Page 112 of Best Man Speaking

I run my hands up along her spine and into the back of her tied-up hair, wishing it were down and around her shoulders. Now that I have her, I can’t get enough of touching her.

“Well, I figure we’re still going to have to sell one of them, and it won’t be this one. Why? Did you plan on living in my pool house indefinitely?”

She scoffs a small laugh, and then her eyes pop open wide. “Wait. Is this you asking me to move in with you?”

“Well, considering we’ll already be working on refurbishing our future home together, it’s not crazy to think we’d live there together.”

“It doesn’t mean it’s not presumptuous.”

I nod my head in somber agreement. “Oh, it definitely is.” I shoot her a wicked grin, lifting her from where she stands. Her butt comes to rest on the kitchen counter, putting us at eye level. Much better. “But I also presume that you’ll want tolook at me all the time, that I’ll want my hands on you all the time. I presume that us being apart, any more than absolutely necessary, won’t work.”

A pink flush stains her cheeks. How this is embarrassing her after all we’ve done together stuns me.

“Hallie, you’re blushing! You didn’t even blush this much when I had you coming around my fingers at your dress fitting.”

She smacks her palms against my chest. “Stop it!” Her cheeks are now a deep rose. “I’ve told you before, I’m allergic to you.”

“Full immersion therapy it is, then,” I say, noting how her hands still haven’t left my chest, how I don’t ever want them to. “I want you to stay with me, Hallie. If you want to, that is,” I say, waiting with bated breath.

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted,” she replies as she pulls me in, bringing our lips together.

It’s all I’ve ever wanted too.

The End.

Epilogue

Hallie

“What’s cooking, good-looking?” I call out, kicking off my shoes and letting the front door slam behind me.

Marcus’s truck is in the driveway, and I can smell garlic, which basically means today’s going to be the best type of day: a day where I don’t have to help decide what’s for dinner. With my phone in hand and Erica on speaker, I head for the kitchen.

We’ve been working on my gran’s old house—our house since we arrived back from Edinburgh a few months ago. Marcus had got to meet Cade and Loki, and between the two of us, we’d decided to keep my flat in Edinburgh, renting it out, at least for now. The fact we were now assholes withproperty abroadwas something Julian was constantly giving us shit for.

But every day, I’m happy to be back and to be calling this house home, although anywhere’s home with Marcus.

It’s as sappy as it is true, and it’s why, one morning last month, I’d woken up early and placed my gran’s ring, snug in its velvet box, back on his bedside table. I’d then hauled ass rightoutta there and taken myself to an early yoga class to try and calm my head and my heart. He hadn’t said a word about it when I’d gotten home that day, but the ring hadn’t been in the bedroom any longer either.

“His biceps bulge in all the right ways, but do we really think he’s that good-looking?” Erica mock whispers—read: mock shouts—through the phone.

“Like, even his face?”

She can’t see me as I roll my eyes, but I do see Marcus sneak a quick glance down at his arms as I approach from the hallway.

“Yes, Erica, I love his face the most,” I respond easily as my voice, closer now, has him looking up in my direction.

“Especially when she’s sitting on it,” Marcus calls from where he’s standing on the other side of the counter. He’s in ripped blue jeans and an old gray T-shirt and has a dish towel artfully draped across his shoulder. You’d almost think it was there for show, except the way he moves around the kitchen with absolute confidence isn’t fake. The man can cook. He can also clean. He just isn’t always the best at doing both of those things at the same time. However, tonight, things are looking good.

“I’m sorry, Marcus. Did you hear something not meant for your ears?” Erica asks, her voice floating up from where I’ve still got her on speaker.

Dragging his eyes away from mine, he levels a quick, unimpressed look in my phone’s direction.

“Sorry, babe. Headphones ran out of charge,” I explain, placing my phone down next to his. And then I let go of the million other items I’m holding—my keys, handbag, water bottle, sweater, and romance novel—all spilling onto the kitchen counter.

“Hi, Erica. I’m always so happy to hear the sound of your voice,” Marcus says with brotherly insincerity.

I smile and let them banter for a second while I get my things organized and my water bottle in the dishwasher.

---