Do I Know You?(86)

“Who?” I ask him.

Now he smiles, like he expected the question. “You know who.”

Matching Graham, I curl my lips, returning my eyes to the vast, dark view. I do know who. In the distance, where the road winds into the hillside, I can practically see them. The other us, in separate cars to the airport, for separate flights to separate cities. I let myself conjure them in my head. “Hm,” I start. “I think they’d spend one last night together. They’d stay up all night talking, and not talking. In the morning, saying goodbye would be very hard.”

“How sad for them.” I feel Graham’s smile brush my neck.

“Very.”

Graham goes quiet, kissing my shoulder gently. “Graham would get on his plane home to Santa Fe,” he says. “He’d tell himself it was just a fling, but he wouldn’t stop thinking about her, no matter how much he tried to.”

I follow his imagination, privately glad this flight of fancy isn’t over. “Even with wild late-night hookups after leaving the office?” I ask goadingly.

“Especially then.”

I turn to face him fully. He gazes down, our eyes, our lips, thrillingly close. It’s been fun—better than fun—inventing these characters by embodying them. But carrying them on like this, like they’re old friends or, closer to the truth, treasured memories, is wonderful in its own way. “I think Eliza would return home to her sisters and then immediately find a reason to research hotels in Santa Fe.”

His grin sharpens playfully. Inspiration sparkles with the stars in his eyes, his hand ever so softly finding my hip under the sheet. “Then they’d surely run into each other,” he says. In the undercurrent in his words, I don’t just hear the fun he’s having. This story we’re telling is meaningful to him. “Maybe Graham is having dinner with an investor at a swanky hotel and he looks up to see a familiar face at the bar.”

I pick up the story. “She saw him, too, of course. But she wants to play coy. She just waits, making sure no one sits next to her.”

“We both know what happens next,” he replies.

With Santa Fe and stylish hotels filling my imagination, I start to realize something. Our characters no longer feel like us. Yes, they’re figments given life by little pieces of our souls, but their story isn’t one we’re living. It’s one we’re watching from our own lives, our own selves.

“Is it silly to say I’m going to miss them?” I ask softly. I’d let my gaze drift out into the night, but now I pull my eyes back to Graham’s. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not Investment Banker Graham I miss. I prefer you in every single way. But . . . I’m grateful to them. I’m grateful for the gift they gave us.”

When I finish, I hear emotion in my voice I didn’t expect. I search Graham’s expression for signs of whether he feels the same. Whether he understands. Whether sadness streaks the edges of this story for him like it does for me.

“No, it’s not silly,” he says.

I rest my head on his chest. Every contour is wonderfully familiar.

“I don’t think we need to say goodbye to them, not completely,” he goes on.

Biting my lip, I look up with a raised eyebrow. “Is that so?”

Graham leans down, nipping my lower lip. “On occasion, it might be nice to check in on them,” he murmurs, his face near mine, his mouth within kissing distance.

“Graham Cutler, just when I think I know exactly who you are, you never stop surprising me,” I say.

He pulls me to him in reply, our lips coming together. With the sky at my back, he holds me while the galaxy gently spins.





Epilogue





Eliza


THE DRESS I’M wearing to Michelle’s wedding is hanging up in the car. I’m in the house, packing the rest.

Graham and I decided to take time off of work for the two-day road trip we’re making out to Boulder, Colorado, where my sister is tying the knot, then to Santa Fe for the weekend, complete with itinerary and restaurants Graham planned. Truthfully, I’m really excited. Not just for Michelle, obviously, or the gorgeous venue she’s chosen in the mountains, or New Mexico’s desert charms. No, I’m excited for the drive. I’m excited for time with Graham.

With my suitcase open on our bed, I’ve layered in most of what I’ll need. Heels in the top zip pocket, flats for brunch on the sides, the non-work book I’m planning to read stuffed between sweaters. I smile, knowing Graham’s eyes will light up when he notices it—it’s book three in a series he’s effectively caught up on via my enthusiastic descriptions over dinner.

Now I’m making sure I have enough underwear for the trip. My eyes snag on the red lingerie in my drawer. Without hesitating, I reach for it right as Graham appears in the doorway. I lay the lingerie in my suitcase, in full view.

The lace snares his gaze just like it did mine. When he raises an eyebrow, I know exactly what he’s thinking. “Those remind me of someone,” he says, folding his arms across his chest.

I don’t hide my grin. “Mr. Cutler,” I say in mock inquisition, “are you thinking about another woman?”

He crosses the room in quick strides. I let his hands find my waist, let myself lean into his chest. “Just a vacation fling,” he says. “She has nothing on you.”