3. Graham
CHAPTER THREE
graham
“ Curly , you’ve been circling that tree for five minutes. Go pee already.”
He stares up at me with a look that says Don’t rush me, motherfucker.
The park is empty this time of day, exactly how I like it. I’ve always been an early riser, but since getting a dog, my days now start with a morning walk. The air is cool against my skin, and I close my eyes for a second, listening to the constant chirping of birds in the tall trees.
There’s a hint of smoke lingering in the air from a wood-burning stove, and the scent of damp leaves is strong as we stand at the base of a large oak. I can’t help but take a deep inhale of crisp, fall air. You’ll always get a whiff of salt wherever you are in Sutton Bay , but there’s something revitalizing about the smell of autumn.
Curly isn’t the friendliest of dogs, and I suppose I’m not the warmest of people; a perfect pair. I’m not rude, I just value peace and quiet, and for a small town, Sutton Bay’s eleven hundred residents sure like to make themselves known.
When my dog finally does his business, we leave the park and head onto Robin Road , the main street leading through town, which ends right at the heart of the bay. When we turn the corner at the bottom of the hill, I’m greeted with one of my favorite views. Seeing the bay blanketed in a thick veil of fog is wistful and hypnotizing with the way it snakes around the docked boats suspended above the still water.
Fishing boats have left for this morning’s catch, and there’s about a month left of good lobster catching before the season is over. As the head chef of Our Place , Booth will be down there later today to collect fresh stock for the restaurant.
My pocket buzzes when we reach my shiny black Jeep , but I ignore it until Curly is securely fastened into his harness in the front seat. Once I’m behind the wheel, I pull out my phone and find an incoming call from Patrick .
“ Hey ,” I greet as I turn on the engine and connect my phone to the Bluetooth .
“ No surprise you’re up this early. Good walk?”
“ Hmm .”
A long sigh greets my ears. “ Gray , full sentences, please.”
Scratching Curly on his snout, I wait for Patrick to continue. After a moment’s silence, I glance at the console screen to check that the call hasn’t dropped. “ Are you still there?”
“ Yes . I was waiting for you to speak.”
“ Have fun with that. I’m going now.”
“ Ugh , fine, Johanna made me call you. You know I don’t like getting involved in other people’s business.” I hear some scuffling and muffled voices in the background. Figuring it’s my niece, I ignore it.
“ But ?”
“ But . She spoke to Quinn , you know, the owner of Just Brew It ?”
Know her? I haven’t stopped thinking about her for the last…196 days.
I’ve hardly thought about anything else but Quinn Jackson since that night at Shirley’s seven months ago. The tiny, curvy sunshine of a woman has infiltrated my brain, with just a smile and a gentle touch to my arm.
All I think about is that first meeting with her, and how royally I fucked it up. Barely able to get any words out, gawking over her like some fumbling idiot, and chickening out at the chance to ask her out. Even if it was under the guise of a business meeting, I missed my opportunity for even five minutes of her time.
Sure , I have her number safely stored in my phone, but I don’t have the slightest idea where to begin with a woman like her. The only other time I’ve spoken to her was when Patrick ran into the bakery looking for Jo after it was announced the restaurant would be sold. Other than that, I’ve been too nervous to talk to her. I see her almost every day when I purposefully walk Curly along Robin Road , hoping to catch a glimpse of her through the bakery window. She’s spotted me a few times, and each time her dazzling smile blinds me.
“ Yeah , I remember who she is.” And everything about her.
“ So , Jo mentioned to her a few months back about us working together, but she seems a bit apprehensive. She said something about getting her bookkeeping in order first. It’s a good idea, working with her, Jo just thinks she needs a push in the right direction.”
“ And what direction is that?”
“ Well , not what, but who. Jo thinks…” There’s more noise from his end, and I definitely catch a few words from a female who is not my five-year-old niece.
“ If Jo has so much to say, why don’t you put her on?” Exasperation bleeds from my tone as I brake at a stop sign.
“ What ? No . Jo , isn’t he—oh. Yeah , she’s here, let me hand you to?—”
“ Hey , Gray .” The chipper voice of Patrick’s girlfriend echoes down the line. “ Fancy meeting you here.” The British accent she uses is a dead giveaway she’s nervous.
“ One : we’re on the phone and your boyfriend called me. Two : What is it that’s got you speaking like the Queen of England ?”
She lets out a big sigh, and it makes me antsy that she’s nervous when the topic of conversation is Quinn . Is she not well? Did something happen? Is she dating someone?
“ Please , don’t tell her this. Patrick’s already gone over the gist of it, but basically, I think she’s a little scared of asking you about partnering up with the restaurant and for your help looking over her books.”
“ Me ?” I feel hollow all of a sudden. As if someone has carved me out, leaving only my heart to beat pathetically in my chest.
“ Don’t take it like that. She didn’t say you explicitly. The few times we’ve spoken about it, she was so excited to collaborate. After she made a comment about her books being a mess, I thought maybe you could help her.”
“ Me ?”
