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Caleb: yeah
Graham: be there in 30
I reread the text exchange for what felt like the hundredth time. Why the hell was Graham showing up at my house on a Friday night? I checked the time. Forty-five minutes had passed.
Was this some sort of stupid joke? Was he sitting at home and laughing while I waited for him to show up?
Knockknock.
I went to my front door and pulled it open.
Graham stood on my stoop looking unfairly handsome in a tight black t-shirt and perfectly fitted jeans. His muscles rippled under the thin material of the tee, which also contrasted nicely against his tanned skin and blond hair.
“Your neighborhood sucks,” he said.
“You came all this way to tell me that?”
“No. But every street looks exactly the same. I spent ten minutes circling trying to find you. I think I freaked out your next-door neighbor. She was peeping through the window every time I drove past trying to figure out if this was your house.”
“She freaks out over everything.” I snort-laughed. “She called the cops on me twice in the same week when I first moved in because she thought I was breaking in.”
“With your key?” He arched his eyebrow.
“And access to the garage door.”
We fell silent.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“How much do I owe you?”
“Owe me?”
“From a few weeks ago.”
“Uh…nothing?”
“You paid for my meds and you fed me. I don’t remember a lot of what happened, but I know it cost you to help me. How much?”
“Hundred and twenty.” I rounded down what I’d spent on his prescription.
He nodded and pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket. He peeled some off and handed them to me. “There, now we’re square.”
I shoved the bills in my pocket. “We are.”
He didn’t move.
“Why are you really here?” I asked.
“To settle my debt.” He looked away.
“That doesn’t really warrant an in-person visit. Texts and Venmo are a thing.”
“I…don’t fucking know.” He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Probably the same reason you came to check on me.”
I nodded slowly. Last week I’d left my house more than an hour early and driven to see him without understanding or knowing why I was doing it.
“I just…” He yanked one hand out of his pocket and tugged at his hair.
