But Grey was too quick.

“You didn’t . . . which means now you do.”

A heavy sigh slowly left me, but I didn’t respond. For a long minute, we just stared at each other as Grey waited for something from me, and I twisted my hands in an attempt not to shove the rest of the chocolate bar in my mouth.

“Grey, for now can it be okay that I don’t want to talk about it? Not just with you, but at all?”

She looked like she was going to argue, so I held up a hand.

“Deacon said things to me that have been building for a long time for him, and I think he needed to get them out. It doesn’t excuse it, but I also—well, I can’t fault him for his thoughts. And what he said was meant for me, not everyone else.”

“I can respect that,” Grey said slowly after a moment. “But Deacon will always be in my life, as will you. What am I supposed to do when it comes to all of us getting together, knowing the two of you will be at each other’s throats?”

“We won’t.” I laughed at Grey’s disbelieving look, and repeated, “We won’t! I promise.”

After a weighted sigh, she nodded and snatched a piece of the chocolate as she stood. “All right. Well, if you decide you want to talk about it, I will try not to kick his ass for whatever he said to you.”

My eyes rolled and a smile touched my face. Just as she turned to leave, I called out after her. “Grey, wait!” But once she turned back, I only sat there staring at her with wide eyes and shaking hands. My heart was racing faster than ever as I tried to force the words from my throat while also wishing to take back the previous ones.

“Yes . . . ?” she said, drawing the word out, making it sound like a question.

“Um, I wondered—well, do you know if—does your . . .” My eyes fell to my lap, and my shoulders bunched up to my ears in a quick jerk of a shrug. “Does Graham go to Mama’s a lot?”

Her expression showed her shock and amusement, and I knew she was trying to decipher the reason behind my question. “Uh, yeah, I think so.”

“Like, every day?”

“I’m not sure. Have you seen him every day?”

“No, just once.” But I haven’t seen the stranger at all, I mentally added.

Her amusement faded to hesitation. “Do you want to see him every day?”

“No. No, no that’s not it. I’m just—”

What am I?

I’m incredibly intrigued by a stranger who writes to me in my notebook, and every day I look forward to seeing what—if anything—is waiting for me from him. Wednesday and today felt impossibly long, being away from work, for the sole reason that I don’t know if he wrote to me. And your brother has been oddly nice to me the past weeks, nicer than he’s ever been before, and it’s confusing me and making me wonder if he’s my stranger. Especially considering some of the things my stranger has written. . .

“I’m asking for one of the other waitresses,” I finally said. My lie felt thick in my throat.

“Uh-huh,” she murmured, and took a step back toward the loft. With a grin, she turned, but called over her shoulder, “You’re blushing, Charlie.”

Chapter Seven

Charlie

June 4, 2016

THE GLOW FROM the strings of lights became hazy and faraway, and the faces of the couples dancing on the floor in front of me blurred until they were unrecognizable. Until my thoughts were no longer on Knox and Harlow’s wedding reception, or Keith fast asleep in my arms as my fingers trailed over his little back.

Until my mind was consumed with nothing but a stranger’s notes, mentally poring over them again and again as I worried over the next response.

It will come, I told myself. It has to.

One of these days I’m going to come back for you, and your words won’t be here.

That had been the note waiting for me when I’d arrived at work that morning. Below, a phone number, and one final word . . .

Please.

I hadn’t responded, and I hadn’t left my notebook when my shift had ended. I’d spent hours agonizing over whether or not I should message him—because calling him was out of the question—and even longer hating the giddy smile that refused to leave my face, and the stupid fluttering in my stomach.

Because that’s all this was: stupid.

Because, as he’d pointed out, I didn’t know him and he didn’t know me. For all I knew, he was old and married. Or young . . . too young. This was stupid.

But despite every warning I told myself, I sent a message to the number when I arrived at Knox and Harlow’s wedding hours before. One word. Nothing profound; and nothing that would embarrass me if he’d given me a fake number.

Stranger. . .

I blinked quickly, bringing the reception back to focus, when the chair next to me was pulled out and someone filled it.

I looked over my shoulder, and my hand paused on Keith’s back for a second when I took in Graham, so close to me.

“Having fun?”

After a short hesitation, I nodded. “Are you?”

He stretched back in the chair, and took out the scene before us. “Yeah, still seems weird that it’s Knox’s wedding though.”

“Did you think it was going to be the three of you forever?” I asked softly, the teasing evident in my tone.

A short laugh was forced from his chest. His shoulders slid up in the barest of shrugs. “Kind of.”

“Deacon, Graham, and Knox . . . the Three Musketeers,” I mumbled, my eyes fell to my son as a smile touched my lips.

Graham’s next laugh was fuller. “Ah, man. I’d forgotten about that. I can’t believe you remembered.”

“Hard to forget. Knox tried to rescue me from my bag full of chocolate and ended up ripping my costume in front of everyone. I’m pretty sure that Halloween night scarred me and is the reason I never went to another party. Until now.”

Graham leaned closer like he was going to tell me a secret, but stopped a few inches away and nodded toward Keith. “I noticed your dancing partner passed out. Will you dance with me if I promise not to rip your dress in front of everyone?”

The confusion and suspicions I’d been plagued with the past days rose up again at Graham’s question, and I felt my body still and my breathing pause as I studied him. Just as quickly as everything had stopped, it all started up again, this time faster than it had been before.