43. Miguel
MIGUEL
NOW
I haven’t been sleeping well, and not only because I rocked a movie director’s world in bed the past two nights. I’m in a strange bedroom in an unfamiliar house in a city and state I’ve never visited.
On a whim, I took a week off work and flew to Austin to be with Graham while he ties up loose ends on the production. Fuck the baby steps, sort of. On Monday, I snuck into the house after dark when no one would see me.
Sitting crisscross at the foot of the bed, I bring a mug of coffee to my lips and slurp as loud as possible.
My sleeping beauty stirs at last, rolling to his back and stretching.
Eyes closed, he mumbles something along the lines of “Miguel, you’re too far away.
Come closer, or I’ll shrivel up and die without you touching me.
” Or he’s asking about the time. One of the two.
“I’m thinking of doing a thing,” I announce.
“Why are you thinking at”—he squints at the alarm clock—“seven in the morning?”
“Hear me out.” Slipping off the bed, I set the mug on the nightstand and pray the homeowner won’t be upset because I’m not using a coaster. “If I leave the collective, temporarily, I’ll have one less thing to stress about while we get our relationship back on track. It’ll be like a sabbatical.”
He adjusts the pillows to prop up his lazy head. With perfectly messy hair, come-hither bedroom eyes, and a sliver of sheet covering his dick, he looks ready for a provocative photo shoot. Chances are high he’ll be face down on those pillows soon.
“Leaving the collective in someone else’s hands won’t add to your stress? You put a lot of time and effort into it.”
“That’s where my idea takes a weird turn.” I chew on my lip, unsure how to phrase the epiphany I had while taking my morning piss. “I might want to quit.”
He sticks an arm out and makes a grabby hand, flexing his fingers. “Come snuggle.”
I sprawl out on top of him while he rubs my back. It’s not that I don’t love being an architect or that I want to stop working. The problem is I hate being away from Graham. Where he goes, I want to go. I just have to figure out how to make this new dream possible.
“You don’t have to make any big decisions right now,” he says.
“I wasted enough time not making decisions and have a year’s worth of catching up to do.”
Graham slaps both hands on my ass and jiggles it. “Can we start with the sex? By my count, you owe me four hundred more orgasms.”
“Be serious for one minute. We need to start thinking about the future. You make movies. I make babies. Based on my previous experience, you’re a full-time job. I don’t know if I can handle the collective, you, and the babies.”
He pouts. “Why can’t I make the babies?”
“We can both make the babies. My point is we’re not getting any younger.”
He rolls us onto our sides. I sneak my tongue out and flick his nipple. I mean…it’s right in my face. Might as well say hello.
Grabbing my ass again, he tugs me closer. “I never thought I’d say this, but we don’t have to rush anything. Today, the only item on our agenda is a road trip to Walford.”
I groan and roll to my back. “Why? It’s enough that I got on a plane and flew to Texas. Now you want me to ride in a car with Maisy behind the wheel—”
“I’m driving.”
“Even worse. At least she drives above the speed limit.”
He pinches my chin and turns my head toward him. “Didn’t you buy new shoes for this trip?”
“Yes.” I sigh. “When do we leave?”
“After one of us wakes Maisy up.”
Mama Mary, not it. My angel is a devil in the mornings.
Plastering an innocent expression on my face, I ask, “Rock, paper, scissors?”
“Or”—he pulls the sheet over our heads—“we reduce your orgasm debt and let her wake up on her own. Then everyone’s happy.”
Wriggling lower, he unties my robe and kisses my stomach, paying special attention to my belly button. And I can’t argue with his logic.
Maisy shrugs in an attempt to push my head off her shoulder. “I’m not a body pillow.”
“Accept my apology, and I’ll move to the other seat.”
When we got in the car, she climbed in the back. I joined her, choosing the middle seat. To her dismay, we’ve been cuddling ever since.
For two days, I wallowed in guilt while she celebrated my reunion with Graham. So I’ve used this time in a locked, moving car to confess my transgressions.
“Your apology for what?” she asks. “The time you thought it was funny to block my number, then forgot about it for two weeks. Then got mad at me for not texting or calling you? Or for not telling me, one of your best friends, why you really broke up with Graham.”
