My lips remain sealed as I absorb his final words. This is his way of showing me that he was listening to what I said earlier. That I was at least partly right about everything, even if he’s not ready to admit it word for word yet.
Cecil returns with both of our drinks before I can reply to what Grayson said.
Thanking him, I take a large sip of the cocktail I only ever order on special outings. It’s probably the best cosmopolitan I’ve ever had. It’s not too sweet or tart.
“Good?” Grayson asks.
I swallow my second sip. “Mhm. And I’m sure the second one will taste even better.”
He laughs and plays with the stem of his wineglass, not taking his eyes off me.
“Yours?”
The corners of his mouth turn up as he tastes the Merlot.
My palms are sweaty, and I find myself craving his approval. No, no, no. He’s just a man, and I will not give him that power.
“It’s great.”
My body relaxes slightly. “Good.”
We both have some more to drink. He sets his glass down, and his face turns serious. “I’m not allowed to get drunk since Iam driving, but I needed a glass of this before answering the questions you need answers to.”
“Okay,” I say carefully.
He clears his throat. “Let’s get the most depressing ones out of the way before the food arrives, which should take about another eight minutes, give or take. After that, you’ll have all the information you need about that topic, and we’ll discuss things that aren’t nearly as sad. Sound good?”
Swallowing harshly, I raise a finger and drink from my cosmo. “I needed a sip before you started.”
His lips curl up slightly before he looks down and stiffens. “My parents passed away in a car crash,” he breathes out shakily. “The man who hit them was drunk, and he died in the crash as well.”
“Grayson…”
He shifts his head and gazes into my eyes with a blend of coldness and vulnerability.
“Let me finish.”
Nodding, I shut my mouth, knowing he has to do it this way.
“I was working when I got the call, and it didn’t feel real at first. I was twenty-one and on my way to becoming a successful chef.” His voice remains steady, and I stay quiet. “Once their funeral came around, that’s when the reality of everything really hit me. To this day, every June seventh, I spend the day alone.” My eyes water with unshed tears from what he’s sharing. That last part isn’t going into my article. It’s not something others should know about. Grayson clears his throat and rubs a hand down his face. He sits up straight, seeming to come out of whatever trance he was in.
“Their names were Suzy and Bill Hayes, but my mom used her maiden name for her photography—Suzy Hadley.” The name instantly sounds familiar, but I can’t quite place it. “My dad was a well-known surgeon. If you search for her and my dad’s name, you’ll see why I was able to afford what I did at that age.” Lifting his wineglass, he gives me the last piece of information. “They left almost everything to my siblings and me when they passed away. My brother and sister are three years younger than me and are both successful, but I don’t feel comfortable saying anything else without their permission.”
My throat feels like sandpaper. Too many thoughts are racing through my mind. I was given so much more than I was expecting, but my curiosity and hunger still aren’t satiated.
I tap the corner of my eye to stop a tear from falling. “I’m so sorry for what you’ve gone through,” I tell him sincerely.
“You know loss as well, and you were kind enough to tell me about it the other day. You deserve the same respect you gave me.” His tone is dry, but his eyes show his emotionality.
This is the person I remember. This is the real Grayson Hayes.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He only nods.
After a moment of silence, I switch into journalism mode. “What kind of photography did your mom do?”
He tsks. “You have their names, Emma. Now it’s your turn to do the research.”
