He burst into laughter then.
“It’s sort of unprofessional, isn’t it?” She kept going. “And, even though we’re divorced, the will we were reading was my husband’s.”
Graham was still laughing.
Laughter was good—a stress reducer that didn’t involve her making a pass at one of her oldest and dearest friends. Did it scare her a little to realize she’d started relying on him? Yes. But she liked having him back in her life, so hopefully her earlier unhinged behavior wouldn’t chase him away. “Good guy or not, I think I’ll pass on his offer.”
“Maybe he saw an opportunity,” Graham said, those brown eyes smiling again.
She shook her head.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He turned the corner and pulled onto her street.
“Graham.” She waited for him to park. “What happened in the elevator—”
He shook his head, his hands gripping the steering wheel. “It’s fine.”
“I was…I am an emotional mess.” She rushed on, breathless. How could she explain? Because she really wanted to explain. The problem was, she didn’t really understand what happened. “I fell apart, which I’ve been trying very hard not to do. And you—” She broke off. He what? “You’re easy to hold on to.” Which was true. Holding on to him had been good. “The support and hugging. The touching. You.” And all the odd sensations the hugging and touching stirred…
Trying again. “I didn’t think. It was all…feeling.” A pure, exquisite ache she’d thought was gone forever.
He looked at her then. “What were you feeling?”
His question caught her off guard. Chances are, telling him he’d woken up her libido was going to make him tense all over again. Friends didn’t typically affect each other’s sex drive. But somehow, he had. “It… You felt good.”
He stared at her so long and hard that she wasn’t sure what to do. “If I asked you to have a drink with me, what would you say?”
It was her turn to stare at him. “A drink?” As in a date? Or a drink? But she wasn’t sure she wanted to know, so she didn’t ask.
He nodded.
Both of them were still battle weary from their first broken hearts. They had more than their fair share of worry and responsibility to shoulder. But they deserved a break.
Graham’s brown gaze swept slowly over her face as if he were seeing her for the very first time. There was something undeniably appealing about this gentle, wounded man. What that meant, exactly, had yet to be determined, but she very definitely wanted to find out.
“What time will you pick me up?” she asked.
He let out a long, slow breath. “Eight?” he asked.
She opened the car door and slid from the seat. “I’ll see you at eight.” With a smile and a wave, she made her way to her front door. For the first time in over twenty years, Felicity Otto-Buchanan had butterflies.
…
“The blue tie,” Diana said, leaning against the doorway. “Or, here’s an idea, no tie.”
Graham wove the blue tie beneath his collar and worked a French knot, relieved by her interest in his date. Diana didn’t like many people, but Felicity was a rare exception. Which was good. It had been a hell of a long time since he’d been excited by something. Tonight—he was excited—until he saw his daughter staring back at him in the mirror. She looked pale. Really pale.
“What?” she asked, pushing off the doorframe.
He had to tread carefully. By now, he could recognize when something was off with his daughter. And, there was no denying it, something was off.
“Stop with the look.” She flopped onto his bed. “I haven’t done anything.”
If only he could believe that. He stared at his reflection, focusing all his energy on tying his tie.
“Mrs. Buchanan is a babe. Some of the guys call her a MILF. I’m sure you’d agree.”
“Do I want to know what that means?” he asked.