Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Vivien
He’s here. I can’t believe it.
This might actually work.
Graham stands in one of the entry doors of the theater, outlined by the glare of the theater lights shining on the street behind him, his chiseled face hard and full of thunder.
In dark jeans and a gray hoodie, he is like a storm cloud compared to everything around him, the colors and sparkle of the other moviegoers, the crimson of the walls, the general smiles and laughter.
He glances around at the assembled crowd, who are doing a terrible job of pretending to make conversation and not stare at him. The conversations are still present but softened to a loud hum.
“When is this punk supposed to show up?” someone says too loudly. Sounds like Jerry.
Graham spots me. Our eyes connect. His gaze narrows.
Uh-oh.
Daphne waves in my periphery.
His gaze shifts to where she’s standing at my side, then moves over another notch. He blinks. Then he blinks again. “Mrs. Hammond?”
His whole vibe changes in an instant. He goes from granite-faced avenging god on the warpath to a golden retriever looking for a belly rub.
He stalks toward us, a grin wreathing his face.
“Holy shit,” Daphne says under her breath.
Holy shit, indeed. Graham is attractive even when he’s mad and dressed like a scrub. But when he’s happy and in clean clothes, he’s an absolute smoke show.
He hugs Mrs. Hammond, wrapping her up in his arms. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
I glance away. Now that we’ve got him here, this whole thing is like a farce. What am I even doing right now?
I grab Daphne’s arm and pull her away a few feet. “Now what?”
“Now she gets him to watch the movie.” She inclines her head toward them.
They’re too far away to catch details of their conversation, and the volume of the room has increased enough to drown out any words we might catch.
Mrs. Hammond pats him on the arm while they chat, her eyes are bright, his focus is earnest.
I can’t believe it’s even the same man who slammed the door in my face.
He looks so . . . nice and normal when he’s talking to his old teacher.
More than nice and normal. Take the sincere gratitude in his eyes and mix it with his chiseled jaw and piercing eyes and damn.
Is this why Beverly made him my match? She saw something beyond the hobo aesthetic and hermit habits?
Mrs. Hammond gestures to where Daphne and I are standing, and he glances in our direction.
He shakes his head. He does not want to talk to me.
They go back and forth a bit, and then she grabs his arm and drags him in our direction.
“Brace yourself,” Daphne murmurs at my side.
When they reach us, Mrs. Hammond nods toward Daphne and me. “These nice ladies brought me here to see you.”
Graham glares at Daphne and me. “So. What’s all this about? What’s this show based on my work?”
“The flyer was a little bit of a lie.”
His jaw firms.
“Just hear them out.” Mrs. Hammond extricates her arm from his. “I’m going to get some popcorn.”
“I’ll go with you,” Daphne pipes up.
Once they leave, I turn to Graham. “Don’t worry. There is no heartwarming tribute. We’re watching Rear Window.”
He gestures around us. “Then why all this? Does it have to do with Beverly again?”
I nod. “Yes.”
He sighs. “Look. I get that this isn’t entirely about me, and I’m sorry about your grandma. She seemed like a cool lady. But I like my privacy. And all of this—I mean, I’m used to—”
“People acting like they are entitled to a piece of you. Trust me. I get it.”
“I guess you would. And yet, here we are.”
Ha! So he does know who I am, even though he pretended like he didn’t.
“That’s not the intent here. All I’m asking is that you sit through one movie, in a seat next to me.
And Mrs. Hammond. It’s not even two hours of your time; it’s an hour and fifty minutes.
No previews, even. You’ll get to spend some time with your favorite teacher, then you can go home and pretend like this never happened. ”
“And then what? What about next week or the week after? What can I expect? Are you going to egg my house, steal my furniture, lure me into an unmarked car for parts unknown?”
I don’t know how to respond. Knowing Beverly, literally anything is possible. So I go with the truth. “Beverly left me The Palace,” I gesture around us, “but I can’t claim the title until I complete a bunch of requirements.”
“She asked you to hijack my produce and con me into going to a movie? Why would she do that?”
“Beverly was a bit of a matchmaker.”
His lips twist. “Ah.”
Is that disgust? “I had to get a signed copy of your book, and I had to get you here, but how I went about it was up to me.”
He stares at me. “You couldn’t just tell me all this?”
“Hey, you slammed the door in my face when I tried to just tell you.”
He opens his mouth. Shuts it. Opens it again. “I guess that is true.”
“I don’t know what will be expected of me next, but I promise that if it involves you, I will ask. If you promise to listen.”
His mouth twitches. “I guess I can try. On one condition.”
“Anything.”
“How about I give you my number so you can call or text instead of showing up unannounced?”
I search his face. Is he flirting? I mean, he wants to give me his digits.
And yet I can’t quite tell if it means anything.
He’s not smiling or doing anything remotely flirtatious.
He looks as severe and irritated as ever, maybe with a hint of amusement in his eyes but that might be wishful thinking.
“Of course.” I pull my phone out of my clutch and unlock it, pulling up my contacts and handing the phone to him so he can input the number himself.
“I am sorry about all of this,” I add.
“I get it. Sort of. It’s just, being in public gives me some anxiety. If I know in advance what to expect, that helps.”
Well, now I feel like an asshole.
The lights dim and brighten twice. The movie is starting soon.
Mrs. Hammond appears with her bucket of popcorn. Graham offers his arm to her, and then turns, lifts his elbow and offers me his other arm.
“You go on ahead.” I wave. “I have to check on everything.” Mrs. Hammond will take him to the right seat. It’s easy to find, in front.
