Page 61 of Never Too Late

I winced. “No, I didn’t know that.”

“Well, there you go then. You need to know the full story before you go apologizing for things that are not your fault. You just missed Henri, by the way.”

“I saw him.”

Laurent hitched himself higher on the bed, the slight gasp that escaped his lips giving away the effort it took. He slumped back against the pillows and studied me from beneath his eyelashes. “Want to tell me why you’ve got stubble rash on your neck?”

I automatically lifted a hand to my neck and rubbed it before realizing my mistake. “I haven’t.”

“No. But it is interesting that you thought it might be possible.”

“I was upset,” I confessed, “after your accident. Cillian rushed to Paris to support me.”

“And?”

“And things have been good.”

“How good?”

The words came out in a rush. “He’s been staying with me, and he’s going to move here. He’s got plans for the two of us to get a place together. And…” Heat rushed to my cheeks. “He told me he loves me.”

“Hmm…” The familiar noise of consideration made me hanker even more for those times when I’d been able to talk at Laurent rather than to him. “And where is he now?”

I jerked my head toward the door. “Outside, waiting for me. I thought it best if I came in on my own.”

“That wasn’t very kind of you, Finn,” Laurent chided. “You better invite Cillian in.”

It was a toss up what was more shocking, Laurent finally deigning to use Cillian’s name, or him wanting the other man inside his hospital room. Despite my misgivings, I got up to do as Laurent had instructed. I wasn’t about to argue with the man who’d lost his spleen. I’d just reached the door when Laurent called after me. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

I turned with a frown. “For what?”

“I got run over by a bus so you two could finally have sex in the same room.”

“I never said—”

Laurent’s scathing look stopped me in my tracks. “Oh, please. It’s written all over your face. And you talked, right? And sorted everything out?” I nodded. “Then you should be extremely grateful that I was the catalyst for bringing him back here. I expect to be the best man.”

“We’re not—”

“Not yet. But if you do.”

I yanked the door open before he could say more, Cillian exactly where I’d left him. I stood aside and swept an arm out in front of me. “You have been cordially invited to visit with Monsieur Dupont.”

Cillian stepped inside, putting an arm around me, that was either proprietary or protective depending on your viewpoint, as we walked toward the bed. “You look rough,” Cillian said to Laurent in lieu of a greeting.

Laurent angled his head my way. “You may have to translate… You know, on account of the thick accent.” It might have been convincing if he hadn’t said it with a smirk.

I nudged Cillian. “Say something nice.”

He looked disgusted at the idea. “Why do I have to be the one to—”

“Because I got run over by a bus and I’m in a vulnerable state,” Laurent interjected, sounding anything but vulnerable. “And I’m still coming to terms with the loss of my spleen.” He reached over and rapped on the cast that came up to mid thigh through the covers. “Oh, and I have this to contend with.” Laurent crossed his arms over his chest, tipped his head slightly to one side, and waited.

Cillian looked like he was chewing on a wasp. “Maybe we could…” I said, starting to feel guilty that I was letting this happen.

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” Cillian said flatly.

“Thatis so sweet,” Laurent said with fake saccharine sweetness. “Isn’t that sweet, Finn?”

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