Chapter 10 Graham
Chapter ten
Graham
The morning starts slowly.
Sunlight filters through the curtains, cutting faint lines of gold across the floorboards. The smell of coffee fills the cabin, mixing with the scent of pine from the woods outside.
And there she is, standing in my kitchen like she’s always belonged there.
She hums under her breath as she pours coffee into two mugs, her voice low, tuneless, happy.
I lean against the doorway, arms crossed, and watch her for a minute.
I’ve spent years keeping things simple. Work, sleep, repeat. I told myself that was enough, that I didn’t need more. Then she showed up and everything changed. Now she’s in my kitchen, making my coffee, and somehow the quiet doesn’t feel empty anymore.
I don’t want to remember what it was like before she came.
She looks up and catches me watching her. “You gonna stand there staring or come get your coffee before it goes cold?”
“I’m fine right here,” I say.
Her mouth curves. “You’re a menace before caffeine.”
“Am not.”
She walks over and hands me the mug. “You are.”
I take it, still smiling, and sit at the table while she leans against the counter, sipping from her own. The morning light hits her face, soft and golden. She looks relaxed, no trace of the fear that lived in her eyes when she first got here.
“You’re staring again,” she says, teasing.
“Yeah,” I admit. “I’ve got a lot to look at.”
“Careful,” she warns, a grin tugging at her mouth. “Flattery before breakfast sets a dangerous precedent.”
“Guess I’ll risk it.”
She shakes her head but smiles into her mug.
For a few minutes, we’re quiet. She moves easily through the space, and every sound she makes fits here, the scrape of a chair, the soft laugh when she spills a little coffee on the counter.
It’s the kind of peace I didn’t think I’d ever have.
There’s a time in every man’s life when he stops expecting anything good. Mine came a few years back. Losing people. Losing trust. Letting the quiet win.
Then Maeve arrived, all sunlight and stubbornness, and every part of me that had gone numb started to wake up again.
She sits down across from me, tucking one leg under herself. “You’re quiet this morning,” she says.
“I’m thinking.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“Probably is.” I take another sip of coffee. “I was just thinking about how much I like this.”
“This?”
“Coffee. Morning. You.”
She smiles. “I like it too.”
I set my mug down and watch her for a long second. There’s something about the way she looks back, steady, certain, that makes me realize I don’t want this to be temporary, not for another week, not for another day.
I clear my throat. “You should stay.”
Her brows lift. “Stay?”
“For good.”
The words hang there. I don’t dress them up, don’t hide them behind anything fancy. I just mean them.
Her lips part like she’s about to say something clever, but then she softens, eyes shining a little. “You're asking me to live with you, Graham Hawthorne?”
“Guess I am.”
She sets her mug down and walks over to me, sliding onto my lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Her hands rest on my shoulders, her eyes searching mine.
“I already do,” she says.
I chuckle, wrapping my arms around her. “I guess you do.” I kiss her, slow and lazy, tasting coffee and her.
When she pulls back, she’s grinning. “You realize we’re gonna have to tell Connor at some point.”
“Yeah.”
“He’s going to have opinions.”
“Probably,” I admit.
She raises a brow. “He’s your best friend, Graham. He might punch you.”
I smile. “He can try.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “You’d really take a hit for me?”
“I’d take ten,” I say simply. “I’d go through anything for you.”
Her smile fades into something softer. “You mean that?”
“Every word.”
She brushes her thumb over my jaw, tracing the faint line of stubble there. “He’ll come around. He loves me too much not to.”
“I know.”
“Still,” she says, her voice teasing again, “I’d pay money to see the look on his face when you tell him.”
I groan. “You’re gonna make me do it alone, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely.”
I shake my head, grinning. “You’re mean.”
“Honest,” she corrects, kissing the corner of my mouth. “Besides, I think he’ll take it better from you. You’re good at serious.”
“I don’t feel very serious right now.”
“That’s because you’re happy.”
She’s right.
She slides off my lap and starts gathering plates for breakfast, humming again. I sit there for a minute, just watching her move, the sunlight catching her hair. She fits here like she’s been part of this place all along.
She tilts her head, eyes soft. “You really love me, huh?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I really do.”
She kisses me once, then again, her fingers brushing the back of my neck. “I love you too,” she whispers. “Even if Connor kills you.”
“Pretty sure he won’t,” I murmur. “But if he does, at least I’ll die happy.”
She laughs, pressing her forehead to mine.
We eat breakfast together at the kitchen table, passing the syrup, stealing bites from each other’s plates. It feels easy. Ordinary. The kind of morning that’s worth building a life around.
She tells me about a recipe she wants to try, about fixing up the old garden out back, about helping Annie at the bakery when the holidays hit. I listen, not because of the words, but because of how alive she sounds.
When she laughs, the sound fills the cabin, and something in me unclenches a little more.
After breakfast, she wanders to the window, coffee in hand, looking out at the line of trees glowing orange and gold with the season. I come up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist, my chin resting on her shoulder.
“Welcome home, sunshine,” I whisper.