Page 16 of Run to Me

Graham

Please tell Maisy to see a doctor. She’s being insensitive about my fish allergy.

“Good one,” I mutter with a smile tugging at my lips. Few people can make me laugh, and Graham is one of them.

Tate

I’m in the mood for some Gosling. Good luck with your problems down under.

“She’s got jokes this year,” he muses. “This is good, right?”

Tatum’s going through a difficult time, and we want to be there for her. Unfortunately, our lives are changing, pulling us in opposite directions. We’ll have to find different ways to support each other now that we’re living apart.

Graham would love to join me on the quick trip to Walford, but he has a video conference with studio executives interested in his film. He feels guilty about his busy schedule, but Tatum’s a selfless person and would never ask him to put her first.

“This is good,” I say. “And I’ll make sure it stays that way.”

I shrug on my white faux-fur coat and gather our trash to toss in the bin outside his trailer. He reaches the door first but stops with one hand on the handle.

Looking down at me with a softened gaze, he says, “Whatever it is about Walford that makes you run away, I want you to know I’m proud of you for setting your troubles aside and being there for Tatum. You’re a bigger person than you realize. And you’re a great friend.”

“Well…” I glance around the simple trailer to avoid his tender eyes as pressure builds behind my own from the compliment. “I can’t be there for her if I’m still here with your sappy ass.”

He draws me into a hug, but I can’t hug him back because my hands are full of empty chip bags and water bottles. My friends joke about me not being a hugger, which is true for reasons they don’t understand. It’s not that I don’t want to show them affection. The truth is, I don’t know how. I never received much physical comfort growing up, so I’m awkward about hugging and cuddling.

“I’m only sappy because I love you,” he says. “You make me so sappy.”

“You’re such a weirdo,” I murmur into his button-down shirt.

His chest bounces against my cheek when he laughs. “I am, but you love me anyway.”

I really do.

Most people are still at work when I arrive in Walford, which means I can pop into The Drip unnoticed and grab Tatum a hot tea as a comfort offering. She loves tea for reasons I’ll never understand. Water flavored with plants and flowers is gross.

At the end of Main Street where the road bends, I park next to Menchy’s Hardware Store. The choice is strategic, putting me on the opposite end of the strip from Bruno’s Bar. When my feet hit the sidewalk, Menchy rushes out of his store with his apron secured tightly around his waist and reading glasses perched on his nose.

Franklin Menchy, who goes by his last name only, monitors the happenings in town. Either he’s nosy, or he’s cautious. The jury’s still out. With his weathered umber complexion and shock of grey hair, he looks to be in his sixties or seventies, but no one knows his actual age. He’s a quiet man who keeps to himself, which is why his approach surprises me.

“Maisy.” He looks me over with a kind smile. “My, my. Look at you, all grown up.”

I zip my coat to trap what little warmth I can and say, “Hey, Menchy. How have you been?”

“Good, good. Just keeping an eye on things.”

An awkward pause hangs between us because I don’t know what to say. We’ve never had a conversation that I can recall.

“So…” He hesitates, and I tense up, prepared for what’s coming. “How are you doing?”

For a moment, I’m stunned because he didn’t ask about Vera. So stunned, I repeat his words in my head to confirm he’s asking about me.

“I’m great.”

He nods, rocking back on his heels. “Good, good. Well, I’ll let you be on your way. Don’t be a stranger. Stop in and say hello to Old Menchy once in a while.”

“I’ll do that,” I say, eyeing him warily.