“How was dinner?” I asked.
“He’s far less horrible than any of us hoped. Very much like all of us in his own little ways.”
“That’s good, right?”
He nodded, pulling me into a proper hug. “It’s good. How was the rest of your day?”
“I saw my dad,” I blurted.
Marshall’s arms tightened around me—an act of protection, I realized—and I let myself go weak and vulnerable against him.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “You should have told me earlier. You could have.”
It was easier to be honest sometimes when I wasn’t aware of Marshall’s penetrating stare on me. In his arms, his heart beating inches above and across from mine was a safe place for my truths.
“I’m fine. It was…I don’t know. He showed up while I was having lunch. He knew where to find me.”
“And?”
“He wasn’t angry, just defeated, I think. He implied therewas something going on with you and me, but I didn’t tell him either way. I did tell him I didn’t want to talk to him, and I left.”
“Did he come after you?” Marshall asked.
I shook my head, and for the first time, I wanted to cry about the whole thing.
My dad had just let me walk away from him because he was angry at me on the day that I’d won the biggest bid of my career. My name was attached to the win. When I worked with my dad, they’d all been his name and his glory. Cory was the first person to give me credit that was due, the second person to see me as an equal. The first, of course, currently had his arms wrapped around my waist and his face buried in the crook of my neck.
“It’s better this way,” I said.
Lincoln was on his way back, his lithe figure slinking through the crowd and toward the patio.
“I’m ready to celebrate,” I told Marshall, and I meant it honestly.
He pulled away and smiled down at me, leaving a kiss against the tip of my nose, then the corner of my mouth.
“He’s here,” Lincoln said out of nowhere, setting two glasses of wine on the table, his own drink still in hand.
“Who?”
“Ethan.”
“Go get him, tiger,” I teased, untangling myself from Marshall’s arms so I could slap Lincoln on his ass.
“I don’t want to look desperate.”
“You’d look interested,” I said.
“I’m going to wait,” Lincoln said with a nod, his action decided. “He just got here, and he was with a few other guys. I don’t know their deal.”
“Are you sure your name isn’t Thomas?” Marshall asked, handing me my drink before reaching for his own. He tookthe smallest sip imaginable, smiling at Lincoln the whole time.
“Why would it be Thomas?”
“You’re a doubter.” At Lincoln’s blank stare, Marshall clarified. “You know, from the Bible?”
“Never read it.”
“I thought it was something everyone just knew.”
