Chapter 28
Lior
I checked the time on my phone. Eight a.m. I looked down the street, a little smile on my face in anticipation of seeing them come into view.
Meeting Graham and B had quickly become my favorite part of the day over the past two weeks. After the initial awkwardness, post-veering, we were able to fall into a comfortable routine of walking and talking about how we’d spent our evenings and what we had on for the day ahead.
But each day, the moment I saw him and his eyes met mine, his lips moving in a conversation with Bronte that I couldn’t yet hear, my heart sped up and a yearning filled my body so powerfully, I was surprised I didn’t orgasm right there on the sidewalk.
I checked my watch again and pulled my hat lower over my eyes.
They were a minute late, which sometimes happened so I didn’t sweat it.
I wondered if Marley had called him. Classes were in full swing, autumn had arrived, and every couple of days he told me how she had called on her way to class to tell him some funny incident from the day before, not wanting to forget it, in case he could use it in a story.
“She’s been doing that since I got published,” he’d told me on one of our walks. “Telling me tidbits from her day she found interesting in case they might make it into one of my books.”
“And have any of them?”
“The mom having a meltdown outside her car after dropping her kid off?” he said, waiting to see if I recognized the moment.
“A Day of Firsts,” I said, naming the book it had come from with a laugh. “Really? That came from Marley?”
“My stepmom, Lisa, had dropped her off at school one day and they’d watched another mother completely lose it and—”
“And then drop her fancy coffee cup in a puddle?”
“Yep.”
It was now eight oh-three. I frowned, leaning to try and see further down the street, but there was still no sight of Graham or Bronte. I wondered if I’d forgotten him say he’d be late today. Or maybe…
I chewed the inside of my lip. There had been a moment the day before when we were at Mornin’ Joe’s.
He’d said something sweet and I’d reached out and squeezed his hand.
It was brief and totally innocent, but perhaps he’d been put off by it.
Despite our moment at my house two weeks ago, we hadn’t veered off the friend path again, save for some heated looks that had caused us both to blush and look away, and a bit of sexual tension.
But neither of us had even hinted at crossing the line again, and he’d even gone so far as saying outright that he was glad we’d decided not to indulge in a friends with benefits scenario, which had hurt my feelings just the tiniest bit.
Partially because he’d felt the need to warn me off.
Partially because I had, in my bed at night, trusty vibrator in hand, entertained the thought.
Eight oh-seven. Fuck.
I was sure he’d said “See you tomorrow?” yesterday as we left the coffee shop.
“What do I do?” I whined out loud. Two women glanced over their shoulders at me as they passed by.
Should I text? Potentially coming off as a girlfriend tracking her boyfriend’s every move?
Should I just take the walk myself and go home?
Or should I stop by his house. Perhaps he and B were just getting a late start and I’d end up running into them on the way?
I nodded. Yep. That’s what I was going to do. But I’d text on the way. In a totally nonchalant way.
My text went unanswered and my ambling turned into strides, my eyes trained straight in front of me as I hurried toward Graham’s house.
Was I hurrying because I was worried something had happened to him or B?
Or was I rushing because that post by his ex still haunted me sometimes?
Either way, there was no sighting of him or Bronte by the time I took the steps two at a time to his front door and rang the bell.
I counted the seconds as I waited for the door to open. I was at one hundred and eighty-three, and clearly moving in to stalker territory when I heard the deadbolt slide open and sucked in a breath at the sight of Graham’s drawn face and red eyes.
“Graham?” I said, and then a feeling of dread filled me and I took a step forward. “Bronte?”
He swallowed, his eyes filling with tears, and stepped backwards, opening the door wider and allowing me inside.
“Is she…?” My voice trailed off.
“Not yet,” he whispered, and took my hand, leading me to the kitchen where his beloved dog lay on her bed, her big brown eyes staring straight ahead.
“Oh,” I said, my voice soft as I let go of Graham’s hand and dropped to my knees in front of her, my own eyes now filled with tears too. “Hey girl.” I took her face in my hands, kissed her nose, and then rested my forehead against hers.
There was the faint sound of her tail thumping twice against the tile floor.
