Chapter 8
8
After stopping to get an espresso for Graham and dropping Claire off, Graham and I head to the parking garage, where we slide inside a silver BMW. I don’t know much about cars, but the leather interior is worn, and the electronics are dated. Probably a hand-me-down from his grandfather.
A yellowed photograph on the dash catches my eye. From the passenger seat, I can just make out the image of an older man sitting beside a towheaded tot. Graham and his grandfather, most likely. Driving his car must make Graham feel connected to the grandparent he lost. The thought of it tempers my anger. Slightly.
But the moment he pulls out onto the street, my rage is resurrected. I swivel in my seat to glare at him.
“What the fuck was that all about?”
Graham’s brow lowers, but he keeps his eyes forward.
“What do you mean?”
“That whole possessive caveman act?” I put on my best British accent, which, admittedly sounds more like Russell Brand than Graham. “ She’s not going home with you, mate. ”
Graham scoffs. “Trust me, I did you a favor. There was something off with that wanker.”
I throw my hands up in the air.
“Do you think you have some kind of claim on me? Because news flash, we went on one date, and you have a fiancée. ”
Graham clenches his jaw but doesn’t say anything. Of course he doesn’t. His behavior is indefensible.
“You are my client,” I continue quietly. “You and I have a professional relationship and nothing more. So start acting like it.”
He nods briskly. “Noted.”
Rolling my eyes, I fold my arms across my chest. We merge onto I-83 and I make a silent vow to ignore him for the rest of the drive.
By exit 10, I crack. Predictably.
“So,” I say. “You’re moving back to New York.”
Graham’s hands tighten on the steering wheel as he bites down on his lower lip. The sight of his teeth pressed against the pillowy pink flesh sends a rippling sensation through my stomach. I tear my gaze away, staring instead out the window.
“Yeah,” he says after a minute.
I nod slowly, still not looking at him. “That’s interesting. Because when we were on our Not-a-Date the other night, you made it sound like you were planning on staying here long-term.”
Graham clears his throat, and when he speaks again, it sounds rehearsed. “I should be able to get the hotel back on track within the next few months. It’s possible that I’m more concerned about the books than needed. Once it’s all sorted, I’ll join Claire in the city.”
“And what about your career?” I ask, and I’m surprised at the hard edge to my words. I like Claire a lot, but something about him putting himself last in this equation is rubbing me the wrong way.
Graham lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “My job as a financial analyst is completely remote, so I can live anywhere.”
“And you’ve been able to keep up with work while helping out at the hotel?”
Graham’s perfect posture goes even more rigid. He lifts his chin and I detect a hint of pride. “I’ve had to work a bit at night and on the weekends, but I’ve managed it so far.”
Well. Must be nice to have an answer for everything.
“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” I mutter.
Annoyed for reasons I can’t quite put my finger on, I slouch against the headrest, only then noticing how far back the seat is. The last passenger in this car must have been a lot taller than me. Not that this is a particularly challenging feat.
Reaching below the seat, I fumble for a handle to pull the seat forward, and my fingertips brush against something hard and rectangular. Without thinking, I grab on and drag it out. It’s a book, and the moment I register what’s written on the cover, my mouth goes dry.
Jewish Festival Cooking. My heart skips an entire beat.
“Why do you have this?” I whisper. Even in the darkness, I can see the color draining from Graham’s face.
He’s quiet for a long beat. When he finally replies, the words are so soft I barely hear them.
“I went back and bought it.”
“You went back and bought this… for me?”
His nod is barely perceptible. “Yes.”
A million conflicting emotions battle for my attention, but anger forces its way to the front of the line.
“What the fuck ?” I say, my voice heated. “Like, why ? What was your plan, exactly? Were you going to go out with me again? Lead me on forever?”
Graham’s controlled demeanor finally breaks.
“No, of course not!” he snaps back, his voice louder than I’ve ever heard it. He’s gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles are turning white. Then he blows out a shaky breath, and his posture deflates a bit.
“I don’t know what I was going to do. I didn’t have a plan, Ali. I wasn’t thinking at all.”
The silence stretches taut between us, and a few tense minutes pass before he speaks again.
