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I hadn’t responded, and I hadn’t left my notebook when my shift had ended. I’d spent hours agonizing over whether or not I should message him—because calling him was out of the question—and even longer hating the giddy smile that refused to leave my face, and the stupid fluttering in my stomach.
Because that’s all this was: stupid.
Because, as he’d pointed out, I didn’t know him and he didn’t know me. For all I knew, he was old and married. Or young . . . too young. This was stupid.
But despite every warning I told myself, I sent a message to the number when I arrived at Knox and Harlow’s wedding hours before. One word. Nothing profound; and nothing that would embarrass me if he’d given me a fake number.
Stranger. . .
I blinked quickly, bringing the reception back to focus, when the chair next to me was pulled out and someone filled it.
I looked over my shoulder, and my hand paused on Keith’s back for a second when I took in Graham, so close to me.
“Having fun?”
After a short hesitation, I nodded. “Are you?”
He stretched back in the chair, and took out the scene before us. “Yeah, still seems weird that it’s Knox’s wedding though.”
“Did you think it was going to be the three of you forever?” I asked softly, the teasing evident in my tone.
A short laugh was forced from his chest. His shoulders slid up in the barest of shrugs. “Kind of.”
“Deacon, Graham, and Knox . . . the Three Musketeers,” I mumbled, my eyes fell to my son as a smile touched my lips.
Graham’s next laugh was fuller. “Ah, man. I’d forgotten about that. I can’t believe you remembered.”
“Hard to forget. Knox tried to rescue me from my bag full of chocolate and ended up ripping my costume in front of everyone. I’m pretty sure that Halloween night scarred me and is the reason I never went to another party. Until now.”
Graham leaned closer like he was going to tell me a secret, but stopped a few inches away and nodded toward Keith. “I noticed your dancing partner passed out. Will you dance with me if I promise not to rip your dress in front of everyone?”
The confusion and suspicions I’d been plagued with the past days rose up again at Graham’s question, and I felt my body still and my breathing pause as I studied him. Just as quickly as everything had stopped, it all started up again, this time faster than it had been before.
There had been no fluttering in my stomach or racing heart during our short conversation. My breath hadn’t caught at his smile or laugh, even though Graham had always been one of the most attractive guys in town. But now, now my pulse was erratic and speeding up with each passing second. I couldn’t seem to form words as I tried to make connections between the person sitting next to me, and the one I had been writing to.
“Uh,” I forced out.
“Come on, one dance. We finally got you out in public with everyone, we’re all having fun, you can’t just sit back and watch the party happen.”
I nodded slowly, and then more confidently. “Okay.”
I stood and gently laid Keith across two chairs, then let Graham lead me out onto the dance floor.
The song was an old one, and fast paced. I didn’t have time to let insecurities take over before Graham spun me away, then pulled me closer. A laugh bubbled from my chest before I could attempt to stop it, and then we were moving.
We quickly got lost in the mass of people trying to figure out a way to dance to a song that clearly had no right way of dancing to it. My cheeks burned with heat from trying to let loose for once, as well as the look Grey gave me when she saw me dancing with her older brother.
In that look from Grey, I remembered why I’d let Graham bring me out here at all. But there was no way to try to understand Graham or why he had been so nice lately, and there was no connecting him to a stranger in that moment.
Like before, the fluttering was gone. The racing in my heart was only from our fast movements and the loud music. Even when Graham’s hand slid around mine to pull me toward him, or to quickly spin me away again . . . there was nothing.
All of it, every feeling had only been prompted by the thought that I might be face-to-face with a guy who hid behind pages in my book.
The song ended and transitioned into something slower, more intimate, and I felt myself retreating from the reception and the dance floor before my body could begin doing the same. Almost impulsively, my arm curled around my waist as my head bowed. Just as I began to take a step back, a warm voice came from behind me, and a shiver moved down my spine at the sound.
“Charlie Girl . . .”
Irrational, betraying heart.
