His words trail off, and I watch in awe before letting him out of his misery.
“Yeah. Yes, Graham. It’s….this is it. But you didn’t have to do this,” I say with a shake of my head.
“Yes, I did,” he says, lifting the package once more and handing it over. This time, I don’t drop it, even if my hands are shaking.
Instead, I gently tug on the ribbon, already thinking of ways to use it, to add some color to his place. My apartment lease is up in two months, and while we haven’t had the formal conversation yet, Graham has made it clear that he wants me to move in with him rather than renew my lease. As much as I plan to fight him on it, it’s mostly for the thrill of it, because I like fighting with Graham. We both know I’ll be moving in with him. Hell, I’ve already been working on adding my touch to every inch of the place.
But all thoughts of decorations and moving in are gone from my mind as I open the box and find a shiny gold bracelet lying inside. Dainty links make a chain big enough for my wrist, and along the edges are three different charms.
A paintbrush.
A sand dollar.
A four-leaf clover.
“A lucky charm,” he says, watching as I run a careful finger over the little clover. “Now you’ll always have something lucky with you.” My eyes water at the gesture, my throat tightening with emotion. ”June, don’t?—”
“Do not tell me not to cry, Graham Hawthorne, not when you’re doing sweet things for me.” He grins, and I take in a deep breath, putting a hand out to him. “Put it on me.” He gives me the soft, entertained smile I get from him a lot lately, theone I now realize is intertwined with love, before he puts the gold chain around my wrist. It’s cold but warms quickly, and as his fingers slide over my skin, that warmth travels through my veins, settling in my chest. I stare at it as he finishes with the clasp, touching the dangling charms.
I can’t believe this.
I can’t believe him.
I can’t believe I’m somehow so damned lucky to have found a man whom I mentioned something to one time, in passing, and he made it happen.
“I thought I could add one every second birthday,” he says low, and the implication of what he means by that, that he plans to be here for every second birthday from now on, is not lost on me.
“God, you’re so fucking good, aren’t you?” I say, turning my wrist and hearing the happy jingle the charms make. I always wanted a charm bracelet as a kid, though I never told Graham that. Just further proof he was made for me, that he knows me better than anyone ever has tried to know me before.
“I’m learning.” A soft smile plays on his lips, and I slide my arms over his shoulders, pulling him close to press a kiss to his lips.
“You’re doing great,” I say, then shift until I’m straddling him. “Now, I think it’s time I showed my appreciation.”
And then he lets me.
And he shows me some back.
And we’re both fifteen minutes late to work.
THIRTY-EIGHT
The Tuesday after Labor Day, I wake with a pit in my stomach. I ignore it throughout the day, going to work with a smile and pretending I’m not an absolute nervous wreck. Graham notices, obviously, and takes me out to lunch, trying to distract me, but it doesn’t help, not really. The girls text me a few times throughout the day, asking how I’m feeling, telling me they know I’m going to do great, and asking whether I want them to meet me outside City Hall or just go in when they arrive.
Today is the big day for the presentation.
At quarter to six, I arrive at City Hall, driven by Graham because there was no way I would be able to drive myself, and walking in the late summer humidity would have had me stressing about my hair. At the end of today’s City Council meeting, which starts at six, Cece and I will present our proposals. While I know my proposal is solid and I’ve practiced my presentation so many times, in front of so many different people, I could probably do it in my sleep, I can’t seem to stop total and utter panic from creeping in. And now, sitting in the car in our super close parking spot outside of City Hall—something Graham proclaimed to be lucky—I am rethinking every life choice I’ve ever made that led me here.
“Ready to go in?’ Graham asks, shutting the car off and turning to face me. I stare at the building, lightheaded. After a moment, he speaks again, concern lacing the word. “June?”
My head snaps to him. “Let’s go home.”
“Home?”
“Yeah. Mine, yours, whatever. Let’s go. Just…let’s go. Turn the car back on.”
I reach for the keys in his hand as if I’m going to start the car and force him to drive off, but he moves them out of my reach, a small smile tipping his lips.
Stupid fucking dimples. Why did I work so hard to see them? I don’t need their handsomeness when I’m having a full-blown panic attack.