“ Jeez . Yes , you, Graham . We’re talking about you and Quinn . Graham and Quinn …”
I block out the rest of Jo’s sentence, too busy liking the sound of our names interwoven in one breath.
“ Gray , did you hear what I said?”
“ I didn’t,” I answer honestly as I pull up outside my apartment.
“ Christ on a stick, I thought you were the clever brother.”
“ Hey !” Patrick protests in the background.
“ Yes , yes. You’re the caring daddy figure, don’t worry,” she reassures him. “ Graham , listen. Do me a favor, please. Go into the bakery this week, order whatever—it’s on me—but try to convince Quinn to come around to the idea of working with the restaurant. Don’t let her know I’m asking for this favor. And don’t make it obvious.”
“ How am I meant to speak to her about working with the restaurant, without talking about working with the restaurant?”
“ You’ll work it out. Will you do this for me? Please ?”
Heck . I already know I’m doing it, but the earnest tone from Jo makes me want to do it sooner. “ Of course I’ll do it.”
She sighs in relief.
Am I really that much of an asshole, she thought I’d say no?
“ It means a lot. Quinn was my first real friend when I moved back to town, and she helped me out a lot. I want to be able to repay her.”
“ I get it. What’s family for, hey?” I fake an upbeat tone.
We say goodbye, and I guess that settles it. My 196 days of avoiding Quinn Jackson are over. Curly stares up at me without a thought between his big, round eyes.
“ Any advice, bud?”
He tilts his head at my question, and I know I’ve lost it, but his unwavering stare is all the answer I need. People think Quinn is intimidated by me. In reality, I’ve been petrified to figure out why my heart jackhammered in my chest the moment I laid eyes on her.
“ Yeah , we’re fucked.”
The cool evening air sends a chill up my spine as it hits my sweat-soaked back. I pull my T -shirt away from my body while my heart rate comes down from my run. My watch tells me I’ve run six miles through the trail, beating my personal best.
When my apartment comes into view, I slow my steps until I’m standing outside the modern brick building, so out of place in Sutton Bay . It’s not huge, only holding four apartments and has been my home since last February . There was a bit of uproar when plans were approved for it to be built, the local residents citing it would pull away from the natural and historic beauty of the town. I wholly agreed, until I found myself in need of a place to stay and desperate not to move in with my mom or brothers.
The lock on the main door snicks when I hold my key fob against the buzzer, and then make my way up the flight of stairs. The scampering sound of little claws starts on the other side of the door the moment I push the key into the lock. I’m greeted with licks and scratches to my sweaty legs before I pick up Curly and playfully scratch his belly. “ You’ll never stop acting like I’ve been gone for an eternity, will you?”
I place him on the floor, and he scurries away to his bed to hump something inanimate. At least one of us is getting some. Most people make rash decisions post-breakup; mine was adopting a wiener dog. He’s a little prick who only likes me, my niece, and his stuffed toys. Having him around makes me feel a little less lonely though.
Making my way into the kitchen, I down a bottle of cold water from the fridge before sifting through the pile of mail I dumped on the counter this morning. It’s all standard junk or bills until I spot a crisp white envelope with my name and address written in neat, cursive writing.
I know that handwriting. But it’s the stamp on the back with the sender’s name and address that confirms what I already knew.
I’d heard the news in January , and thanked my lucky stars I didn’t have social media so I could avoid the video of their “utterly adorable proposal.” The knife she left behind is still firmly lodged in my back, and it looks like she was saving the killing blow. When my phone buzzes, I know it’s my mom. She probably got the same envelope from the woman she thought would be her daughter-in-law one day.
Morbid curiosity gets the better of me. With surprisingly steady fingers, I tear open the envelope and pull out a gaudy invitation. Booth managed to intercept the save the date a couple of months ago. I’m pretty sure he ate the card to hide any evidence, but there’s no avoiding this one.
Jenna she grew up here.
What surprises me is that it’s the weekend after Thanksgiving .
Less than two months away .
One thing I learned about falling in love with someone from your hometown is that, despite growing up together, it’s very easy to grow apart.
My phone vibrates with another incoming call, the sound of it intensifying the headache pulsing in my temples. Only my brothers know the truth about what went down between Jenna and me. Mom had just lost her own mother, which brought up a load of memories about my dad’s passing. It wasn’t the right time. And almost two years later, it still isn’t.
When is it ever the right time to tell your mother that your girlfriend cheated on you with your cousin?
She’s not oblivious to the situation and has questioned me plenty about my feelings toward their relationship. It was easier to keep my response simple.
We’d been having issues for a long time. Ralph and Jenna had been friends since high school. I’m happy for them. That’s been my go-to response since we broke up.
Texts ping through the device now, one after the other, likely from my brothers. Not many people would be contemplating going to their ex’s wedding after it ended so catastrophically, but I’m a big enough person to know we have to keep the peace, if anything, for my mom’s sake.
If I were a different man, I wouldn’t be pulling the torn-up invitation out of the trash and taping it together. I’d be honest with my mom about why attending the wedding is the last thing I want to do.
I’m not that man, though, or the man Jenna wanted.
These days, I don’t know what kind of man I am.