The man who once wrote her a birthday card calling her breathtaking, who whispered “beautiful” against her collarbone when they were seventeen, had downgraded her to nice.
And somehow, the way he’d looked at her just now made the word feel like an apology for everything he wasn’t letting himself say.
“Thanks,” she said, dryly. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”
He huffed out something that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Just trying to blend in.”
“You’re six-two and scowling at the flower girl.”
He opened his mouth—probably to deny he was scowling—but a new voice cut in.
“Oh! Norah!”
Her mother swooped toward her like a cheerful hawk, clinging to a glittering clutch and wearing a dress two shades too bright for the setting. “You look gorgeous, sweetheart. Absolutely stunning. And Marshall—oh my goodness, look at you!”
Norah nearly groaned.
Her mother clasped Marshall’s forearm with the familiarity of someone who’d fed him countless dinners and prayed over him during flu seasons. “Marshall, I haven’t seen you in years. You came alone?”
Norah stepped in. “Mom, he’s not?—”
Her mother winked—winked—at Marshall like she was casting him in a Hallmark movie. “Well. Plenty of time to fix that.”
“Goodbye, Mom.”
Norah escaped toward the aisle just as Marshall slipped inside behind her. She felt him before she saw him—like a shift in gravity. His parents waved warmly from the second row. His mother even mouthedHi, sweetheart,as if they’d spoken last week instead of fifteen years ago.
It was too much.
She slid into a seat beside Marshall’s aunt who immediately took her hand. “I’m so glad you’re home.” Her voice trembled just slightly. “This place hasn’t felt the same without you.”
Norah tried to smile but something inside her pinched. Home wasn’t home anymore. Nothing fit the way it used to—like wearing a coat she’d outgrown or trying to step back into a life that had moved on without her.
She kept her eyes forward.
She didn’t look. Wouldn’t. But she felt the warmth of him. The awareness. The history.
The ceremony music began. Norah saw Jackson duck into the back of the church, his exhaustion evident to anyone looking closely. She couldn’t help but wonder where he’d been and what he’d been up to. She knew he worked with Marshall. Some place called Black Tower. When she’d searched them online, they looked like they provided run-of-the-mill private security. It was only the information Marshall had reluctantly shared that revealed that they were far more than another firm for hired muscle.
Everyone rose as the bride appeared in the doorway, backlit, glowing, radiant with joy. Norah felt her throat tighten for reasons that had nothing to do with the dress or the humidity.
She loved Marshall’s sister, Julie. She was thrilled for her.
But she hadn’t been prepared for the ache.
The officiant stepped forward. He was from their hometown church, a gentle, gray-bearded man who had baptized half thepeople Norah grew up with. As the pastor began the opening message, his voice warm and low, Norah forced herself to listen. His voice rolled over the crowd with the same calm authority she remembered from childhood.
“Love,” he said, “is not built on emotion, though it is full of emotion. It is not sustained by convenience, though it brings great joy. Love is demonstrated in sacrifice. In choosing the good of the other above yourself.”
Norah’s chest tightened.
The officiant continued, “Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends.”
She could almost feel Marshall’s presence behind her.
Her eyes stayed fixed on the couple at the altar—but her mind drifted.
He would lay down his life for anyone.That’s who he was. That’s who he’d always been.