Graham kneeled beside me, his shoulder leaning against mine, his hands replacing mine as he cradled his long-time friend’s head. I wrapped an arm around his back, the other hand petting Bronte, whose breaths were shallow, her eyes now at half-mast.
“You’re such a good girl, Bronte,” I said softly. “Thank you for being so nice to me and letting me hang out with you guys. Even after the terrible way I acted when we met. I’ve had the best time getting to know you, sweet girl. It’s been an honor.”
Graham’s body shook beside me.
“You’re the goodest girl,” he said. “I love you so much. Thank you for hanging in with me, even when I made you live with that whiny monster who wore way too much perfume.” He sniffed.
“And the time that terrible dog groomer shaved your hair… you were such a good sport about it, even though I knew you were embarrassed. And the way you followed me around and laid on the bed beside me for weeks after grandma died was worth all of Nadia’s screaming and threatening about hair on the comforter. ”
Tears streamed down my face.
“I love you, B,” Graham said. “Thank you for choosing me. I’m going to miss you every day, sweetheart.”
There was silence, and then Bronte sighed… and was gone.
Graham’s body shook in a silent sob and I wrapped both arms around him and held him as he grieved. We sat for a long while like that, leaning into one another and just being.
After a while I excused myself to call the veterinarian’s office from the phone number listed on a business card on the refrigerator, knowing he was in no shape to have the conversation that was needed.
Thankfully they provided a service for such occasions, and I was reassured they’d be there within the hour. We could come along, if we wanted.
We did.
It was agonizing watching Graham leave his friend behind at the vet’s office, and when the cab pulled up to Graham’s house, I didn’t even bother to ask if I should stay, I just paid the driver and got out behind him.
“What can I do for you?” I asked after closing the front door behind us.
We stood in the entryway and he couldn’t have looked more like he didn’t belong in this stark house that was devoid of warmth… and his dog.
He shook his head. “I don’t know,” he whispered.
“Do you even want to be here? Is there a friend I can call? Or I could get you a hotel room. I have a guestroom you could hole up in for a while. The hostess is nice but she only serves donut holes for breakfast.”
He didn’t even smile. I wasn’t sure he’d even heard me as he looked through me, then toward the kitchen where the corner of one of Bronte’s beds could be seen.
“I wouldn’t be in your way?” he asked, his voice husky with emotion.
“Of course not.”
He packed his laptop, a few notebooks, a book that was dog-eared at least two dozen times, and a duffel bag of clothes.
“All good?” I asked, pulling the strap of his messenger bag over my shoulder.
“All good,” he said.
We walked the few blocks to my house in silence, and then I left him to get himself settled in the guest room on the second floor while I made us both cappuccinos and texted Addie, who still didn’t know about what had happened between Graham and I.
“How is he?” she texted back.
“He looks as though he’s lost his best friend.”
“He has. Give him a big hug from me.”
I served the coffee in the living room with a container of donut holes, receiving a small grin in return.
“I think you have a problem,” he said, and popped a chocolate dipped one in his mouth.
“And now you do too,” I said, going for a powdered sugar.
We spent the next few days in a quiet little fog, sometimes talking, sometimes sitting in companionable silence, him working or reading, me reading or making notes for an article I’d been hired to write for Elle magazine.
Rather than go on our usual morning walks, we headed straight to Mornin’ Joe’s instead. Like us, Joe was devastated to hear the news of Bronte, and looked with concern at Graham who was a shell of himself.
When I had to leave for a job in London for a few days, I texted Marley, who had been in contact every few days since we met in Seattle, and asked her to check in with her brother.
“Just try and distract him,” I said. “Especially in the evenings if you can. I think that’s when it’s the hardest.”
Some nights I cooked, some nights he cooked, other nights we called for takeout.
We consumed a lot of television, watched a dozen or so movies, and sat at opposite ends of my sofa reading.
But I could often tell he wasn’t distracted as much as he pretended to be, his eyes often taking on a far-off look before filling with tears.
And we talked. He told me about his best friend from school who he’d lost touch with when married to Nadia.
“She didn’t like competition,” he said. “Even from Cooper, who I’ve known since I was eleven.”
