“How …?” I start.
“Well, you fell asleep on my shoulder at one point,” Graham admits. “I decided to let you sleep a bit before waking you up … and I must’ve dozed off too.” He stretches lazily, coving his mouth over a yawn.
“Well, thanks a lot!” I tease, wadding up the blanket that had been around my shoulders and tossing it at him.
He chuckles and stands, grimacing as he stretches. “Okay, we gotta get you back home before people start showing up to work.”
“The sun’s not even up.”
“It’s a ranch, that’s when work starts,” he responds dryly.
“Seriously?” I hop up, gathering the blankets and beelining to the truck.
Graham trails after me, chuckling. “We’re not gonna run into anyone. But I do need to get to work on time.”
He tosses the leftover beer, as well as the empty cans, into his truck bed before returning to the fire and stamping it out.
I watch him, still bemused by the fact that we’d both fallen asleep, outside, miles from home, and slept until dawn. I remember us talking late into the night—serious stuff, silly stuff, reminiscing about being kids. I cock my head as I watch him, chuckling softly when he briefly loses his balance while stamping out an ember, managing to right himself before falling.
Has Graham always been this … fun to be around? Nice? Funny? Sweet?
I’ve never really gone out of my way to spend time with him and Harrison—mostly I see Harrison just one-on-one or with family—but I’m beginning to second guess that now. IlikeGraham. As a person, of course.
And while our arrangement may be temporary, maybe we can leave with an actual friendship out of it.
Graham finishes up at the campfire before meeting me in the truck. And soon, we’re on our way back to town. Thankfully, we don’t pass any trucks that look like Harrison’s on the way, and before long, we’re back at my apartment complex.
“I’m crawling into bed as soon as I get inside,” I mumble as Graham pulls into the parking lot.
He snorts. “Lucky.”
I shoot him a gloating grin.
“How about instead of sleeping, you get to work on that bestseller of yours?” he suggests.
At first, I think he’s talking about the romance novel, but then I remember our conversation from last night. While it’s about as farfetched as ideas go, it’s sweet. “We’ll see about that,” I settle on.
Graham side-eyes me but says nothing. The truck comes to a stop, and I open the passenger door, grabbing my jacket and purse. “I’ll see you,” I say, my hand on the door.
“See you, Trouble,” he says with a shit-eating grin.
I roll my eyes and shut the door, turning and jogging up the stairs to my apartment. As I unlock the door, I glance over, watching as Graham’s truck exits the lot and disappears down the road.
And while I am dead tired, for the first time in a long time, I’m actually excited to write.
Chapter twelve
Delilah
“So you’ve never made French toast, and you thought today would be the day to try?” I ask, watching from the couch as Graham stumbles about my kitchen, his hands dripping with raw egg and cinnamon.
“I woke up with a craving for French toast, and since we can’t go out to a brunch place, I figured it can’t be that hard to make,” Graham defends, reaching for the loaf of bread on the counter.
When he’d texted yesterday and suggested we do Saturday brunch, I’d assumed he’d show up with grocery store pastries or something—not a bag full of literal groceries and a screenshotted recipe.
“I’ll be cleaning up after myself, don’t worry,” Graham says, and I narrow my eyes at him. How did he know that was exactly what I was thinking? “If you’d like to pour some mimosas, I wouldn’t be against that,” he adds, inclining his head toward oneof the grocery bags on the counter. “There’s orange juice and prosecco in there somewhere.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Wow, you went all out.”
