Page 6 of Best Man Speaking

He still has the deep brown hair and bright eyes I was so fond of and the mouth that was always quick to smile, but he’s bigger now, filling out his once-lanky body. Since college, we have, of course, FaceTimed, and even caught up in person once while he’d traveled Europe. However, here and now, engaged to my best girl, he’s no longer a nerdy thirteen-year-old boy or a college student surviving off ramen noodles and coffee. He does, however, still look like my oldest friend, like the home I needed to see.

Julian’s purposeful silence and perusal of my physical self are obvious. I roll my eyes at Erica and take a little step back, holding my arms out in front of me and spinning around to give them a 360-degree view.

“No engagement ring, no new tattoos, and I attempt three square meals a day,” I say, facing them. I let a quick beat of silence go by before I ask, “Do I pass muster?”

“Only barely with an attitude like that. Now, come here,” Julian says, a deep laugh coming between us. He opens his arms, and I step into his familiar embrace. He squeezes tight enough to lift me from the floor and whispers, “I have missed you so fucking much, Hallie. I’m so glad you’re here.”

And just like that, as my red Dr. Martens land back on the ground, I start to feel at ease.

After we finally sit at our table, I’m able to relax. I plop my handbag on the seat next to me because who doesn’t like it when their handbag gets a seat?

I lift the cocktail menu and look across at the lovebirds in front of me. “What are you drinking?”

Julian holds up a beer, but Erica, forever my savior, points to a bottle of red on the table I’ve somehow missed. “Help yourself.”

“So why aren’t I visiting you in your new house tonight?” I ask as I pour myself a glass. “I’ve heard talk of water views, stunning sunsets, and a backyard made for summer barbecues. I’ve also been bombarded with enough furniture and lifestyle mood boards to drown in over the last year. Why am I missing out?”

Julian’s eyes had been on mine only seconds ago, but now lift to a point above me. Even as I watch his mouth open, the words I hear next are not from him.

“I think that would have to be because of me?” says a deeply amused voice from behind me.

The urge to close my eyes is strong as the sound hits my ears, and it takes a conscious effort on my part to open them slightly wider in protest.

I know that voice.

Know it almost as well as my own.

Granted, it’s changed—there’s a depth and a timbre that weren’t there before—but there are some things you don’t ever forget, and for me, Marcus Scott’s voice is one of them.

Julian’s the one to respond. “What can I say? I wanted to make sure our new windows and furniture stay in the same condition they’re in now—very much intact. A public place also provides those clearly marked emergency exit points I’m hoping we won’t need to use.”

He’s trying to be funny, to lighten the mood, but I don’t move, don’t even breathe, as I feel a large hand grasp the edge of my chair and warm knuckles brush the bare skin of my upper back.

One. Two. Three. I take in those white-and-green exit signs, just in case.

I shift my eyes to Erica, impressed by her ability to keep this little addition to our dinner plans from me. Although I’ve always known she was a master keeper of secrets; she’s kept plenty of mine over the years.

Regardless of her involvement, Erica’s dark eyes are filled with compassion. Having this man drape himself over the back of my chair is not a situation I ever would’ve chosen for myself. She mouths,Sorry, quickly and discreetly before standing up to greet my nemesis and her soon-to-be brother-in-law.

It’s only as she stands that the pressure releases from the back of my seat, and I finally work up the courage to turn my head, watching them embrace. I do my best not to think about everything going on below my neck. But it’s hard to ignore your heart being punched like one of those stupid little boxing speed bags.

Marcus owned the title of my first love, and I use his embrace with Erica as the chance for an eight-year visual catch-up. My eyes and mind eat up the opportunity, taking mental snapshots to stash away for later.

Time is such a weird thing, the way it changes us and the way it doesn’t.

Marcus looks different, and he looks the same—much like I do, I’m sure. The profile of his face is familiar, even if the beard is new. His jeans are a dark wash, and his T-shirt is black, snug around his broad, tan arms. When he finally lets go of Erica and turns to me, I realize I’ve made a grave mistake.

Instead of looking to get my fill, I should’ve spent the time sucking up all the oxygen my body could hold.

I’d honestly assumed I was ready to see him.

Four years at college, four years in Edinburgh, and over five thousand miles between us, and it still hasn’t been long enough.

Not even my most reliable, workplace-friendly, stop-mansplaining-me-please smile wants to make an appearance.And looking in his eyes, I know the moment he realizes it too. There’s a flash of regret, and I can’t help but wonder if it truly makes him sorry. If it makes him sad.

Marcus’s grin, though, is genuine and full of those same white teeth and soft lips I’d always known and had once enjoyed.

The thought is enough to have my mediocre smile drooping, because fuck it if memory is not a bitch.

---