“I will do it. Go sit with your boyfriend.” Mom gives me the look.
Dad is cursing in the kitchen. While this is a good-sized condo, especially for Manhattan, it’s not a palace. Graham is in the living room, and he’s overhearing all of the goings-on in the kitchen.
“I’m pretty good with a knife,” Graham says earnestly.
“Go entertain him, Dani.”
“I’m not dressed, Mom.”
“Just go!” She shoves the plate of endives into my arms.
I clear my throat as I enter the living room.
I have never, ever, ever in the history of ever gotten anywhere close to inviting a boy home to meet my parents. And certainly not a man.
Graham is sucking all the oxygen out of the room even though all he’s doing is standing there, politely looking at the Renoir above the fireplace.
I try to dredge up the Hallmark movies I’ve seen. What did the girls in those movies do when the hunky-but-struggling single father slash Christmas-tree farmer slash artisanal-popcorn-ball factory owner met the girls’ parents?
I’m drawing a blank.
There’s a big crash from the kitchen.
“Damn fish. Where is my other knife?”
I grimace. “Drink? I need a drink.” I ineffectually hack at the wine bottle he brought while Lulu greets Graham like a long-lost son.
“I’m not great at opening wine bottles. I can never get the screw to go in.”
Then Graham’s next to me, taking the bottle.
“How’s work?” he asks as he works the cork in. “Any of the Svenssons giving you trouble?” The steely-eyed look says they’d better not be.
I’m reading into it. He doesn’t care.
“I don’t really interact with them much. I’m just an analyst.”
“You’re the only ones who do anything around there.” He hands me a glass of wine.
I gulp it down.
“Though I don’t know how you have the time, considering your work crush.”
“My what?” I squawk.
“We’re not actually dating,” he whispers. “You can have a work crush. I just want to know who it is.”
“That feels manipulative. You’re not going to kidnap and murder them, are you? Er—wait,” I remember.
He raises an eyebrow.
I stuff two endive leaves in my mouth. “These endive bites are pretty good,” I tell him.
Graham takes the plate from me right as I’m reaching for another one. He picks a leaf off the plate and hands it to me.
Our fingers brush.
I didn’t sleep well on the threadbare rug that will never be replaced—Because it’s an antique, Dani—and so now I’m really reading into things.