“Look,” he says quietly. “I know I’ve completely lost the plot here. I never should have gone out with you the other night. I can see now that it was a poor idea, and I’m sorry. The last thing I meant to do was hurt you.”
Emotion wells up in my throat, and I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing it back down. God, what is it about this guy that gets under my skin?
“Then why did you?” I mutter. “Why did you go?” The silence stretches for so long that I’m positive he isn’t going to answer at all. But then I hear his voice, so soft that I have to strain to hear it.
“Because I wanted to see you again.”
The air between us crackles as his confession hangs in the air. A mix of conflicting feelings washes over me: on the one hand, I don’t appreciate mind games, and the swing of Graham’s emotional pendulum is starting to give me whiplash. On the other hand, I feel validated that he’s admitting our plans weren’t as “friendly” as he’d previously suggested. But before I can make up my mind, he starts talking again.
“I don’t know what it is about you,” he says tightly. “Under normal circumstances, I am a rational, levelheaded person. Someone who never does anything reckless or without careful consideration. But every time I’m around you, I turn into someone completely different.”
Memories wash over me: Graham wincing as the needle pierced his skin, laughing as we compared our matching tattoos, sighing as he ran a hand down my bare back. But resentment fills my heart as the weight of his words settle over me, and the images fade away as quickly as they arrived. Of course he sees me as the problem. So, if he wants me to stay out of his way, then that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
“Let’s just get through this wedding planning process and avoid each other as much as possible,” I say through gritted teeth. “Then you can be off to New York and never have to spend another minute worrying about my bad influence rubbing off on you.”
Graham throws his head back against the seat rest.
“Ali, that’s not what I meant,” he says softly. “You just…” His brow furrows and then he closes his mouth again. That’s what I thought. I cross my arms sullenly and turn to stare out the window.
A few minutes of silence pass between us. Just when I’m certain the conversation is over, I hear Graham’s voice again, quiet and strained.
“Why did you leave?”
I whip my head around to study him in the darkness.
“What?”
“The morning after, in London,” he says. “I woke up, and you were gone. You didn’t leave a phone number or anything. I had no way of finding you.”
A memory flickers across my mind. A sliver of early dawn winking through cheap, vinyl blinds. The wooden corner of a bed frame. Tiptoeing toward the door, shoes in hand. And then, a quick glimpse back at Graham, his pale limbs and golden hair draped across his twin mattress. I feel a sudden heaviness in my stomach. I’ve had more one-night stands than I care to remember, and I’ve never thought twice about leaving without saying goodbye. But there had been something that night with Graham that felt different, my early morning departure tinged with regret and thoughts of what might have been.
It’s a memory I had pushed so far to the corner of my mind that I’d forgotten all about it until Graham shook it loose. I feel a momentary twinge of pleasure knowing that I hadn’t imagined our connection, that the evening had been more to Graham than just a meaningless hookup. I don’t normally linger after sex. I’m not the girl who makes a guy morning-after pancakes. I’m the one who leaves before he wakes up and hopes she hasn’t left a thong behind on a flammable surface. Still, if Graham wanted to find me, he could have tried harder. He lived with Alfie, after all. He could have gotten my contact information if he wanted it that badly. Then I remember he’s engaged to someone else, someone whose wedding I’m orchestrating, and my heart hardens. I need to stop giving this man credit he doesn’t deserve. This situation right here is exactly why I normally keep my guard up.
“What did you think was going to happen?” I say through gritted teeth. “I was going back to the States, and you were staying in London. It wasn’t like we were ever going to see each other again.”
“You didn’t even let it be an option,” he says quietly. He blows out a long exhale. “I just… I guess I didn’t realize that night meant nothing to you. Because it sure meant something to me.”
I open my mouth, then shut it again. There are a million things I want to say, starting with how that night meant more to me than I’ve ever cared to admit, even to myself. Would things have been different if we’d shared our Baltimore connection then? But none of the words jumbling around in my brain feel right. Besides, what good could possibly come of revisiting this now? The last thing I need to do is make things more complicated than they already are.
I press my lips together as we drive the rest of the way in silence.