He laughs and presses a kiss to my cheek before disentangling himself from me and handing my clothes my way. We dress and end up snuggled together on the couch, my head on Graham’s shoulder, his arms wrapped around me.
“Is Harrison going to hate you even more now?” I eventually ask, the idea only dawning on me now.
But instead of worry or fear, there’s a rumble of laughter in Graham’s chest which has me sitting up to look him in the eyes, my eyebrows raised. Graham clears his throat, but the smile remains. “Harrison said he’d forgive me on one condition.”
I frown. “What?”
“That I tell you how I feel.”
The words don’t fully register at first. Graham told Harrison about his feelings for me first? Why? Although I suppose it doesn’t matter.
“I think he was fine with the possibility ofyoubreakingmyheart, but not the other way around. Once he figured out I was in love with you, his whole demeanor changed.”
I cock my head, surprised but also … not. Maybe Harrison never truly saw me as a child. Just someone he wanted to protect from heartbreak. “So Harrison is fine with his best friend and little sister … being together?” I hesitate on that last part. Sure, Graham just admitted that he loved me, but are we … dating? Together? Not sure. The entire thing feels so new and strange.
Graham shrugs. “Seems so.” Just then, his gaze shifts past me to my desk, and he stands, reaching out.
“What are you—?” I start, but my question is answered as he snatches up a pile of papers, fused together with a binder clip.
I open my mouth to stop him, but Graham reads aloud from the title page, “Delilah Slater.” He looks up, eyes sparkling. “Is this yours?” he asks. “Like, not the romance novel, not ghostwritten?”
I bite my lip, then shrug. “It’s … yeah, I mean …”
“You wrote a book,” Graham says, his voice soft, proud. “For you?”
I nod slowly. “Yeah. It’s not really finished yet, and I don’t have a title. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with it or anything. But it’s a mystery. Middle grade—that means it’s for kids. LikeNancy Drew. I mean, not completely likeNancy Drew, obviously, but when we talked at the campfire about being kids and my writing and everything, it got me thinking …” I trail off, realizing I’m rambling.
When I look back up at Graham, he has the book clutched to his chest, staring down at me with a look I can only describe as … awe. Or maybe love. He glances down at the stack of papers again before setting it back on the desk. “Can I read it when you’re done?” he asks, taking his seat beside me again.
I grin. “I didn’t peg you as a kid’s book lover.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m a man of many interests.”
I giggle, and then the silence settles around us, my mind suddenly going a million different places. Harrison finding out Graham loved me. Graham declaring his feelings. The book, the promise to be around to read it later. Graham and me, and me and Graham.
I’m quiet for a moment, long enough that Graham shifts to look into my eyes, a question on his face. “Tell me what’s going on in there, Trouble,” he says with a gentle tap to my head.
I smirk, shaking my head. “Just, uh … what exactly … are we?” I force out the words. After the shitshow that our relationship has been so far, I feel it best to simply come out and define it now. No more blurred lines.
Graham’s mouth curves into a grin. “What do you want to be, sweetheart?” he asks.
But I shake my head. “I want to know whatyouwant to be.”And see if it lines up.
Graham nods slowly, his smile never faltering. “Well,” he starts, “I find myself wanting lots of things when it comes to you. Things that are, if I’m honest, a bit terrifying.”
I swallow, suddenly worried. Is he going to back out? Change his mind? Declare that regardless of love, Graham is not a man for relationships?
He reaches for my hand, squeezes it. “So how about we start simple? I’ll be your boyfriend, you be my girlfriend, and if all goes well … all goes well.” He whispers the last part, his gaze meeting mine, the fear there so evident that it almost breaksmy heart. I can see it flash through his eyes—his parents, their relationship, their marriage. But I can also see something else. Something stronger and brighter, and something he’s obviously fighting for.
Hope.
Hope that all goes well. Because for maybe the first time in his life, he can see it.
“I’ll be there for you, you’ll be there for me,” he goes on. “I’ll read your books—and yes, I saidbooks, because there’s going to be more of them.”
I giggle.
“And you can mediate me and Harrison’s spats. You can stay at my place, or I can stay at yours. We can get a place together, and you can decorate it because I don’t care about that shit, and I can cook for you and hold you as you fall asleep at night. And … we can get married and have kids and … end up on a front porch one day at ninety-five years old watching our great-grandchildren run around the front yard …” He’s staring at my hand clasped in his, his jaw tight. Like he’s afraid of wanting the story he’s just laid out. Like he’s worried he’ll never be good enough for it.
I reach for his cheek, turning his face so that he’s looking at me. “Keeping it simple,” I tease, and it gets a grin out of him. “I like that.”
He shakes his head through a laugh.
My hand still wrapped in his, I snuggle close, leaning my head on his shoulder. “I like your plan, cowboy.”
The End
