Page 34 of Lie for a Lie

I roll my eyes and move to the next room.

“Whose room is this?” I ask, opening the second door and seeing a bright red Chief’s blanket across the bed.

It starkly contrasted the rest of the room, filled with dark, natural colors. A few books were on the dresser, which was almost too organized.

“My brother,” Chris says, almost in a confused tone and a shrug.

I look back toward him, and that’s when I notice the teenage version of Graham over his shoulder in quite a few of the photos in the hallway.

“Graham?”

I don’t know how I missed that piece of information. Chris smiles before I follow him to the living room.

“Drink?” Chris asks.

“Water, please,” I reply, sitting on the corner of the couch. I let my eyes follow Chris and see him head toward the back door before he pops his head out.

He had a shit-eating grin on his face as the door closes behind him. Graham appears from the back door a minute later, lingering long enough for Chris to hand him the cup of water he pours for me before Graham’s eye locks on me with a jaw-dropping smile.

God, I could stare at that smile for hours. His face was quickly becoming my new obsession.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here?” Graham purrs, seeming anything but disappointed as he offers me my drink and sits on the couch next to me.

“My shift was canceled.”

I shrug, and somehow, his smile widens.

“Lucky me,” he says, his eyes lingering on my face longer than he should.

The humming that seems to always be between us begins to pulse, and I can feel my chest ache. I sip the water in my hand and have to adjust on the couch, clearing my throat. I reach to place my cup on the side table next to us, trying to hide the blush I know is spreading over my cheeks.

“Has Bre cooked for you before?” I ask, needing this conversation to go somewhere that doesn’t involve him looking down towards my lips again. I want to bite it every time he does.

“Yes. She made dinner at my place a few times. Your sister is a pretty good cook. Chris can’t even boil water, so I don’t feel it’s a fair trade. At our last station, I was the only reason he ever ate something besides microwave popcorn,” Graham says with a fondness that makes me like him a little more.

Bre loves to cook and spent most of the day working on two lasagnas and a cheesecake. I always thought she might become a chef, and I was surprised when she ended up as a divorce lawyer. It seems to contradict her people-pleasing personality.

“She had to learn to cook. When I was about six, our parents disappeared for a while. Three days in, we ran out of food. Long story short, we were starving. Twelve-year-old Bre convinced one of the neighbor boys to give us a ride to the store and wait with me in the car until she was done. I was to not come into the store under any circumstances. Which was code for I’m about to steal some shit, and you can’t get picked up by CPS.”

His soft chuckle makes me smile before continuing.

“Thankfully, her puppy dog eyes and tears got her enough money from other patrons to afford a small number of groceries. She even managed a handful of small chocolates full of caramel.”

“I am assuming those are your favorite?” he asks.

I just smile. “Yeah.”

“What other things are your favorite?”

“What do you want to know?”

“All of it.”

The seriousness of those words rings in my soul, and I can feel the blush creeping back into my cheeks.

“Why?” I ask honestly, and he chuckles.

“How about we start with your favorite flower?”

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