But when he lowered his hand again and looked at Griffin—right at him, Michael always looked right at him—his expression was fully serious.
“I heard him say something about Layla.”
Griffin lowered his head.
“Oh, Jesus,” Michael said. “Iknewit.”
“How’d you know it?” Griffin said, his eyes snapping up.
“As soon as you saidI wouldn’t say we’re friends. Yesterday morning. I knew it by the look on your face.”
“I don’t get looks on my face.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “You sure had a look on your face with Jamie. Like you’d shove him in one of those ovens just for saying her name.”
Griffin said nothing. Michael rubbed his face again. He so rarely got mad. When he did, he was like this—fidgety, slow to speak.
“Years,” Michael said finally. “I wait for years for you to showgenuine interest in literally anything again. Work. A hobby. That fucking farm you bought.”
“The farm was for my mom,” he interrupted uselessly.
“A woman,” Michael went on. “Anything. And it’s my future brother-in-law’s ex-wife?”
Don’t call her that, Griffin thought.
“During the week of my wedding? When Em’s already…how she is right now?”
“It’s not—” Griffin broke off. He was not going to sayIt’s not serious.
Michael stared at him. “Did you sleep with her?”
Griffin’s only answer was a request. “Do not tell anyone.”
Michael blinked. “Wellclearlythe cat is out of the bag!” he almost-shouted, gesturing back toward the pâtisserie.
Griffin shook his head, knowing instinctively that Jamie MacKenzie was not going to spread this information around. Out of respect for his ex-wife or out of jealousy over her, or some combination of both. Griffin didn’t care. All he cared about was that Layla would not want this to become the story, especially if everyone took it the same way Jamie had.
Layla broken and lost, falling into bed with someonenot good. Someonenot reliable.
“He’s not going to tell anyone,” he said. “Mikey, listen, I’m sorry. I—”
Michael spun away, took two stomping steps, hands set low on his hips, before turning around and stomping back.
“Don’t be sorry!” he said, still in that almost-shout. He added, “I’m happy for you!” in a way that sounded like,I’m so fucking pissed at you, and Griffin knew it was both.
And if he was honest with himself, both were upsetting.
He didn’t want Michael pissed at him, but also—
He didn’t want Michael thinking this was something other than what it was.
He didn’t wanthimselfthinking it was something other than what it was.
He was not good. He was not reliable. And he and Layla had both known that last night was not today.
That today, they had to go back to this.
He still couldn’t bring himself to say something likeIt’s nothingorIt was one nightorThere’s nothing to be happy for me about, so he focused on what mattered most about this, and that was protecting Layla. He was already thinking about going back into the pâtisserie and quietly threatening Jamie MacKenzie with grievous bodily harm if he even attempted to express his “worry” to her.
