Page 57 of I Love a Good Challenge

“Two years . . . about.”

“I see.”

He nods, enough said between us that we both know he purchased it after our fallout. Something in my chest aches a bit at the idea that he has lived for a time without me. It doesn’t seem right. After we discovered each other’s existence, it seems incredibly unjust to have spent any time apart, even in light of our mistakes or the lingering reality of what could’ve been.

Add to that sadness the awkward truth that poured out of me at the boxing studio. I don’t know what came over me. I blame the confined space and lack of oxygen. And the endorphins brought on by getting into the ring to spar with Graham. Maybe I was dehydrated. All I know now is that my nerves are frayed, and having to spend the evening with Graham isn’t helping. My nerves feel like live wires ready to blow the circuit breaker of my fears. He called me earlier to ask for my help on a wedding-related duty. Apparently, Sparrow asked us to help her with a last-minute wedding task that couldn’t be put off any longer. As the maid of honor, I’m not about to renege on my duties just because I have uncomfortable feelings for the best man.

So, I pretend to be fascinated by his car, just to avoid having to make actual conversation for a little bit longer. Graham’s car is what dreams are made of. The seats feel like literal flower petals. They’re so soft and smooth. It’s a weird description for a car, but accurate.

“Ugh, this car positively purrs,” I exclaim.

Graham lets out a laugh. “Don’t tell A-cat-pella that.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

His hands clench the shifter, deftly switching gears. Suddenly, I’m rethinking the calendar idea Gladys set aside for firemen this year. Let’s try devastatingly attractive guys driving cars instead. Maybe it will add some balance back into the world from all those car selfies on the “those that must not be named” dating apps. Actually, I’m not sure that the unattached hearts in our poor town could take the stimulation if the glimpse I have now is any indication of the effect such photos could have on viewers. They may be interested in more than the days of the week.

Discreetly, I study Graham’s profile. The beard is bearding today. His hair swoops perfectly away from his forehead. He’s perfectly groomed in a blue suit that echoes the color of his eyes, the picture-perfect model of a man he’s always been. That’s one thing about Graham. He was perfect then, and he’s perfect now. The ache in my chest intensifies.

“Did you find a plus-one?” I cringe immediately after blurting out the question. I don’t know why I asked. I don’t really want to know.

“No.”

“Interesting.”

“What’s interesting?”

“Uh, nothing.” Which isn’t true. Thinking about Graham choosing someone besides me in my town to take as a date to the wedding is positively maddening. I don’t know how I’ll ever look at the woman the same after he picks one. As much as I love them, something in me hopes it’s not Ivy or Grey. Because their goodness would be proof that I’m not the person who is best for Graham. Besides, seeing them together would be a whole carnival of awkwardness. I need to change the subject before I burst. “So, where are we going exactly?”

“We’re going to an estate a few towns over. There’s a wildflower field there and—”

“And you’re looking for potential photo opportunities.”

He nods, glancing at me briefly, the barely setting sun hitting his eyes in a way that brings out the golden tints in their blue depths more than any other lighting. The man is made for the golden hour. I’ve never forgotten his eyes, but it’s like I’m seeing them again for the first time.

“Rafe and Sparrow haven’t seen each other much lately—well, not as much as they’d like,” he says with a grin. “So, I volunteered us.”

I nod. He doesn’t comment, even though he didn’t see my response. The weight of what could have been tries to overwhelm me. Being with Graham feels like the cheerfulness of tulips poking through the ground despite a cloudy sky full of rain overhead. The truth is, even though he is the brightness and beauty I’ve been missing in my life, I know that hope is fragile and easily crushed.

Graham continues, filling the silence. “The estate’s owners, the Campbells, have lived here for generations. It’s rumored that in the 1940s, or maybe ’50s—I can’t remember now, to be honest—anyway, the newlywed groom planted wildflowers for his bride in honor of their wedding day. He said he wanted her to see their love blossom every spring.”

“That’s nice.”

Graham’s charming grin in my direction catches me off guard. “I’m not sure how true it is, given how people make up stories all the time. Liam mentioned it to me, and since he’s pretty much the town historian, given his family’s history here, you’ll have to ask him for the full story. But yeah, it’s a nice thought.”

“I will.”

He’s so handsome, his hands resting easily on the steering wheel and gear shift, the sun shining through the windshield and bringing out the golden highlights of his hair, that I can’t help but smile in return.

We drive in silence the rest of the way. When we arrive at the estate, Graham steps out of the car and rushes toward my door, but I step out before he can reach me. He takes a few steps forward then turns back to me. His arm swings out behind him as if it is for me to take before thinking better of it. He clears his throat and slides his hand into his pocket so seamlessly that I almost think I misinterpreted it. But then I catch the sudden hint of color in his cheeks and the tightness in his throat. Inwardly, I can’t help but feel pleased that I know all the nervous tics he does when he’s uncomfortable.

We follow the signs around the property that point to Wildflower Lane. It is actually a field, and as we walk together in the idyllic setting, my nerves grow more than I’d care to admit. After avoiding the most uncomfortable topics in the car, I feel them sprouting into weeds between us. We have so much to discuss, and I wonder how long he is going to let me keep avoiding it. Graham and I still haven’t brought all the truth to light.

“I was told just to take a look when I called. Do you think we need to meet anyone?” Graham asks. His voice echoes behind him, carried on the wind.

It rushes past my ears but no more so than my heartbeat, which has picked up its pace since we arrived. Something about the crystal blue sky and the white fluffy clouds, a light jacket on after a harsh winter, and the man in front of me, who is leading the way as if he’s walked this path a dozen times and not like this is his first time wandering over it, sends my heart soaring.

His dress pants now have the slightest bit of dirt starting to power up the hems. The sight makes me like him even more. He’d rather be himself and dirty his clothes than dress down and not feel as comfortable as we trek through the brush toward our destination.

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