Page 33 of Back to Me

When I came home from my date with Dylan earlier, I wasn’t sure how I would approach Graham. I knew I needed to, that the time had come for us to lay it all out there. Finding him in the kitchen, I wasn’t sure if he would even respond or care as much as I did about me going on a date. Was he furious? Was he indifferent? I think I decided to confront him when Dylan walked me to the lobby of my apartment building. I knew then, he wasn’t the man for me. Why bother starting a relationship with someone when your heart isn’t fully in it? When your mind and heart already belong to another?

I knew Graham held my heart in his hands, the ability to cherish it or crush it with the matter of a few words. I just didn’t know which one it would be.

Then as the words spilled from his mouth, his own admission of his love for me, I melted. He was the fire, and I was the ice. I was left breathless, standing there, reveling in the words I had waited to hear for so many years.

Graham’s fingertips graze my chin, bringing me back to him. “What are you thinking about?”

I grin, melting as his body wraps around mine.

“How I’ve been in love with you my whole life.”

“What?” he laughs. “We haven’t known each other our whole lives, Sara.”

“No, we haven’t. But I loved you even before I knew you.”

***

I’m beaming when I walk into work the next morning. My heels lightly click against the glass tile, and I sit down in my computer chair with so much enthusiasm, I bounce in my chair, sliding it back against the wall. Touching my lips, I remember the way Graham’s mouth pressed against mine, begging me not to leave, the peppermint taste still lingering on my tongue.

I didn’t want to go to work, I didn’t want to leave him. Two times I made it to the door before I felt Graham’s hand wrap around my arm, pulling me back. The first time he pulled me back, he immediately slid my skirt up my thighs and bent me over the arm of the couch. When we were done, I righted my skirt and retucked my shirt, telling him I was going to be late if I didn’t leave then. But once again, he pulled me back just before I was able to place my hand on the doorknob. That time, he didn’t even bother bringing me to the couch, pushing me against the wall near the door, making quick work so I wouldn’t be late.

Booting up my computer, I lean back in my chair and release a happy sigh. My phone dings in my purse. I pull it out, and there’s a text message from Graham.

Graham: Don’t let Allison keep you too long. I can’t wait to cover you with paint. Have a great day, and I love you.

Giggling, I send him a few heart and kissing emoji’s and finish it with ‘I love you, too.’

It’s a strange yet amazing feeling to be talking with Graham this way. At first, I thought it would be awkward, but it’s almost as if this is the way it was supposed to be all along, not weird at all.

I’m checking the messages Allison left for me the night before when I hear her emerge from the back room, her face twisted with annoyance. Great, she’s already in a bad mood, and it’s not even ten in the morning yet.

“You were almost late,” she declares.

With my face turned to my computer, I roll my eyes. Does she stare at the security monitors, spying on me all day? Suddenly, I feel self-conscious. I keep my back turned, refusing to allow her sour mood to affect me.

“Well, I wasn’t, so…” I’ve never spoken to Allison this way, but I’m feeling bold today.

“Excuse me?”

Spinning around in my chair, I flash her my fake smile. “Nothing,” I say sweetly.

With a heavy sigh, she rests her elbows on the top part of my desk. “Today is going to be a long day. Make sure you call the caterer to confirm tonight.”

“What?” I blink several times, unsure of what event she’s talking about. I don’t remember her having one scheduled.

“Today’s the twenty-fifth,” she flatly states.

I close my mouth and swallow. Shit. The twenty-fifth of every month Allison has a special event, displaying only her most expensive and rare pieces—as if her regular pieces weren’t already overpriced. The monthly showing is huge as far as the art community goes. People of all types attend, including politicians, lawyers, and doctors—pretty much anyone who earns at least a six-figure income and can afford to purchase a three-thousand-dollar chunk of clay.

I cross my legs and pull up my calendar. Sure enough, there it is, typed out in bold font. With everything going on between me and Graham, I had completely forgotten, but I don’t let Allison grow aware of my absent mind.

“Of course,” I say, clearing my throat. “How could I forget? I’ll call the caterer. Is there anything else you need?”

Raising one eyebrow, she scrutinizes me. A silence falls between us and my palms begin to sweat.

“No,” she sneers. “That’ll be all. We open the doors at seven.” Spinning on her six-inch heel, she sashays her way back to her office.

When she’s disappeared around the corner, I release a heavy breath and fall back against my chair. After calling the caterer and getting everything in order for tonight, I text Graham and tell him I won’t be able to work with him like we planned.

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