Page 18 of Best Man Speaking

But I’d left it for so long that I worry a tone of desperation would coat my words.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t stop the big, selfish, emotional part of me that justwantsto know.

I relax my grip on the steering wheel, flexing my fingers and making myself take a moment before I decide on my reply.

“Is he with anyone at the moment?” I ask.

I need to make sure that even if I have zero intentions of touching Marcus with a ten-foot pole, our style of banter isn’t going to be hurting anyone else.

That’s my logical reasoning anyway. The illogical reason is that I justwantto know.

I cast a quick look toward Erica. If my question surprises her, her face doesn’t show it.

“No. He isn’t seeing anyone, as far as I’m aware. I don’t think Marcus really ‘sees anyone,’ just generally. Jules gives him shit about his hookups, though. Seems like he’s more of a one-date wonder,” she adds with lifted brows. “He’s never brought anyone around to our family dinners.”

“Thanks,” I say with a small nod. My relief eases a tension I hadn’t been aware I was holding. Though I don’t know why I’m surprised, it’s not like I’d imagined him being the poster boy for long-term relationships.

“He’s a builder now,” Erica continues casually. “Has his own company and helped design and build our home. They do boutique work, restorations mostly. Storefronts and hotels, too, sometimes, but he seems to prefer houses.”

I nod noncommittally, glad to hear that, if nothing else, Marcus had had the follow-through to set up his own business, to have created something that’s his and his alone, just like he’d always wanted. Hearing he’d been tenacious enough to go after those things and recognizing I’d never been one of them brings another sharp pinch of pain. It’s a healthy reminder that I’m here for a good time, not a long time. Time enough to tie up loose ends before returning to the home that’d soon be mine. My chest suffuses with warmth at the very thought.

“Are you seeing anyone new?” Erica asks, shifting topics when I give no further comment on Marcus.

I flick her a quick smile. “No, not at the moment.”

“What about Cade?” she probes, referencing my ridiculously good-looking friend.

He’s the Scottish dream, and it’s not the first time she’s asked about my elusive neighbor and landlord.

“No.” I laugh, not bothering to take my eyes off the road. “I have no desire to end up as a notch on his bedpost, and besides, that’s not what he needs from me.”

“Not what he needs?”

I try to explain as succinctly as possible without getting into details that aren’t mine to share. “Cade’s a prickly pain in the ass, but he’s been through a lot. He needs friends, real ones.”

Erica’s forehead creases. “And he chose you?”

I flip her my middle finger. Although, to be fair, it’d surprised me too. I’m not the easiest person to love.

“Actually, it was Cade who called at the restaurant last night.” I let my statement hang, but Erica seems to have taken my lead and simply waits for me to continue. “The paperwork’s been drawn up for the apartment to be sold and no longer be included as part of the building he owns. All I have to do is pay and sign, and the apartment’s mine.”

I can’t stop the smile that hits my lips when I think about the beautifully large sash and case windows and the view of Edinburgh Castle I have in the distance. I was looking forward to waking on brisk fall mornings, snug in my coziest sheets, taking in the view that’d officially be mine. Buying my apartment from Cade, who’d inherited the entire building, would be a big step for the both of us. I’d found myself a place to call home, which was mine and mine alone. It was something that couldn’t be taken from me, and Cade was happy with the promise I’d be sticking around after having lost so much.

“I’m happy for you, Hal.” Erica’s smile is small, but her words are earnest.

I know she’d prefer me to be closer, but it’s never been on the cards.

The rest of the drive is one of comfortable silence, and I’m reminded of the weekend trips we’d made to see Erica’s family for holidays when we were in college, once she’d decided to adopt me as her own. The two of us taking turns driving and choosing between the best and worst of classic pop songs, whatever suited the mood of our current relationship status or life trial. Apparently, not much has changed, as I notice the theme of the songs being played right now, key words such as “my house,” “sweet home,” and “this town” all making a prominent appearance in the lyrics.

“Do you think my subconscious is easy?” I ask, gesturing to the speakers as Erica sings along to the latesthome-themed track.

“No, not at all. It’s just nice to have you here,” she responds easily, as if her penchant for making themed and telling playlists is something I’ve forgotten about.

Giving in and wanting to see her smile, I sing along with the songs I can’t help but know so well.

It’s because of this ease that it takes me longer than normal to notice something’s off, that Erica’s fidgeting in the seat next to me. I watch from the corner of my eye as she picks up her phone, tapping out a message before putting it face down on her thigh. However, she keeps singing, so I don’t bring up her unusual behavior.

I don’t have time to worry any further as I pull up in front of the single-story home attached to the pool house I’m staying in. It’s beautiful and modern, with an excess of large windows.

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