Jack is in the projector room, setting up the reel, Daphne is making sure the concession stand has served everyone before we get started, and we have a couple of volunteer ushers helping people to their seats.
They’ve all done this before, but not with this many people in attendance, and it’s my first night being in charge. I have to make sure everything goes smoothly.
The lights dim as I reach the front row.
I slide into my seat beside Graham as the screen flickers to life, the opening credits of Rear Window washing the room in soft, shifting light.
For a moment, I let myself breathe.
I just have to sit here for two hours, then it’s over. I glance over my shoulder to check and lock eyes with Spencer.
He smiles, and a responding grin tugs at my lips. The person next to him reaches into the popcorn bucket on his lap.
Audrey.
She tips her head toward him, whispering something.
Our eye contact breaks as he leans closer to listen, close enough that their shoulders brush, a faint smile still tugging at his mouth.
I flip around back in my seat so fast Graham shoots me a startled look.
Forcing my attention to the film, I latch on to the familiar opening sequence, the slow pan across the apartment windows.
Focus.
My ears strain when a low laugh sounds behind me, Audrey’s flirty laugh, followed by Spencer’s low rumble.
Why do I care?
I don’t care.
I shouldn’t care.
Graham shifts beside me, stretching his legs out in front of him like he owns the place, completely at ease. Manspreading. Typical.
The movie rolls on, Jimmy Stewart watching the world through his window, piecing together fragments of other people’s lives.
As soon as the credits roll, a weight lifts off me.
It’s over.
Thank god.
People stretch, chatter picking up as the lights turn on, energy buzzing through the space.
Graham is talking to Mrs. Hammond. I scan the rows behind us.
Spencer is already on his feet, Audrey beside him, her hand brushing his arm as she says something, laughing softly.
He smiles back.
I make my way up the aisle, heading to the bathroom for a moment of peace before getting back to work. The lobby fills quickly, people lingering to talk, to laugh, to grab last-minute photos before heading out into the cold.
I get pulled into a dozen conversations, mostly compliments, some questions, and everyone wanting to know what the plan is for the next show.
The next show.
The thought is both thrilling and terrifying. By the time the crowd thins, my feet ache, and my voice is hoarse.
Daphne is corralling volunteers. Jack disappears to the theater to help with the cleanup.
Through the chaos, I catch a glimpse of Spencer near the door, shrugging into his coat, Audrey bundled up beside him.
Daphne is dropping me off when we’re done, so they shouldn’t wait for me. Lord knows how long it will be.
They step out into the night together, the door swinging shut behind them.
My chest tightens, but I shrug it off.
It means nothing. They aren’t into each other. They’re going back to the same place, the same place I’ll be going when I’m done here.
I turn my attention back to empty cups, stray popcorn, and discarded props.
There’s still work to do.
It’s not until I’m locking the theater doors that it hits me. I never said goodbye to Graham or saw him leave.
It’s late by the time I return, almost one in the morning.
When I push open the door, a lamp glows in the front room.
Spencer is stretched out on the sofa, one arm draped along the back, a file open in his lap. He looks up, something in his expression easing when he sees me. “Hey.”
“Hey.” There’s a responding tug in my chest. I pull my jacket tighter around my flimsy dress. “You didn’t have to wait up.”
“I know.” He closes the file and sets it aside, leaning forward, forearms braced on his knees. “I had to drive three people home. I’m not sure how they got so hammered.”
I sigh. “Peggy.”
“She had one small flask.”
“She had three.”
“Oh.”
We share a look, and then we both laugh. It’s like we’ve done this before, sat around at the end of a long day, trading stories, laughing over the same people.
I shift in my heels.
He pushes to his feet. “Please, sit. Or . . . do you want the letter now, or did you want to wait until tomorrow?”
“I’ll take it now.”
Because there’s no way I’m sleeping without knowing what fresh hell Beverly has planned for me next.
He disappears into the back room. A few seconds later, he’s back, envelope in hand.
He hands it to me.
Our fingers brush.
I clear my throat and look down at the envelope, breaking the contact. “Thanks.”
“We can talk in the morning.”
“Right. Good night.”
“Good night.” I wait until his steps creak down the hall and the door to his apartment opens and shuts.
Then I slide my finger under the seal and pull the letter free.
What will she ask of me now? Run naked through the street with Graham? Sleep with him? Move in with him? Dear lord, she better not.
I smooth the page open but before I can read the first sentence, my phone vibrates.
Mother Dearest.
Shit.
I have an excellent attorney if you need someone to review the terms of Beverly’s will. You know how easy it is to be taken advantage of by people who don’t have your best interest at heart.
Either she’s heard about my inheritance from Audrey, or she’s speculating. Either way, add that to the list of texts that I will not be replying to any time this century.
I shake off thoughts of Mother and focus on the letter in my hands.
My girl my girl!
If you’re reading this, that means you completed the task, and I have to say I am impressed. Graham is not an easy person to get out of the house, let alone keep out, but I knew you could do it.
This next one, you’ll be happy to know, is much easier. If you can get Graham to sit through an entire movie at The Palace, this next bit will be a breeze.
I want you to share something you love with him.
Something personal. Something that brings you joy and makes you brave. It can be whatever you want, but Spencer will have to be present to confirm you spend at least an hour in the same room with him, in close proximity.
You have precisely two weeks from today for this one.
Beverly
I put the letter down and stare blankly at the wall.
Something I love. Something personal that brings me joy and makes me brave.
What the hell am I supposed to do with that?