“Am I still your favourite Spice Girl?”I ask.
“Always.”He jerks his head toward my bedroom door.I go in first and get settled in bed.Graeme sits beside me, setting the tray between us.There are four slices of toast on the plate, along with a handful of fresh raspberries.
“Thought I’d join you if that’s okay,” he says, picking up one of the mugs.
“Of course.”I take a piece of toast, noticing it’s slathered in jam, just the way I like.Graeme always used to laugh at my liberal application of jam compared to the thin layer he spread on his.“I was thinking of what you said earlier, about how I’d sometimes fall into bed after a night out, clothes and all.That Abby was able to get up early the next morning with very few ill effects after a night of drinking.I doubt thirty-five-year-old Abby will fare as well.”
“Lucky for her, she has thirty-eight-year-old Graeme to make her a fry-up to sop up all that alcohol.I also have Irn Bru, which helps with a hangover.”
“Good ol’ Irn Bru,” I say, forcing out a laugh to cover the inexplicable tremor in my voice.
He flashes me a smile.“Aye.So...eggs, sausage, toast with raspberry jam.Mushrooms?”
“Sure.”
“Tomatoes?”
I scrunch my nose.“No.I still can’t get used to tomatoes for breakfast.Unless they’re from the Edinburgh Farmers Market.Remember the ones we bought when we had Isobel and Cam over for dinner?Those were the best tomatoes I’ve ever had.Mind you, it’s been fourteen years, so I’m sure that farmer doesn’t still come to the market.”
Graeme is studying me closely, his head cocked to the side.I can’t read his expression.
“What?”I ask.
He shakes his head, his gaze falling to the half-eaten piece of toast in his hand.“Nothing, I just...”He sighs and shakes his head again.“You’re right about that particular farmer, but new ones have taken his place, and their tomatoes are just as good.I don’t have any on hand right now, though.”
I want to know what he was going to say.I’m tempted to press him, but I’m afraid it’ll be something I don’t want to hear.Silence falls as we finish our tea and toast.My mind wanders, and for once, my thoughts are blessedly quiet.I wonder if that’s the effects of the alcohol or Graeme’s presence.
He laughs softly as he takes my empty mug from my hands.“You look so dazed, I’m waiting for your eyes to start spinning like they do in cartoons.”
I purposely cross my eyes, making him chuckle again.“Or maybe those little birdies that float around a character’s head after they’ve been knocked out.”
“Aye, which is my cue to leave and let you get some sleep.”He gathers everything onto the tray while I slide under the covers and get comfortable.“All set?”he asks, and I nod.My breath catches and holds as he bends to kiss my forehead.
“What were you thinking earlier when you said it was nothing?”I ask.
He blows out a sharp breath as he picks up the tray and heads for the door.
“Tell me, Graeme.Please?”
He turns back when he reaches the doorway.The skin around his eyes is tight, as if he’s in pain.“I was hit by an overwhelming feeling of love for you.I felt it all night as I watched you with our friends, dancing and laughing.As you and Drew trudged up the hill with your arms linked.When you came out of the bathroom earlier, all fresh-faced and glowing.And again when you were talking about tomatoes of all things.”
He already admitted the other night that he still loves me, so this shouldn’t come as a shock.And yet, the yearning in his words, paired with what appears to be anguish painted across his face,isa surprise.Loving me hurts him.That’s the last thing I want.
All I can manage to say is, “I’m sorry, Graeme.”
His expression clears as his head cocks to one side.“I’mnot.”
And with that enigmatic response, he turns off the light and backs out of the room.
