Your phone buzzes, Garrett’s name lighting up the screen. You sigh—half annoyed, half amused—and swipe to answer.

“Hey,” he says, his voice warm but tired. “Can we talk? I need a distraction.”

You roll your eyes, even though he can’t see it. “Fine.” You hit the speaker button and toss the phone onto your bed. “Feel free to hang up if you get bored.”

There’s a pause, the kind that stretches just long enough to make you glance at the screen to make sure the call didn’t drop.

Then: “Baby,” he says, low and sincere, “I could watch you watching paint dry, and I still wouldn't be bored.”

Your lips twitch into a reluctant smile as you reach for your guitar.

Garrett Graham. Your own personal sweet talker. King of the perfectly timed one-liner. You strum a lazy chord, letting it hum in the silence between you.

“So,” you say, “what’s got you needing a distraction?”

“Life,” he murmurs. “And missing you.”

You roll your eyes again—but this time, your smile lingers.