Do I Know You?(9)

Then I’ll return here, to my queen-size bed.

Knowing there’s no use delaying, I head out toward the elevators. I’m in the main hotel, and other rooms run the length of the hallway. On my way, I pass not one but two canoodling couples fumbling to open their doors. I avert my eyes. Not even my castmates backstage during the high school theater productions I was in were this handsy.

I ride the elevator, feeling glum. I know I was the one who suggested Graham and I stay in separate rooms, and I stand by it. Still, I’m not glad this is the situation we’re in.

Downstairs, I ready myself. Flatbread and hummus and forced pleasantries, here I come.

But when I reach the bar, I don’t see Graham at first. Then—do my eyes deceive me? He’s sitting with a man I don’t recognize—laughing, looking convivial. Not wooden in the least.

I stare for a moment, uncomprehending. What pulls me forward isn’t obligation or time, but curiosity. I walk up beside the stranger by the bar in time to hear the man finish the story he’s telling.

“I swear, my brothers sent me the workshop info as a joke when my ex dumped me,” he says emphatically, sounding not even slightly embarrassed to admit the dumping. He grins. “I booked my stay immediately and sent them my room confirmation.”

Graham, impossibly, is wiping tears from his eyes.

I can’t remember the last time I saw him laugh this hard. “Hi,” I say, feeling weirdly self-conscious, like I’m the one intruding. “I don’t mean to interrupt.”

Graham glances up, finally clocking my arrival. While I’m not surprised, I can’t fight the pang of sadness when our eyes meet. The light in Graham’s doesn’t go out, but flickers and fades, like fire in the wind.

The stranger swivels to face me. His enthusiasm is unchanged. “No, not at all,” he reassures me. “Have we met? I’m sorry if I’m forgetting. I’m awful with faces, and the seminar today was packed.”

“We haven’t,” I say. “I’m Eliza.”

“David.” He shoves out his hand, which I shake. I open my mouth to start the small talk, the polite dance of How long is your stay? and Well, I guess we’ll see you around.

Instead, David continues.

“Come join us for a drink. I’m trying to cheer up my new friend, Graham.” He gestures casually between us. “Graham, Eliza.”

I close my mouth. My eyes dart to my husband’s.

“Dude,” David prompts. “Shake her hand and stop moping.”

Our gazes lock, and I raise an eyebrow, waiting for Graham to clarify. He doesn’t.

I don’t understand why not, what game Graham’s playing. But if he’s deliberately not clarifying I’m his wife to his new “buddy” David—I guess I’ll follow his lead. I proposed something pretty unusual in the lobby. Could this be Graham’s way of doing the same?

I put my hand out in my husband’s direction.

“Hi, Graham,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”

Graham reaches forward slowly, taking my hand in his like he wasn’t the one who once slid onto my fourth finger the ring glittering there now. His eyes remain on mine. I see something new unfurling in them. It’s something unexpected, something charged, something no less intense for how unreadable it is. Sound without syllables, color without shape.

David chimes in, completely oblivious. He seems like someone who could carry on a conversation for hours. “Are you here for the dating workshop?”

I manage to rip my gaze from whatever is going on in Graham’s. “I’m not,” I say neutrally, still trying to decipher what just happened.

David throws back the rest of his cocktail. “Neither is Graham,” he says, nodding casually to the man whose blood type I know is B negative and who only sleeps in UCLA T-shirts. “I’m trying to convince him to enroll, though,” he continues. “Can you believe this—he’s here to commemorate his wedding anniversary. Alone. Have you ever heard of something so sad? I told him it’s time to get back out there. The workshop is perfect.”

I turn to Graham, leveraging years of undergrad drama classes to keep my expression neutral. “Is that so?” I ask lightly. “I’m curious. What exactly happened to your wife? Did she die?” I raise an eyebrow, communicating to Graham that if he told this stranger I passed away, he’s going to need a dating workshop.

Right on cue, David coughs.

“No, she didn’t die,” Graham says levelly.

“Where is she, then?”

Graham doesn’t back down from my tone. “Beats me,” he replies.

Under the low lighting, I feel the pounding of my pulse, like my heart knows something I don’t. While I haven’t forgotten where my flirtatiousness in the car got me, I guess I’m either foolish or desperate, because I don’t overthink my next words. “Well,” I venture, “you’re too good looking to be sitting here with just David for long. No offense,” I note to Graham’s new friend.

“None taken.” David shrugs. “My guy is handsome, no doubt.”

Graham eyes me. I ready myself for his next retreat.

Instead, he sets his drink down. “It sounds like you’re offering to join me,” he says.

Quietly thrilled, I don’t hesitate. I slide onto the stool next to him. “I guess I am.”