Page 149 of The Best Men
I head into the living room, where Valencia has just poured us each a glass of red wine. Zoe dashed out to pick up sushi for dinner from the Japanese restaurant around the corner. “Better your kitchen than mine,” Valencia says.
“Gee, thanks.” I take the wine and we both line up our feet on my coffee table.
“Your tree looks great, though. At least you have that.”
“It’s nice, right?” I gaze at the colored lights and wish that Asher were here to see it in person. It’s almost eight o’clock, and he’s probably asleep already. An hour ago, I had to tell him that I was elbows deep in cookie dough and unable to sneak away for our usual phone call. And I feel terrible about it too. His birthday is tomorrow. I was supposed to be on a plane tonight.
“Stay with us, Mark,” Valencia says softly. “Don’t go towards the light.”
I turn back to her quickly. “Sorry.”
“I bet I can guess who you’re thinking about right now.”
“Doesn’t make you a genius.”
She laughs and touches her wine glass to mine. “Does he still feel guilty about Rosie?”
“Yup. Even though I told him it was actually your fault for taking the girls to see Cirque du Soleil.”
“That was a year ago!” she says, scandalized.
“No kidding, but he doesn’t know that.”
“Aw, Mark.” She clutches her chest. “You’re such a softy.”
“Never call a man a softy. That’s mean.”
She chokes on her sip of wine and then howls with laughter.
My phone buzzes with a text in my pocket. I ignore it. Asher is asleep, and there’s nobody else I want to hear from right now. Bridget actually decided to capitalize on my canceled trip by getting tickets to a Broadway show for tonight, since we switched weekends with Rosie.
I’m not even surprised.
“Mommy?” calls Alba from the kitchen. “Can Rosie sleep over?”
Valencia gives me a sideways glance. “You know, her arm does seem fine,” she whispers.
“It’s still broken, though,” I whisper back. “You don’t need to deal with that.”
“Not this time!” Valencia calls to the girls.
My phone vibrates again. And again. And then two more times.
Hmm.
With a lazy sigh, I pull it out of my pocket. The texts are from Asher? It’s two in the morning in Paris. What’s that about? I open the first one and gasp.
The first message is a picture of Asher wearing nothing but the unbuttoned white polo and the briefs I sent him. Plus, an unfocused smile.
The second is a picture of him without the polo. And the smile is downright blurry.
And then the texts start.
MARK HONEY THE ECLAIRS ARE REALLY GOOD HERE IN PARIS. THERE IS ONE BAKERY THAT PUTS GOLD LEAF ON TOP. I WANTED TO TAKE YOU THERE TOMORROW.
I DON’T KNOW WHY EATING GOLD IS COOL. IT JUST IS.
I’M SAD AND A LITTLE DRUNK BECAUSE PARIS IS AMAZING BUT YOU AREN’T HERE AND I DON’T LIKE IT AS MUCH AS I THINK I SHOULD.
