Inevitable - Kristen Granata Page 0,28

we talking a light tap, a firm smack, or do I need to invest in a paddle?

Me: A firm smack will do. Preferably while I’m on all fours and you’re taking me from behind.

Me: Pull my hair a little too. I like that shit.

Big Guy: You’re killing me, Eva.

Good. I said I’d give him time.

I didn’t say I’d make it easy.

Benson talks for another five minutes before releasing us from her unnecessary imprisonment.

Graham and I take a cab to Park Avenue and when we step outside, Graham tugs my hand and leads me across the street.

I make a visor with my hand over my eyes and look up at the tall skyscraper that is my home. “Uh, you know my place is the other way, right?”

“Yes.”

“So then why are we walking in the opposite direction?”

“We have to make a pit stop. I have a surprise for you.”

“Where are we going?”

“Do you understand the meaning of the word surprise?”

I roll my eyes. “I understand it. Doesn’t mean I like it.”

“It’s happening whether you like it or not.”

“Nope.”

I side-eye him, arching a brow. “What’s in the backpack?”

Graham chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re relentless. You ask just as many questions as my niece.”

“Good. Tell her to keep asking until she gets the answers she wants. In fact, I’ll tell her myself when I—”

I dig my heels into the ground when I realize where we are. I haven’t stepped foot inside Central Park since the last time I was here with Eric. It was our spot, and I haven’t wanted to come here without him.

Graham wraps his arm around my shoulders, and I resist against him as he pushes me toward a thick tree. His voice is low and gentle when he speaks, like he’s coaxing a wild animal to eat out of the palm of his hand.

“I know you haven’t been here since Eric passed, and I know you’d never come on your own volition.”

He swivels his backpack in front of him and unzips the larger compartment. Reaching inside, he pulls out a red flannel blanket and shakes it open. After he sets it on the ground, he dives back into his bag and pulls out my sketchpad and a pencil.

“You can draw, or not draw. I brought snacks too.” He pulls a brown paper bag out of his backpack and hands it to me. “And can’t forget the alcohol.”

My hands shake as I take the disguised bottle of tequila from him. “Why are you doing this?”

“You look so happy when you tell me about Eric, the way you two used to be. It’d be a shame if you stopped coming here just to avoid thinking about him.” He shrugs. “And who knows? Maybe one day you’ll get your inspiration back to draw.”

My body’s flight response is on high alert, and I want to run. Away from the memory of how much fun Eric and I used to have here. Away from the feelings for Graham blooming inside me.

But when he sits on the blanket and looks up at me with those entrancing eyes, something inside me pulls me down beside him.

“I don’t want to draw.”

Graham nods and slips the pad back into his bag. “Then don’t. Let’s just be. Me and you. And the memory of your brother.”

He leans back against the trunk of the tree and I scoot in between his legs, laying back against his chest. His chin rests on top of my head and those huge arms wrap around my stomach.

We sit in silence, watching people as they pass us by.

Eric and I used to clap for the joggers as they ran past us. Good for them, he’d say as he stuffed a handful of Doritos in his mouth. Any dog that trotted by would have to stop at our blanket so Eric could pet him. And he’d made friends with just about every elderly person that strolled into the park.

To know Eric was to love him. He put a smile on people’s faces wherever he went. It kills me to think about how much pain he was in deep down, even when he was making everyone else happy around him.

Graham doesn’t try to get me to talk about Eric, and he doesn’t try to get me to draw. We don’t talk, not once the entire time we’re there.

I think that’s what I love most about him: He gives me what I need, and things I don’t even know I need, without saying anything at all.

And when I