“All of it.”
She uncrosses her arms and brushes curls off her face. “The first offense is unforgivable. As for the second, it hurts me to think you were carrying all that anxiety around the whole time and no one knew, Miggy. It’s shitty what you did to Graham, but if he forgives you…”
“I forgive him,” Graham says from the driver’s seat.
Our eyes connect in the rearview mirror, and I see only love and devotion in his.
The strap of Maisy’s denim overalls cuts into my cheek, so I lift my head off her shoulder. She groans. “Finally. Why are you being so clingy?”
“I’m a hugger now. Get used to it.”
Looking out the window, she opens her mouth to respond with something snarky, but a strangled noise comes out, like if a kitten tried to growl.
I tap her on the nose. “You’re adorable.”
She elbows me in the ribs as Graham beeps the horn and yells, “Welcome to Walford!”
I lean between the front seats as we enter the town limits. Walford is…tiny. The neighborhoods go by in a blink before he parks the rental car on Main Street. Graham is the first to get out; Maisy’s the last.
My chest expands on a deep inhale, breathing in the scents of dirt and mesquite. Scanning the area, I note the cute coffee shop, an antique store, and a bar called Bruno’s. Other small businesses occupy Main Street, capped off by a hardware store at the far end.
“Where’s the rest of the town?” I ask.
Maisy leans against the trunk of the car, inspecting her nails. “This is it.”
“Huh.” Needing further clarification, I turn to Graham. “And you want us to move here one day? Where would we live? I don’t want neighbors.”
“We’d see about buying land outside of town. You could design our dream home,” he says.
“Well, that’s a given.”
All in all, Walford is nothing like I had expected. We’ve only seen a few people out and about, and none of them are wearing cowboy boots. There’s not a rodeo or county fair in sight. The peace and quiet are welcome surprises, but one thing bothers me.
Inching closer to Graham, I speak without moving my lips. “Don’t look, but there’s a man in an apron staring at my moccasins.”
He looks…and sticks his arm high in the air, smiling and waving to the older Black man on the opposite side of the street. White hair stands straight up on the gentleman’s head, and I can see the deep scowl on his face from this distance.
“That’s Menchy. He owns the hardware store,” Graham says, lowering his arm.
Menchy is not a name I’ll soon forget.
“Is there a reason he’s staring at us?” I ask.
“Think of him as the security checkpoint. While Tate was staying here, Menchy patrolled for paparazzi. He even tried to set up a cell phone alert system.”
“Sounds like a genius idea.” When I peek at Graham again, his hair catches the sunlight. “You’re not wearing a hat.”
He shoves his hands in his back pockets and shrugs. “Don’t need one here. I’m telling you, Miguel, this place is different. The people are friendly and protective, once they welcome you in.”
“If you say so,” Maisy mutters. In the next breath, she stiffens and slides over two feet, hiding behind us.
My head is on an instant swivel, and I quickly locate the cause of her strange reaction. I’m not usually into muscular guys with tattoos, but when a snack with a beard and a great head of hair starts cleaning the bar windows, I take notice. Letting out a curious hum, I rock back on my heels.
Graham laughs. “So you are capable of appreciating the beauty in the world.”
“Sometimes my eyes understand the assignment, even when my body doesn’t.”
Grinning, he tips his head toward the bar. “Come on, darling. I’ll buy you a cocktail.”
“I have shit to do. I’ll catch up with y’all later.” Maisy slinks away, steps hurried and head lowered.
My narrowed gaze remains on her back until she disappears down the nearest side street. “What’s up with her? She’s been acting weird since we got here.”
Graham gives me one of his mischievous smiles. “Do you remember the time Maisy got drunk and went on a tangent about guys with tattoos and beards being the scourge of the earth?”
I look at the barman’s flexing biceps and tight jeans hugging his ass. “Nooo.”
“Yes. During my stay in Texas, I’ve connected and confirmed the dots. Your angel has fallen, and she’s in denial.”
The dude looks strong enough to catch her, but I need to conduct my own investigation. With a firm grip on Graham’s elbow, I drag him across the street, saying, “Buy me that drink.”