30. Graham
GRAHAM
THEN
March, Year Four
The taste of blood hit my tongue as I gnawed my thumb and paced the kitchen. While Miguel was away for three days at a work conference, I did something questionable. I crossed into his territory without permission, and he may not welcome the homecoming surprise.
A beep alerted me to the front gate opening. I rushed down the stairs and waited in the foyer, placing an elbow on the railing and removing it twice. The car door slammed, and seconds later, he burst through the door,
“Happy anniversary! I have news!” He jumped, and his hand flew to his chest. “Oh, shit. You’re right here.”
I slid the laptop bag off his shoulder and hung it on the coat tree. “How was the conference?”
“Boring, but I have good news. I finally put in my notice at work. I’m joining the collective.”
When he rose on his tiptoes and planted a firm kiss on my lips, I slipped an arm around his waist and locked him to my body. “That’s great, darling. What did your boss say?”
“Who cares what that asshole says? I’m about to be free of that nightmare.
And I have enough money saved to cover all my living expenses for the next year.
” Too soon, he peeled away and removed his blazer.
“If we can’t get the collective off the ground in the meantime, then I’ll find another job.
Anything would be better than working at the firm. ”
“You don’t need to worry about expenses. We live together.”
He hung his blazer next to his bag. “I’m not mooching off you, Graham. I have a car payment and school loans and expensive fabric to buy.”
“Okay. Whatever you want.”
In the slow seconds he turned and looked at me with narrowed suspicion, I could’ve written a how-not-to essay on playing it cool. “You’re being too agreeable. What have you done?”
Preparing for a spike in his blood pressure, I threaded my fingers through his and pasted on my best smile. “Let me show you.”
Downstairs, I led him to the bedroom at the far end of the hallway, across from my home office. The room had remained empty until he moved in and set up his sewing table in there. He liked having a space of his own where he could unwind and flex his creative muscles.
When we stopped outside the closed door, he asked, “Did you finally put a chair in there so you can sit and stare at me?”
“Not a chair, but I love the idea.”
I pushed the door open. He stepped inside and gasped, loud. I couldn’t tell if the sound was a positive reaction or a negative one with his back to me.
“Graham.” My name was a sigh on his lips. “What is this? Why would you do this?”
I gripped the side of my neck and shrugged. “Happy anniversary?”
Circling the room, he lightly ran his fingertips across every built-in surface. The new sewing desk. The cutting table. The white shelving waiting for his bolts of fabric. Sheer curtains allowed him to view the backyard whether they were opened or closed.
He stopped in front of the three-way mirror and platform with a posable mannequin.
Our eyes caught in the reflection, and he shook his head.
“I can’t believe you did this for me. I have nothing more to offer you, and you give me so much.
Now I’ve quit my job and really can’t afford to buy you anything nice.
” His self-deprecating chuckle would’ve pained me, if not for the massive eye roll accompanying it.
“Jesus Christ, how did I end up with a sugar daddy?”
My fingers curled around the onyx pendant hanging from my neck. His idea to help me stop biting my thumb hadn’t worked, but I wore the necklace every day, only taking it off when I was filming.
“You gave me this necklace, and you buy my clothes—”
“With your money,” he said, grumbling.
I dragged a long breath through my nose, sucking in the frustration that attempted to bleed out whenever he devalued his worth.
Stepping forward, I pulled him into my arms. “This isn’t a gift exchange, Miguel.
You take care of me in ways that actually matter.
You keep me healthy, organized, and focused. I’d be a mess without you.”
His eyes darted back and forth as he looked into mine, gripping my hoodie in his hands. “Is that an even trade?”
“It’s not about getting even. It’s about fulfilling each other’s needs. More importantly, it’s about wanting the other person to be happy and fulfilled.”
He slapped a hand over his mouth and buried his face in my neck, shoulders quaking.
I’d gone and done it. I made him cry, and he hated crying in front of me.
All I could do was rub his back while his emotions ran their course.
When he leaned away and removed his hand, I was shocked to see dry eyes and an enormous smile on his face.
“This room makes me so happy!”
“Oh, thank god.” All the tension left my body, and I sagged against him like dead weight while he laughed.
“It’s perfect, Graham. You’re perfect. Thank you.”