Page 103 of Burn the Script

He looks…and sticks his arm high in the air, smiling and waving to the older Black man on the opposite side of the street. White hair stands straight up on the gentleman’s head, and I can see the deep scowl on his face from this distance.

“That’s Menchy. He owns the hardware store,” Graham says, lowering his arm.

Menchy is not a name I’ll soon forget.

“Is there a reason he’s staring at us?” I ask.

“Think of him as the security checkpoint. While Tate was staying here, Menchy patrolled for paparazzi. He even tried to set up a cell phone alert system.”

“Sounds like a genius idea.” When I peek at Graham again, his hair catches the sunlight. “You’re not wearing a hat.”

He shoves his hands in his back pockets and shrugs. “Don’t need one here. I’m telling you, Miguel, this place is different. The people are friendly and protective, once they welcome you in.”

“If you say so,” Maisy mutters. In the next breath, she stiffens and slides over two feet, hiding behind us.

My head is on an instant swivel, and I quickly locate the cause of her strange reaction. I’m not usually into muscular guys with tattoos, but when a snack with a beard and a great head of hair starts cleaning the bar windows, I take notice. Letting out a curious hum, I rock back on my heels.

Graham laughs. “So you are capable of appreciating the beauty in the world.”

“Sometimes my eyes understand the assignment, even when my body doesn’t.”

Grinning, he tips his head toward the bar. “Come on, darling. I’ll buy you a cocktail.”

“I have shit to do. I’ll catch up with y’all later.” Maisy slinks away, steps hurried and head lowered.

My narrowed gaze remains on her back until she disappears down the nearest side street. “What’s up with her? She’s been acting weird since we got here.”

Graham gives me one of his mischievous smiles. “Do you remember the time Maisy got drunk and went on a tangent about guys with tattoos and beards being the scourge of the earth?”

I look at the barman’s flexing biceps and tight jeans hugging his ass. “Nooo.”

“Yes. During my stay in Texas, I’ve connected and confirmed the dots. Your angel has fallen, and she’s in denial.”

The dude looks strong enough to catch her, but I need to conduct my own investigation. With a firm grip on Graham’s elbow, I drag him across the street, saying, “Buy me that drink.”

EPILOGUE

ONE YEAR LATER

MIGUEL

Standing behind me with a towel wrapped around his hair, Graham rests his chin on my shoulder and admires me in the full-length mirror. “You were born to wear tuxedos.”

“Get dressed. The limo will be here soon.”

His movie premieres tonight. We’ve kept the guest list to a minimum, but there’s nothing we can do about the uninvited crowd waiting to glimpse our first red carpet appearance.

It’s been three months since we quietly made our relationship known. We had considered waiting until after the film releases, given Graham had to promote it, but I was ready to rip off the bandage. So, we hid in Costa Rica and broke the news.

We posted a more recent photo of us instead of the older one Graham had chosen. Without any concrete evidence, all anyone can do is speculate about how and when our relationship developed. Our past is no one’s business. Neither is our present or future, but we’re keeping the years we lived in secret to ourselves.

Thanks to Graham’s support, and staying off the internet, I have more good days than bad ones. Today is one of the good days.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

I secure my silver cufflinks. “Demisexual.”

He groans. “Will that be your answer to every question I ask for the rest of our lives?”