Page 51 of Best Man Speaking

I lift one of the notebooks, one that looks more academic and less like a teenage journal.

Hallie doesn’t tense or move to take it away, so I flick open a page to find her neat writing and studious highlighting. I can easily remember the girl who’d worked so hard at school, hair always tucked behind her ears, studying for hours in the library with my brother.

I flip open to the back of the notebook, and she finally tenses beside me.

This is where the good stuff always is. Snippets of lyrics, doodles of houses, and roughly drawn cubes cover the page, but my eyes don’t miss the H.S. inscribed in a small black love heart in the bottom right-hand corner of the page.

Apparently, she doesn’t miss it either and quickly snatches the book from my hands.

“That’s enough of that,” she says, standing up, very much indicating I should do the same.

I’m more tempted than I should be to peruse the personal-looking notebooks. They make up the majority of the multicolored mess on the floor, all of them looking well-worn. Egotistical as I am, I can’t help but wonder how many times my name features in each one.

The guest house is full—fuller than I’ve seen it before—and while there’s a mess of books on the floor, it’s interesting to see how she’s transformed this bare-bones space into something of her very own. Her leather jacket hangs on the coat hooks by the door, a cute tweed cap I’ve yet to see her wear next to it.

“How’s sorting through the past?” I motion around us.

“Less uncomfortable each time I look through it,” she says, moving to the small living room and taking a seat with her coffee.

Part of me is surprised at the ease of this interaction, considering the last time we spoke.

Speaking of which.

“That reminds me,” I say. “What you told me the other night on the phone, you didn’t happen to confess to that in any of those diaries over there, did you?”

Her cheeks flame, and she curls her feet up beneath her on the soft linen of the cream-colored couch. “No, actually. Believe it or not, I’d planned to take that particular secret to the grave.”

“And now I know,” I say, smug with the knowledge of this once closely kept secret.

“And now you know.” Her tone is slightly weighted, with an importance I can’t quite put my finger on.

“When do you plan on moving the rest of the boxes?” I ask.

“I’m going to do a little every day. Saves getting a different rental.”

I continue to stand, not quite knowing what to do with myself. I’ve dropped off her coffee, I’ve made fun of our past, and now…I should go.

Except. I don’t want to.

It’s still not enough. Even though it should be. I still haven’t given Johnathan Cairns an answer about his money yet. And I’ve yet to come up with a solution for what I’ll do to fund my charity without it.

I run a hand through my hair, frustrated at myself, and the small smirk that touches her lips doesn’t slip my notice.

I want to touch her. I need to ask to touch her. I must be the one to bite her smirking bottom lip. But the thought of asking without the heat and animosity of our normal banter is suddenly a roadblock in my brain. Complete and utter static where there once were words.

“Is there something else?” Hallie asks with wide eyes and false curiosity.

She knows exactly what I’m here for, and the fact I hadn’t planned this moment ahead makes me wish for a less pathetic do-over.

If I can’t use my words, the least I can do is use my body. And so I move in toward her, slow and steady. I keep my eyes on hers, letting them dip only briefly to take in the delicate curve of her lips.

When I’m finally in front of her, she looks up at me for mere moments before I drop down to my knees, bringing us face-to-face. Having Hallie gaze up at me might be hot as hell, but the fire in her eyes as I drop down before her is what I’m aiming to keep ablaze.

I brace my hands on either side of her hips, my palms pressing firmly into the cushion beneath. Getting in close, I rumble in her ear, “Tell me you’ve not been looking for a little extra release since Saturday night?”

Hallie sits back on the couch, a small smile touching the corners of her lips, her eyes still alight on mine. “Are you honestly here to ask for a nooner?”

I sit back on my haunches, recoiling in horror. “Not if you call it that.”

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