Page 28 of Best Man Speaking

“You’re telling me you’re happy I’m taking up residence in your backyard?”

It’s not the smartest or the sanest thing I’ve ever heard, that’s for sure.

Marcus lifts a hand to scratch his chin, all the while keeping his eyes steady on mine. He knows exactly what I’m looking for in order to believe whatever he says next. “Well, I don’t know ifhappywould be the word, but I think it’ll be fine. We’re both adults, have our own lives, and the delightful treatymy brother set. The only time we really need to see each other is for the wedding, and then you’ll be away again in, like, what? Three weeks, four tops? It’ll be like you were never here at all.”

Everything he says makes complete and utter sense, but wow, what a dick.

It’d be like I was never here at all.

Considering that’s how I feel and have felt about most of my life and relationships already, hearing the words from his mouth shouldn’t have caused a painful knot to form in my throat.

But it did.

I’ll stay, I’ll be a good friend, and I’ll leave. Like I was never here at all.

My need for physical touch intensifies. What I would give for a warm, comforting hand on my lower back.

I swallow down any pretense of hurt, saving it for later and embracing the burn.

“We work together on the wedding, I have a place to lay my head at night, and I’ll leave like I was never here at all,” I agree, the words tasting bitter as they make their way out of my mouth.

It makes me sick to think maybe that’s the way it’s always been for him, that my leaving all those years ago had meant so little. I don’t give myself too much time to think or for him to respond because, hey, the more it hurts, the easier it is to leave.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Marcus repeats, almost questioningly.

He leans back in his chair, his large hands cradling his coffee mug, his fingertips running around the edge of it.

I’m once again reminded of my first glimpse of him at dinner just a few nights ago. His eyes are warm only when it suits them; their true nature, it seems, is to be calculating. Handsome as ever, but eyes to be wary of.

Annoyingly, as desperate as I am, none of this seems to matter. I can’t help but be envious of the cup between his palms, and it’s not because I suddenly feel like coffee instead of tea.

His fingers continue to stroke the ceramic surface with light touches.

My mouth dries, and goose bumps rise on my arms as I track his movements. Even though I know I’d regret it, I know he’d feel warm, his fingertips firm, and I can almost convince myself it’d be enough.

Dragging my eyes up to his, I take in his single raised brow and slight smirk.

“What?” I question, a hint of annoyance tingeing my tone.

“Hey, you’re the one looking at me. I’m just noticing it.” Marcus’s face is smug.

I’d like to punch it.

“You are the only other person to look at.” I don’t bother denying I’m looking at him, as I’ve yet to figure out if it’s worse to be completely fascinated by his space or his body.

Either way, I’m disgusted with myself.

Chapter Eight

Marcus

Hallie isn’t okay. Not a single little bit okay.

She hadn’t been okay since the moment she’d started to open those damn boxes, which is why I’d sent my apprentices to help her in the first place. I know how obsessed and focused she could get. How much this particular task would drag her through things she shouldn’t have to deal with a second time around.

I’d noticed. So sue me.

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