The World: According to Graham by Layne Harper

supports her forehead. Rachael’s white blond hair is draped over one shoulder creating a screen of sorts, blocking what’s on the other side. My first thought is she got plastered last night.
    Obviously, I quickly correct myself. There’s one thing that I don’t have to worry about and that’s Rachael taking good care of the baby.
    “You okay?” I ask as I walk past her to the coffee pot. I have to stop my lips from finding her forehead and giving her a good morning kiss.
    Trying to be nonchalant, as if we do this every morning, and this isn’t the first morning we’ve spent together since her impromptu invite to the hotel back in November, I turn my back to her and start the coffee.
    “Fine . . . just have to get through this reminder that I’m pregnant.” She takes another bite of the cracker.
    “Coffee?” I know the answer. The woman loves her coffee. Without hearing her response, I automatically make double what I would normally brew.
    “Oh God, no!” She moans, and the plastic sleeve from the box makes a crackling noise.
    My forehead crinkles in concern as I turn around and walk towards her. There is no doubt in my mind that I still love her. I might have told myself that I’m doing all of this for the baby and myself, but that’s only the partial truth. As much as I wish that my heart didn’t ache at seeing her sick, it does. And I want to make it better.
    “Hey,” I soothe, as I pull one of the other kitchen chairs near her. “It’ll be okay. Can I get you something? Water? Milk? Orange juice.”
    “A glass of water would be nice,” she says, as she nibbles on the corner of another saltine.
    “No problem.” I leap to my feet, thankful that she has given me something to do.
    “What’s with the glasses?”
    Her question takes me aback. I’ve worn contacts since I completed law school. Has she never seen me in glasses? As I fill the red tumbler with water, I think back to the mornings that I’ve shared with Rachael. Yeah. It’s true. I always slept in my contacts.
    “Wear them every morning until I put my contacts in.” I set the glass down in front of her and walk to the double doors to let George in. “Thanks for putting George out.”
    “He wasn’t taking no for an answer. Whoever has been caring for him has spoiled him rotten.” She sounds better. Her voice is stronger and there’s a hint of humor, maybe even fondness, when she talks about George. That’s good, because he’s not going back to the kennel that he’s lived at while I have been gone.
    George almost knocks me over when he comes barreling into the house. I kneel in front of him, rubbing his ears and stroking his back. I was worried that he would have forgotten who I was, but after his reaction last night and this morning, there’s no doubt that George and I are still buddies.
    “You two are very cute together. He was happy to see me last night. I had to inform your assistant”—there’s the Rachael that I know and love. Venom laces the word “assistant.” Apparently, she wasn’t pleased that it was my assistant who texted her from my phone yesterday morning. Good. I like a little bit of jealousy. Makes me happy that she gives a damn—“that George is an inside dog and does not appreciate being kept outside at night.”
    “Thank goodness Rachael was here to save you, big boy,” I coo.
    “Veronica didn’t realize who I was and called me your cougar.”
    I can’t tell from her tone or body language if the fact that she’s seven years older than me bothers her. I’ve joked about it, and she teased back. It’s not a big deal to me. I can’t imagine why she would care. However, I bet that she wasn’t too pleased to be called a cougar by my young assistant.
    I will have a talk with Veronica though. She’s twenty-five, and was hired by the Sons of Liberty manager for her ASSets and not her PA skills. I’m sure she was supposed to be a distraction from Rachael, because Jake’s assistant is