The Gravity of Us (Elements #4)(30)

“Ah, Graham, the formal gentleman. You know, I’ve been trying to get him to stop calling me Professor Oliver for years now, but he refuses to call me Ollie. He thinks it’s childish.”

“It is childish,” Graham insisted, grabbing Ollie’s brown fedora and handing it to him pointedly. “Thank you for stopping by, Professor Oliver.”

“Of course, of course. Lucy, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Graham speaks very highly of you.”

I laughed. “I find that hard to believe.”

Ollie wiggled his nose and snickered. “True, true. He hasn’t said much about you. He’s a bit of a silent asshole in that way, isn’t he? But you see, Lucy, if I could let you in on a secret.”

“I’d love to hear any secrets and tips I can get.”

“Professor Oliver,” Graham said sternly. “Didn’t you say you have another engagement to be off to?”

“Oh, he’s getting testy, isn’t he?” Ollie laughed and continued talking. “But here’s a clue for dealing with Mr. Russell: he doesn’t say much with his mouth, but he tells a full story with his eyes. If you watch closely, his eyes will tell you the complete story of how he’s feeling. He’s truly an open book if you learn how to read his language, and when I asked him about you, he said you were fine, but his eyes told me he was thankful for you. Lucy, girl with the brown doe eyes, Graham thinks the world of you, even if he doesn’t say it.”

I looked up at Graham, and there was a frown on his lips, but also a small spark of softness in his eyes that melted my heart. Talon had that same beauty in her gaze.

“All right, old man, I think we’ve had enough of your mumbo jumbo. It’s clear you’ve overstayed your welcome.”

His grin stretched far, and he was completely unmoved by Graham’s coldness. “And yet you keep asking me back. I’ll see you next week, son, and please, less fat, more muscle. Stop selling yourself short with average writing when you are far above it.” Ollie turned to me and bowed slightly. “Lucy, it was a pleasure.”

“The pleasure was all mine.”

As Ollie walked past me, he tipped his hat, and he whistled the whole way to his car with a bit of a hop in his step.

I smiled at Graham, who didn’t smile back. We stood in the foyer for a few moments in silence, simply staring at one another. It was awkward, that was for sure.

“Talon’s sleeping,” he told me, breaking his stare from mine.

“Oh, okay.”

I smiled.

He grimaced.

Our usual.

“Well, I can go do a bit of meditation in your sunroom if that’s okay? I’ll take the baby monitor with me, and I’ll check in on Talon if she wakes up.”

He nodded once, and I walked by him before he spoke again. “It’s six in the evening.”

I turned around and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, it is.”

“I eat dinner at six in my office.”

“Yes, I know.”

He cleared his throat and shifted around in his shoes. His stare fell to the floor for a few beats before he looked up at me. “Professor Oliver’s wife, Mary, sent me two weeks of frozen dinners.”

“Oh wow, that was sweet of her.”

He nodded once. “Yes. One of the meals is in the oven now, and she made each pan enough for more than one person.”

“Oh.” He kept staring at me, but didn’t say anything. “Graham?”

“Yes, Lucille?”

“Are you asking me to eat dinner with you tonight?”

“If you would like to, there’s enough.”

A moment of uncertainty hit me as I wondered if I was dreaming or not, but I knew if I didn’t reply quickly enough the moment would be gone in a flash. “I’d love to.”

“Do you have any food allergies? Vegetarian? Gluten free? Lactose intolerant?”

I laughed, because everything about Graham was so dry and serious. The look on his face when he listed each item was so stern and intense, I couldn’t help but giggle to myself. “No, no, whatever it is will be fine.”

“It’s lasagna,” he said, his voice heightening as if it might not be okay.

“That’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

I snickered. “Graham Cracker, I’m sure.”

He didn’t display any emotion, only one nod. “I’ll set the table.”

His dining room table was ridiculously large, big enough to seat twelve people. He set the plating and silverware at each end of the table, and he motioned for me to take a seat. It was hauntingly quiet as he served the meal, and he took his seat at the other end.

There weren’t many lights in Graham’s home, and oftentimes the shades were drawn, not letting much sunlight through at all. His furniture was dark too, and sparse. In his whole home, I was certain I was the brightest item to exist with my colorful clothing and outrageous, wild blond hair.

“The weather’s nice outside, ya know, for a spring day in Wisconsin,” I said after several minutes of uncomfortable silence. Weather talk was the blandest of bland, but it was all I could think of. In the past, that flavor of small talk had always helped ease any situation.

“Is it?” he muttered, uninterested. “I haven’t been out.”