“Mr. Landry,” I stammer, my anxiety beginning to soar. “I’m not sure what he’s told you, but I don’t think he’s in love with me.”
His chuckle is loud and hearty as he shakes his head. “Maybe not. I surely can’t speak for my son. But I can tell you that I know a thing or two about my boys, and Graham is well on his way, sweetheart.”
My cheeks flush and I look away. I’m not sure he’s right, but I can’t stop the little bud of hope that blossoms in my belly.
“Graham’s work over these past few weeks has only gotten better. It’s funny, in a way, to see him a bit strewn about. But it makes his mother and me happy to see him living outside of his office for once. And that, Mallory, is because of you.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. I just want to ask that you give my boy some patience. Lord knows he’s probably in over his head,” he chuckles. “But if I know one of my sons, I know Graham. And I know Graham will come around.”
&nb
sp; The music ends and a faster number replaces it. Graham is to my side in a second flat.
“Here you go,” his father says, taking my hand and placing it through his son’s elbow. He leans in and whispers something to Graham. I don’t know what he says, only that it makes Graham smile. They nod, a silent exchange of some unnamed emotion, and Mr. Landry disappears into the sea of people.
Graham looks at me, his eyes shimmering. “You ready to go?”
“Absolutely.”
Mallory
THE HOUSE IS DARK WHEN we enter. All the wine I consumed has made me sleepy and I lean against Graham as we enter the house. He takes my jacket off and grabs a blanket off the sofa before guiding me back outside onto the patio.
I doze off, warm from the alcohol and the fire Graham started in the fireplace. He awakens me, having changed into a pair of black sleep pants and a long-sleeved, black shirt.
“Hey, sleeping beauty,” he whispers, sitting down beside me. I struggle to open my eyes as I sit up. “Come here.”
He moves me so I’m leaning against him, tucked protectively under his arm. My hair splays across his shirt, my legs tucked up under the blanket.
Nothing is said and not a muscle is moved besides the rising and falling of our chests. It’s completely still outside. There are no barking dogs or police sirens. Just Graham and I and a crackling fire.
“If I could just stay here, like this, for the rest of my life, I would.” His statement wakes me up. I think I mishear him, but when I look up at his face, he’s watching me. “I love having you here.”
“I love being here,” I say, snuggling into him more. “I really just love being with you.”
I wait for the regret, but the wine must have dulled my reactions, because I feel none. I also don’t feel drunk, just buzzed, and I’m not sure if that means I’m safe to speak or I’m so out of it I need to play dead.
“What would it take,” he says, clearing his throat, “for you to give me a chance?”
“A chance like in a raffle?” I ask, trying to stop the roaring of the blood past my ears.
He laughs quietly. “No, Mallory. A chance as in maybe helping me trying to figure out how to love.”
Drunk, buzzed, or sober, I’m wide awake. I’m afraid to move because that might shatter this alternate reality I’ve woken up in.
“How to love yoga?” I offer.
Moving me so I lie across his lap, he sighs. “I’m blaming this on Lincoln.”
The confidence in Graham’s posture that I’ve never seen him without is gone. His features are stern, his face pulled tight. There’s a glimmer in his eyes, but I can’t tell if it’s from the flames of the fire or something . . . else.
“I have some issues,” he begins. “I know that. I can be exacting and difficult and a little overbearing at times.”
“A little?”
“A little,” he says, giving me a look. “I thought I was happy before you came into my life. Everything was in its place, everyone in their roles, and I liked it. It was comfortable and predictable. Then you walk in and take all that and toss it on the floor.”