’s why I took you to my hotel room, hoping I could get you out of my system, even if by then, I knew it would be impossible.
Even if I knew the next day that you’d be walking into my office to become my assistant. ”
My heart is pounding, but he’s oblivious to that as he continues his monologue.
“I’m in love with you, and I have been since that first day, when you smiled over your shoulder at me and apologized for eavesdropping on my call.
It’s why I told Sutton to give you a job, any job.
It’s why I did everything I could to avoid you in the beginning, and why your incessant need to be my friend worked: because I never needed convincing, June.
I just needed to give myself the permission to love you.
It’s why I make sure there are always enough chocolate frosted donuts with sprinkles for you to get one.
It’s why I stayed up for hours, making a dozen emails and entering a million different contests to get you those goddamn tickets because I knew you’d never accept them from me. ”
My eyes widen as more pieces fall into place; his mission has been far more intricate than I realized.
“You what?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper, but instead of explaining, he continues.
“It’s why I spent an hour outside to find your earring, which, just so you know, somehow flew like, fifteen feet away from where you were standing, and put it right where you’d spot it. It’s why I upgraded our hotel room on your birthday and—”
“You fixed the craps game, didn’t you? It’s illegal to cheat in a casino, Graham,” I say with wide eyes, panicked even though I think I’m supposed to be mad at him right now.
Even if I’m mad at him, I don’t want him to go to prison.
A tiny smirk lifts his lips, and he shakes his head.
“That was all you, June. That was your luck. I’m not so far gone as to commit fraud in a casino.” I smiled a bit, then my mind moved through moments over the summer, big and small.
“The hotel rooms in Wildwood. Did you plan on just one?” I ask.
“No. At that point, I just wanted you happy, but I didn’t want to cross that line. It felt selfish.”
I nod, understanding in a twisted way.
“The clovers?”
He looks away before letting out a sigh and running his hand through his hair.
“You were excited to find them, so I found one in another spot of the yard and transplanted it.”
A new thought hits me, and panic comes with it. “Did you set up the proposal with Rowan?”
He instantly shakes his head. “No. No, I didn’t. That was all you, and that was all Rowan. I drew the line at anything that had to do with your career.”
I give him a deadpan look. “You had Sutton give me a job!” I say, throwing my hands in the air before running one through my hair. “Now my entire career is a lie!”
He gives me a knowing look, a hint of a smile on the edges of his lips. “Working as an executive assistant is not your career, June.”
Crossing my arms on my chest, I glare at him, but there’s not much indignation left. In fact, I’m slowly coming to terms with it and finding it all a bit endearing. This is the kind of thing that, if I heard it happening to someone else, I would swoon. Not that I’ll be telling him that.
“It could be,” I say, and even I know I sound petulant.
He shakes his head, taking a step closer, and I let him, staying where I am. “Not for you, and you know that. That was always a stop along the way, and you were always meant to do so much more. You and I both know as much.”
God, how does he always know the right thing to say?
And why am I suddenly desperate for him to be closer?
“I don’t know if that’s insane or precious,” I murmur, taking a step closer and letting him wrap me up in an embrace. I can process all of this much better in his arms.
“I’m hoping precious,” he murmurs into my hair, and I let out a sigh, snuggling into him, that feeling of home moving through me again.
His hand moves to tip my chin, and I’m forced to look at him.
There’s no shield or mask on, and I realize it’s been that way for a while.
There’s also worry, nervousness, and regret.
But most of all, shining bright in a way I don’t know how I didn’t realize it sooner, is pure, unadulterated love.
God, this man loves me. So much so, he would work tirelessly behind the scenes to make sure all of my whims come true.
“Do you forgive me?” he asks, eyes hopeful.
“I can’t believe you did all of that,” I murmur.
“And I can’t believe that even when I was the grumpiest asshole on this planet, you kept working at me, trying to make me like you, trying to get me to open up, to see the magic that is Seaside Point.
I can’t believe you made me want to stay in one place, and that you made me make actual, honest-to-God friends I look forward to spending time with.
I can’t believe I won you somehow, made you mine. ”
“You really think you won me, Hawthorne?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow.
I’m no longer angry, and I’m sure I’ll have a million questions after this, but I can’t find it in me to be genuinely mad, not when he clearly has been tying himself in knots trying to do anything he can to just…
what? Make me happy? See me smile? Make me believe that I really could have everything if I just wished on enough dandelions, four-leaf clovers, and lucky pennies?
“If I’m lucky,” he says, voice low, and it settles in my chest.
Because despite everything, the truth is, I am lucky.
The luckiest girl in the world.
Not because I got a job when I needed it, or because I sold a painting, or I found a four-leaf clover, or even because I made two grand at a craps table.
But because I have everything I could want.