The Tourist Attraction (Moose Springs, Alaska #1)(30)

Ulysses was impressive, tall enough he could almost see through the second-story window if he stretched his neck as far as it would reach. “Appropriate name,” she murmured, wide-eyed and breathless.

“I thought so.”

“Joyce?”

“Homer. I like to keep it old-school.” Graham tapped a finger against the window fondly. “Poor guy loves the smell of these things, and he never has been able to get one.”

Kneeling down, Zoey placed her mouth next to the moose’s snout. “‘Take courage, my heart,’” she said sweetly, quoting Homer’s Odyssey, the animal’s namesake. “‘You have been through worse than this.’”

Graham dropped down next to her, watching Zoey lean forward and breathe against the glass, her fingertips tracing a heart in the condensation.

“‘For a friend with an understanding heart is worth no less than a brother,’” Graham murmured in a husky voice.

Turning his way, Zoey pushed her glasses up her nose with her pinkie. “Or a sister.”

“Even better for Ulysses.”

Graham was seriously considering if it would be inappropriate to kiss her when a moose’s lips were right there too, the most awkward of threesomes. Unfortunately, an annoyed huff broke the moment.

“Your moose is as much a pain as you are.” Frankie softened the comment with a fond smile. “Please run him off before he causes trouble.” After Graham rose to his feet, holding out a hand to Zoey to help her up, Frankie pressed a take-out bag and two coffees into Graham’s arms.

“That’s her way of saying she loves us.” Graham said dryly. Zoey fought to keep a straight face as Graham handed her their food. “Stay here, if you don’t mind. He’s usually pretty chill, but bull moose are unpredictable.”

Ulysses was not interested in leaving, so by the time he convinced the moose to take a hike and go find something else to snuff, the coffee had cooled to perfect drinking temperature. Zoey had waited for him, watching the fun out the same window she’d drawn her heart on.

There were a few cozy, two-person bistro tables tucked in the corner of the bakery, but they must have seemed too cozy for his companion. When Graham started to head toward the closest one, Zoey and her massive cinnamon roll rolled right on out the door, across the parking lot, and over to one of several heavy cedar picnic tables set up in the grass.

It had rained the night before, even though none of the weather channels had predicted rain the whole week. Swiping her hand over the bench seat to knock away the worst of the standing water, Zoey flopped down, eyeing her breakfast with enthusiasm.

“You know, the tables inside have cushions.” Graham settled in far more carefully on his side of the picnic table, grimacing when he shifted on the seat.

“Sore?” She almost sounded sympathetic.

“The projectile vomiting has passed,” Graham replied. “I’ll survive.”

“Should we get Jake?”

“Naw, he’s a weenie about wet grass. He’s happy where he’s at. So. Let’s start with apologies. You can go first.”

Mouth full of frosting, Zoey’s eyes widened. “Oh no,” she mumbled around her food. “I’m blameless. Blame. Less. With a capital B.”

Stealing a bite of her cinnamon roll, even though he had one of his own, Graham watched as she stabbed her fork at his hand.

“That doesn’t actually hurt.”

“It’s not supposed to. I’m establishing a defensive perimeter.” Content she was successfully defending her territory, Zoey reached over and stole a bite of his breakfast. Graham could have defended his own territory too—his reflexes weren’t that bad—but her little smirk of victory was worth it.

“You’re dangerous, Zo.”

Misunderstanding his meaning, Zoey sighed. “Yes, but a girl needs her Krav Maga. If it means anything, I just wasn’t expecting a chainsaw. And you had that super scary mask.”

“Which was protecting my face from wood chips.”

“So you claim.”

When he leaned in, resting his weight on his forearms and wiggling his fork at her, Zoey flicked his arm in warning. Graham relaxed backward in his seat, nudging his plate toward her so she didn’t have to reach as far to steal from him.

“So did you make up for lost time yesterday?”

Zoey cringed in remembrance. “Lana felt bad about missing my calls, so she ‘made it up to me’ too.”

“Something tells me her version of an apology isn’t quite as carbo-loaded as mine.”

“No, she felt like taking me to have our body hair violently ripped out by the roots by a woman with anger issues.”

“Ahh. You met Grace.”

“You’ve met Grace?”

“Of course. Grace is my go-to when I need some manscaping.”

Zoey’s jaw dropped in shock. He leaned over and brushed his thumb over her chin to close it. “Haircuts and beard trims only,” he promised. “But I like the way you think.”

Blushing furiously, Zoey scrunched her nose at him. “You don’t get your hair cut at the resort.”

“No, but I’ve been known to sneak in a mani-pedi or two. A guy can care about his cuticles too, you know.”

“I have no idea how much of what’s coming out of your mouth is true or just your own personal brand of passive-aggressive societal mockery disguised as a sense of humor.”