Chapter Twenty-Three
Blake sat back in the rented garden chair he’d claimed at the beginning of the reception, a little off to the side, but with an unobstructed view of the stage.
He loved watching Rusty play. Rusty had looked happy, and natural, and just like the man Blake had met years ago.
It was good to see the old Rusty again. The same man who’d serenaded him in his hotel room, who’d made him feel like the most special person on the planet, as though no one else mattered but the two of them.
He’d felt like that again tonight, just every now and again. Rusty had glanced over at him a half-dozen times, smiled, bit his lip.
If everyone present hadn’t fallen a little in love with him, there was something wrong with them.
Not that Blake could afford to be in love with him. He was leaving all over again, and that was heartbreaking enough. He didn’t need to addloveto the mix.
Although, at this point, he wasn’t sure he could avoid it. He didn’t really have another word for how he felt about Rusty.
Shoving that thought aside, Blake grinned at Rusty as the other man approached, pushing the other chair he’d claimed out for him with his foot.
“Not bad,” he teased, unable to stop himself from smiling ear-to-ear as Rusty sat down.
“As long as I didn’t embarrass you,” Rusty said, sinking into his chair heavily, loosening his tie and undoing the top two buttons of his shirt.
He looked good in a suit, and Blake had said as much when he first saw him all dressed up, but now he looked tired and rumpled and if anything, even better than he had before.
“I’m very proud to be seen with you,” Blake said. “I saved you a tart.”
He pushed over the fancy paper plate he’d left it on, covered lightly with a napkin.
“You’re a legend,” Rusty beamed at him, peeling the napkin off the tart eagerly.
“People commented on how cute they were a lot,” Blake said. “So I guess you’re multi-talented and everything. I did get a kick out of telling them my husband piped them.”
“So you should. I’m pretty great,” Rusty said, biting into his tart. He made a soft, happy sound, licking crumbs off his lips.
Blake’s heart clenched as he looked at him. He was getting used to the idea of Rusty being his husband.
The thought of giving it up now made him feel sick.
“Do you still play? I mean, in public,” Blake asked. “You never really said.”
“Less than I’d like,” Rusty admitted. “Haven’t got time. Too busy trying to build an empire so I’m not beholden to dad anymore.”
Blake hummed at that, not entirely sure what to say, but wanting Rusty to know he was listening. “I can’t pretend I understand,” he said. “But you’re welcome to complain about it. Or tell me your plans or whatever.”
Rusty shook his head. “Not your problem,” he said. “But thanks for the offer.”
Blake didn’t quite know how to take that, but he knew better than to push. Rusty was a private man, in his own way, and that was okay.
He just also seemed like he could use someone he trusted, and, well… even if Blake was inclined to spill all his secrets, he didn’t have anyone to tell them to. No one who’d care, anyway.
Not that he’d tell anyone in the first place.
“I hope I’m not interrupting?”
Blake looked up to see Jude standing to the side of the table, having managed to approach silently. He’d always been quiet, and apparently that hadn’t changed.
“Of course not, grab a seat,” Blake said, nodding to the empty chair remaining at the table. There’d been four originally, but someone had borrowed one early on.
Megan should have known better than to bother with seating charts in Hope Springs. People around here were accustomed to casual weddings.
