“Congrats, June,” he says, pulling me from my reverie. His voice is low, and in the whirlwind of endorphins, I do the only thing that feels right in this moment.
I throw my arms around his neck, hugging him.
“I sold a painting!” I say, pressing my cheek to his chest as I squeeze him tight, desperate for somewhere to put all this overwhelming joy. “I sold a painting!” His arms hover at my sides—then, after a heartbeat, finally settle around my waist, his posture softening along with the smile at the corners of his lips. “Can you believe it? I sold a painting, Graham!” I tip my head back so I can see his face change, too, both of us swept up in this surprise.
“Of course I can believe it, June. You’re incredibly talented.”
I stare at him for a moment, my pulse still pounding.
“It was because of you, you know,” I say.
My voice feels thick, like my heart is swelling in my throat, and an unexpected urge to cry wells up alongside gratitude. As I speak, Graham's brows knit together, and something I can’t quite name flickers across his face, but it's gone before I can read it.
“Me?”
“You helped me find the four-leaf clover. That’s why I made the shop live. You’re lucky. And now I have an order! I’m a paid artist!” My voice gets squeaky with the excitement. He shakes his head. His hand lifts and pushes my hair back, the backs of his fingers grazing my cheek. My breath stops. “It's really the luckiest thing that's ever happened to me,” I murmur, though I don’t know what I’m talking about anymore: the clover or the sale or maybe something different altogether.
“You don’t get it still, do you?” he asks, voice softer than I’ve ever heard it.
“Get what?”
“Youare the lucky one, June. You’re lucky and wildly talented. A four-leaf clover had nothing to do with it.” A strange, out-of-character shyness sweeps over me at his words, my face burning as I roll my eyes to hide the sudden intensity of my feelings as well as my reaction to them.
“Sure,” I say with a laugh. His hand moves again, touching below my chin, and tipping it up until I’m forced to look at him once more. The world stills as he looks down at me, sincerity in his warm eyes. When he speaks, his voice is low and soft, gentle in a way I’ve never thought possible from him.
“You believe in everyone else, but not yourself. A shame, if you ask me.” My breath hitches, and he’s staring at me again, something soft and filled with wonder on his face.
For a moment, I think he might lean down.
For a moment, I think he might kiss me.
And for a moment, I hope with everything in me that hedoes. It would fuck up everything, but really, things are already so twisted, what would it matter? I hold my breath silently, wishing for it, and I think he might actually lower his head just a bit toward me, before?—
“Well, well, well, if this doesn't look cozy,” a familiar voice says, smugness in the words, and instantly, Graham lets go of mychin, stepping away as if burned. I think I catch the tiniest blush on his cheeks, but the scruff of his face hides it. He looks away, avoiding my eyes. I turn to the intruder, smiling.
“Oh, my god, Sutton!” I say, excitedly. I force myself to sound happy, to feel that eagerness to tell someone else the good news I felt earlier, and to forget the strange things I’d been feeling just moments before.
Strange things I’d been feeling about myboss.
My god, could I be a bigger idiot? He doesn’t even want to be my friend, and here I am, thinking he was about to kiss me. I reallyamdelusional.
“I sold a painting! I opened my shop two days ago, and I already got a sale today! Can you believe it!?” I ask, jumping up and down as that remembered joy floods my system.
“Ahh!” Suton yells, grabbing my hands and jumping with me before pulling me into a tight hug, exactly as I tried to do with Graham.
See?
Completely normal.
Or at least, that’s what I tell myself to settle the embarrassment still lingering after attacking Graham like that.
“Wehaveto celebrate,” Sutton demands once we stop.
“Yes,” I agree, because even if I didn’t want to celebrate, I know once Claire finds out, she’s going to insist. “The Seabreeze! I think Lainey’s working tonight, we’ll get the crew all together.”
“Yes, perfect,” Sutton agrees, sliding her phone out of her pocket, probably to text Claire to have her invite everyone. I turn to Graham.
“Graham, you have to come!” I say. “It’s a local’s bar. Kind of a dive, but a good time. Come celebrate with us!”
