Page 34 of Work: Strictly Professional

I curl my hand around Wyn’s waist and pull him against me, settling for, “This is my Wyn.”

“Wyn,” purrs Barbara Anne, bestowing two air kisses upon his cheeks, both of which miss him by a mile, “you’re still here.”

Before conversation grinds to a halt and the awkwardness of the situation comes to a head, the guests of honor appear. As always, Miller looks like he’s just returned from a long vacation, and Ryan looks as if he’d rather be home in bed. My chest caves and rapidly expands at the sight of my boy, and as soon as he’s within reach, I pull him into a hug that starts a little stiff but quickly melts into one of those broad-shouldered, man-hands things that leave me stepping back, looking at him, and asking the same question I’ve been asking myself for years.

Where’d my little boy go?

Before he can flee, I catch Ryan and give him the same treatment. Miller chuckles happily as Ryan struggles briefly and then relents, laughing too.

I introduce Wyn to the boys, and Sage begins waxing lyrical about the resort. And I really do mean waxing lyrical. The word soulful gets bandied about more than I consider strictly necessary. Thankfully, before long, Sage announces he’s off to check out the waves. No doubt to assess their level of soulfulness.

“So, Mom,” says Miller as soon as he’s out of earshot, “how’s the new relationship going?”

“Dahling!” she says sharply, “It’s not a relationship. It’s anawakening!”

With that, she sails off to join Sage, and the four of us are left standing, eyes watering and all but hyperventilating in our attempt not to laugh.

“All I’m saying,” says Ryan, deadpan as ever, “is that if anyone calls that man anything other than The Awakening in my presence, I’m going to lose my temper.”

That does it. Wyn cracks first. I feel his ribs contract and jerk as he collapses against me, eyes screwed shut as an absolute belter of a laugh rips through him. Miller’s next, then me, and finally, Ryan joins us.

“Hope you boys are ready,” I say when we’ve recovered. “According to The Awakening, we’re at a soulful resort preparing for a soulful union that’ll take place on a soulful, soulful day.”

“Actually, Derek,” says Wyn a little snippily, “itwillbe a soulful day.”

Miller visibly double-takes, mouth dropping open in a wolfish grin. He looks at Wyn with surprise and disbelief and then at me.

“Hmph.” Ryan turns to Miller, confused. “I think I like him.”

Wyn’s cheeks flush and he dips his head into my chest, warming me more than the small gesture warrants.

“Welp,” Wyn says once he’s upright again, “better get this show on the road. The flowers are arriving the day after tomorrow, and I need to ensure the installation is being built as I designed it.”

He leans left and I lean right, then I lean left and he leans right. We narrowly miss each other and settle for an uncomfortable half-hug that ends in something resembling a headbutt.

We leave Wyn in the lobby, head to the beach, and find loungers near Barbara Anne and The Awakening. Ryan reads while Miller and I snorkel. Every time there’s a lull in activity, a quiet moment where I can hear myself think, I think the same thing.

It should’ve been a kiss.

That headbutt should’ve been a kiss.

When I’ve had enough sun, I find a seat at the bar. Wyn pops into view now and again. He’s wearing a different headset. It’s not a headset exactly, more of an earpiece, looping over one ear with a tiny mic parallel to his jawline. He taps his ear decisively now and again to start or end a call. He’s moving at breakneck speed. A hotel staff member, clad in a beige two-piece suit and sensible heels, trails behind him, notepad and clipboard in tow, shoes clapping loudly as she tries to keep up with him. Wyngesticulates with broad, decisive motions. From here, he looks like the conductor of a philharmonic orchestra rather than a man in the final stages of planning a soulful day. If I thought I’d seen Wyn in peak wedding planning mode before now, boy, was I wrong.

I type and delete a message countless times, eventually settling for:

We should kiss next time we see each other. For believability. Just a heads-up so you have time to prepare.

I hit send and order an old fashioned to calm the rampant, near-destructive level of arousal I feel at the thought of my lips on his.

16

Wyn

I have at leasta hundred things I need to check on today and a hundred more things tomorrow. I’m on a deadline. The wedding is in three days. I know I sometimes use the phrase go-time a little liberally, but believe me, this is it. It’s go-time now.

Yet here I am. Not going anywhere. Standing around like a fucking idiot, re-reading a message Derek sent me over an hour ago. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

I mean, maybe I do know. Maybe I have an inkling.

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