“Have I mentioned I don’t like her?” I asked.
“This may come as a surprise to you, but you are not the only one.”
On a particularly warm October evening, we took our plates of food outside and sat on a blanket in the grass, our beer bottles tipping over, and Graham laughing when a spider crawled across my garlic bread, causing me to scream and chuck it into one of the potted plants.
He retrieved it and ate it (the bread) much to my horror.
It was nice to hear him laugh.
“See you in the morning,” I said a couple hours later as I started up the stairs to the third floor.
“Goodnight, Lior,” he said. But this time, instead of going to his room and quietly closing the door like he had for the past week and a half, he stood watching me from the doorway.
“You okay?” I asked.
He walked toward me and I descended the stairs and stood at the bottom, waiting. When he reached me, his eyes met mine and he wrapped his arms around me.
“Thank you,” he said.
I nodded, overwhelmed by his scent, the weight of his arms around me, and the feel of his body against mine.
He started to pull away and then stopped, staring down at me, his eyes moving over my face until they reached my lips.
He exhaled, gave a small shake of his head, and then kissed me.
My reaction was instantaneous, my entire body clenching with desire as his tongue filled my mouth and his erection pressed into my stomach. We were pulling at one another’s clothes until he was naked and I was wearing nothing but a sheer pink bra.
He moved me back onto the stairs and knelt between my legs, biting my nipples through the fabric of my bra and slipping his fingers inside me as I wrapped my hand around him.
“I need you,” he whispered.
I repeated what he’d said to me not so long ago.
“Have me,” I said, and then led him to the guest room.
He fell asleep shortly after and I gathered his clothes from the hallway and left them hanging over the chair in his room before grabbing my own and going upstairs to my bed. When I came down the next morning, he was sitting at the kitchen island, his phone in his hand.
“Bronte’s ashes are ready,” he said, his voice soft. “I can go get them anytime.”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
He nodded.
The beautiful sea green urn Bronte came home in was placed on the mantle of Graham’s living room.
On one side of it, propped against the wall, was an imprint of her paw in clay that had a small hole at the top, a white ribbon running through so it could be hung on a Christmas tree if desired. Her collar lay on the other side.
Graham stood staring at the display for a long moment before turning to take in the rest of the room, his gaze landing on the empty dog bed.
“Do you want me to take it?” I asked. “And the others?”
He sighed with his whole body, his eyes filling with tears as he shook his head.
“No,” he whispered. “I’d like them around. At least for a little while longer.”
I nodded.
“I think…” he started and then trailed off. “I think I’m going to go lay down for a while.”
“Do you want me to stay?” I asked. “Or do you need some time alone.”
He walked to where I was standing and wrapped his arms around me, squeezing me tightly to him, his body rising and falling with his breath. We stood like that for a long time, leaning into one another, our hearts beating together.
“Why don’t I give you some space,” I said, loosening my hold and taking a step back as I stared up at him. “Time to get used to—” I looked around the room, so empty and quiet without Bronte here. “This.”
I didn’t want to leave him. He looked so lost without his friend.
But I also knew where we stood with one another and we were treading on dangerous territory.
If he stayed at my house any longer, he might grow so comfortable he forgot to leave.
And I’d forget to ask him to. And then we’d both potentially find ourselves in the kind of predicaments we were trying to avoid.
I wasn’t willing to risk our friendship with stupidity and want.
His arms tightened, pulling me close again, but not like before. This time it was brief. An understanding.
“The past couple of weeks have been amazing,” he said. “No one has ever taken care of me like that before. I know I said it last night but, thank you.”
“That’s what friends do for one another, Graham.”
“Yeah.” His voice was soft.
“Shall I bring your duffel over later? I can just leave it on the porch for you.”
But even as I said it, a current of panic ran through my body.
This felt like a relationship ending. And while I knew that was silly to think, we were friends and friendships didn’t end like this, I was still worried.
Especially in light of what happened the night before, which neither of us had had the opportunity to mention, due to the phone call he’d gotten first thing this morning.
“Sure,” he said. “Thank you.”
He pulled me to him again, burying his face in my neck.
“Thank you,” he whispered once more… and then he let me go.