The Tourist Attraction (Moose Springs, Alaska #1)(87)

“Any siblings?”

“Are we doing the get to know you questions, for real?” Chuckling, Graham reached an arm back and hooked it loosely around her waist. “I can make up a lot more interesting version of myself than the truth.”

“What’s the truth?”

“I’m just a guy. With my head in the lap of a girl. Asking her not to spill her drink on me.”

“Too many pop culture references.” Zoey leaned down and kissed him on impulse. “Your parents told you they loved you a lot, didn’t they?”

“Every single day,” he murmured placidly in agreement.

“I knew there was a reason why you’re this ridiculously self-confident and simultaneously desperate for approval.”

“Definitely,” Graham agreed. “It’s hard work trying to live up to that level of acceptance and unconditional love. So I make sure never to tell them if I have a one-night stand or forget to eat my veggies.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

“The veggies? Naw, I’m pretty solid in the veggie department.”

Zoey kissed him again. “I meant the one-night stands.”

“Well…did I tell you I’m good in the veggie department?” Deepening the kiss, Graham sighed in contentment when she finally pulled away. “Tell me something not true about you.”

“You know those big dinosaurs they have in that museum in Chicago?”

“I’m aware of their existence.”

“I like to sneak into the exhibits and swap the bones. Not the big ones. The little tiny ones no one notices.”

“That’s…perverse.”

“The perverse thing is that I kept one of the bones.”

“Have my babies.”

“Right now?”

“Or in eight months.”

“That’s the gestation time of a moose, isn’t it?”

Graham groaned in sheer pleasure. “You get me. You really get me, Zoey Bear. Did you actually steal a dinosaur bone?”

“No, they secure those suckers. But I daydream about it every time I’m there.”

Graham watched her drain the last of her drink.

“Tell me something real, Zoey.” His voice softened on her name. “Not deep or dark, unless you want to share that kind of thing. But something real.”

“I made head waitress last year. At least I did before I told the owner that I was taking two weeks of vacation. I got fired, but I’m guessing by the time I go home, she’ll be so miserable without me, I’ll get my job back. If not, I’ll find another one.”

“Do you like it?”

“Being a waitress? I’m good at it.” Zoey shrugged, her lip quirking up. “Did you ever have one of those jobs where you think ‘I’ll just do this for now, just to make ends meet’? And then you look up, and it’s been ten years, and you’re still a waitress at the truck stop down the road from your grandmother’s place? But the tips are decent, and the people are nice, so you never leave?”

“Not exactly. But I know what it’s like to have a five-year plan grab you by the balls and make you its bitch.”

“Graham, you can’t actually be this unhappy to have a thriving business.” Zoey wasn’t buying it. “You probably have a mattress stuffed with twenties to sleep on every night.”

“Fives,” he murmured. “The profit margins on reindeer aren’t as high as you’d expect.” Graham looked at her. “I just always wanted to be an artist. A real one, not a guy with a shipping container in the backyard full of untouched cedar logs. I wanted to spend my days with a chainsaw in my hands, carving the most massive, incredible pieces of art. Life-sized bears, moose calves playing, these mountains down to every last perfect detail.

“But I just wasn’t good enough,” he admitted. “And at some point, programs will drop you and give the space to someone else who is.”

“Where did you study?”

“In New York. At the School of Visual Arts.”

When Zoey’s jaw dropped open, he touched the tip of his pinkie to her chin, closing it. “I know. And I was totally out of my depth. But there’s something to being able to get food delivered at three in the morning.

“I missed the stars,” he continued. “I missed these mountains. I really missed my friends. The Trap was just supposed to be a small little lunch stop, something to pay the bills. But now…” Graham sounded tired as he confessed, “Now I’m stuck.”

“Why not just hire someone else to run it for you?”

“Because as much as I don’t want to be here, I really don’t want to go back to being the art school dropout. I want to be more than I am. I just don’t know what that means yet.”

Still playing with his hair, Zoey closed her eyes. “Sometimes life gives us the things we weren’t planning on.”

“I was just thinking the same thing.” A warm hand found hers in the darkness. “You know, the day I opened, I was so worried. Then I went outside to get the bread, and there was Ulysses, trying to get in my truck. And I thought, hey, at least someone likes this place. That was good enough to me.”

“Graham? You don’t need art school to be an artist. You don’t need a studio or even anyone to buy your work. You just need you. And from what I know of you, I can’t imagine you being anything less than amazing at whatever you set your mind to.”