“Really?” I ask. “Their dessert menu is two pages long and you’re getting vanilla cake with vanilla icing?”
“I figure vanilla has fewer calories than chocolate. This is balancing out the three sodas I had today,” she winks and takes off, leaving me chuckling behind her.
Mallory
I follow Graham through a short hallway and into a wide open kitchen. Dark wood floors and cabinets make the large stainless steel appliances pop. Light flows in from the bright moon outside the windows, but the room also glows from soft lights under the cabinetry.
His house is in a subdivision bordering a golf course, which surprised me when we arrived. I expected him to live somewhere more private, maybe even out of town, but he doesn’t. Still, it’s incredibly peaceful here, almost like you leave the city and step into another place altogether. It smells of his sandalwood cologne mixed with something crisp. Clean. Intoxicating.
Graham takes my coat and lays it over the back of one of the tall stools lining the island along with his suit jacket. “Can I get you a drink? Something to eat?”
“We just had dinner,” I remind him.
“I know. It’s just years of manners embedded into me by my mother. Never invite someone over and not offer them food and a drink.”
He watches me in the way he does for a long moment. I feel the ripple of uncertainty that’s been wedged between us since our talk of the yoga studio and families. Dessert was nice and our conversation flowed like normal, but
I could feel something a little heavier on our minds.
The car ride here was quiet, soft music playing in his SUV, the only words really spoken were him asking if we could swing by here for some papers before he returns me to my car at Landry Holdings. Now, looking at him over his kitchen island, I’m not sure what to think. Maybe he doesn’t either.
“Thank you for going with me to dinner tonight,” he says finally.
“It was nice. Thank you for asking me.”
He roughs his hand down his face before reaching for my hand and leading me to a set of French doors. He slides them open and we step out onto a patio.
The air is chilly and I shiver. He immediately pulls me into his side and runs his hand up and down my arm. “We can go back in,” he offers. “I just thought you’d like it out here. Watch this.” Grinning, he goes to a large stone fireplace and flips a switch. Flames begin to dance inside.
“That’s awesome,” I laugh, curling up on the loveseat facing the fire. The fence has a row of thick pine trees on the inside, creating a barrier from the homes on either side and the golf course behind the house. It creates a little nook of privacy that feels like a fairytale. “I could get used to this.” As he sits beside me, the flames shooting shadows over his face, I realize just how breathtakingly handsome he really is when the stress of the day is gone. “This is how you relax, isn’t it? Sitting here by the fire.”
“Sometimes.” With a gentle hand, he takes my arm and pulls me against him. My breath catches in my throat at the contact. It’s more intimate, more connected, than I’ve been with him before, and on top of our conversation earlier, I’m not sure what I think of that.
My head on his chest, I gaze past the patio and onto the golf course. “Do you golf?”
“A little. It’s a good place to hammer out business deals,” he says. “Dad golfs pretty well. Barrett hates it. Linc is an asshole to golf with because he’s so fucking good and doesn’t even try.”
“What about Ford?”
“Ford can. I mean, he’s decent. He just doesn’t really spend his time on those things.” His hand runs up and down my arm again. If I didn’t watch it, I could pretend this was more than it is. “Ford takes serious things seriously and fun things for what they are. He really is probably the best out of us all.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“What do you not know?” he says, angling his head to look at me. His eyes shine in the low light.
“I happen to think you’re the best out of them all.”
He chuckles, letting his hand fall to the small of my back. “That’s nice of you to say.”
“It’s true. Barrett is so charismatic, Ford charming, and Lincoln is so . . .”
Graham flips me a look, almost a warning. “He’s so what, Mallory?” he goads me.
“So Lincoln,” I try, giggling. “But you are all of those things.”
“I don’t think I’m charming.”
“You are so charming,” I smile, tapping his cheek until he faces me. “And kind. You think of everyone but yourself, which is why you need yoga,” I wink. “Want to know my favorite thing about you?”