Chapter 9

chapter

nine

Lizzie

I barely slept last night because I couldn’t stop thinking about Graham. His proposition. Which had been unbelievably difficult to say no to. Just being near him made me feel nearly feral with desire. I wanted more naked time with him. And honestly, him being my boss wasn’t even a factor in me saying no. It had one hundred percent been about him only mentioning sex.

Because like the fool I am, I’d already fallen for the man. I couldn’t just have sex with him. And before you say that this kind of thing happens between one-night-stands all the time—especially if one party isn’t experienced—let me stop you right there. The truth is, I like him. I like him in a way that has nothing to do with the number of orgasms I’ve had in his proximity.

Liking him is dangerous. Lust, I can handle. But like is uncomfortably close to the other L-word. I’m not ready to go there. Going there would definitely mean heartbreak for me.

After I’d told him no to having an affair, he’d made me promise that I’d continue being his nurse. Of course, I had done just that. Because I didn’t want to leave Saddle Creek. I didn’t want to leave my sister. More than anything, I didn’t want to leave Graham.

So yeah, I got very little sleep last night, which is why I’m currently drinking my second cup of coffee this morning. Even if I hadn’t been tired, I would have had a second cup because it’s delicious. I don’t know what he does differently, but his coffee is perfect.

He’d texted again this morning and told me that we should come in our pjs and eat pancakes and watch some Christmas movies.

Like the dumbass I am, I carried Bennett over in his little footy pajamas and Lydia walked in front of me dressed in her latest princess sleep set. I’d, of course, changed. I was still sorta dressed in pajama-ish clothing (yoga pants and a t-shirt) but I’d put on a bra and a tiny bit of make-up.

Graham had opened the door to us, all smiles, wearing an old Baylor University School of Medicine shirt. The faded gray fabric molded to his thick torso, making his biceps bulge. His flannel pajama pants did nothing to hide the meatiness of his ass.

He’d handled the meeting of my kids with an ease their own father never had, and both of my kids had latched on to him quickly. Of course, Bennett had loved being able to scoot his toy cars on the wood flooring. Graham had assured me it wouldn’t scratch. But I winced every time my son scraped along near me.

While he’s busy playing with the kids, I shoot my sister a quick text.

ME: He invited us, as in me and my children, over this morning for breakfast.

ME: He made pancakes with chocolate chips in them! I’m in so much trouble.

ME: And did I tell you about his Christmas tree at the office?

ANNABELLE: Uh, no.

ME: Cuteness overload! All of the ornaments are ones that patients have made him over the years. So they’re all these adorable hand-made reindeer and snowmen and snowflakes and gah, he’s amazing.

ANNABELLE: Damn, that is cute!

ANNABELLE: Are you still there? At his house?

ME: Yep.

ME: Right now, he and Lydia are throwing blueberries at each other and trying to catch them in their mouths.

ANNABELLE: emoji with heart eyes

ANNABELLE: You are so screwed.

ME: I know! What am I supposed to do?

ANNABELLE: Maybe take him up on that affair and see what happens?

ME: I can’t.

ME: He doesn’t want to get married. Ever.

ME: I can’t do that to my kids.

ME: I can’t do that to myself.

ANNABELLE: Maybe he just needs some time to figure things out. Men are often slow.

ANNABELLE: Oh, Greyson just informed me that I was the slow one in our relationship and that some men know exactly what they want.

ANNABELLE: He also said that as long as he’s known Doc, he’s never seen him with any woman. And the fact that he invited you and your kids to his house and he cooked means he feels more for you than just lust.

ME: Thank him for me, but also tell him I don’t ever want to hear him talk about lust.

“You have all of the hundred acre woods on your skin. Did you draw it?” Lydia asks. “Mama won’t let me draw on my skin.”

I look up to see my daughter tracing her fingers over the ink on Graham’s arm. How had I not realized he had Winnie the Pooh tattooed on his skin that first night? Probably because I’d been too mesmerized by his dick.

“No, honey,” he says to my little girl. “This is a tattoo, and it’s inked into my skin. So it won’t wash off like markers.”

Lydia gasps. “It’ll be there forever?”

“Yep.”

“Wow. That’s longer than Sharpies!”

Graham chuckles. “Which one of these guys is your favorite? I’ve always liked Tigger the best.”

“I love Winnie the Pooh himself because he’s so sweet, but I think Eeyore is pretty special. Mama says that it’s okay to be sad sometimes.”

He looks up at me across the table, and our eyes meet. I know he can see the wetness welling in mine, but I quickly blink it away.

“Your mother is very wise,” he says.

“She is the best,” Lydia says emphatically.

“Mama,” Bennett says from next to him. His sticky, syrupy hands pat my arm. “Look.” He tilts his head up. There is a blueberry shoved into each of his nostrils.

“Bennett!” I jump to my feet, but Graham is already there and carrying him into the kitchen.

“Blueberries are for your mouth, silly boy, not your nose,” Graham says with a perfectly even toned voice.

I’ve always been the picture of calm when it comes to things like this. With other people’s kids. When it comes to my own, I become a crazy lady.

“Should we take him to the hospital?” I ask. I’m circling Graham and where he has my son settled on top of the counter.

“Nah, sugar, I got this,” he says without even looking at me. “Bennett, you need to look up at my ceiling.”

My son does as he’s told.

“Can you tell me what you see up there?” While he’s asking my son this question, Graham has somehow produced an alligator—a tool we use in the office to do this very thing. Remove foreign bodies from kid’s noses and ears.

“It’s blue,” Bennett says.

“That’s right. My ceiling is blue. Isn’t that kinda silly?” Graham asks.

I exhale slowly. “Do you just carry one of those in your pocket at all times?”

He chuckles. “No. My sister has five kids. Bram has four. Seemed prudent to have a few around the house.”

“So this is not your blueberry in the nose rodeo?”

“Not by a long shot.” Graham sets the tool down and tilts my son’s face back to look at him. “How old are you Bennett?”

“Four,” Bennett says.

I scoff. “He’ll be three in a couple of months.”

“Three years old. Did you know that that’s the age when boys are too big and smart to put things in their noses?” Graham asks.

Bennett shakes his head, his eyes wide.

“It’s true. I went to college a long time to learn all about this stuff so I could take care of kids.” He leans in closer to whisper conspiratorially. “It’s also true that girls are too big and smart to put things in their noses when they’re only two and a half.”

“Oh, so girls learn it faster than boys,” I say, finally catching on to where he’s going with this.

Graham peers at me over his shoulder. “Exactly. Girls are always a little smarter than boys.”

“No,” Bennett says with a frown.

“Oh well, then you know what you can do to be as smart as a girl?” Graham says. “You have to stop putting things in your nose right now. Today has to be the last time. Think you can do that?”

“Yes, I cans,” Bennett says. He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m smart.”

“Yes, you are!” Graham says. “High five, my man.”

I watch my son press his small, sticky hand to Graham’s much bigger one. And then I fall the rest of the way in love with this big, sweet, gorgeous, infuriating man.

Damn.