I draw in a breath.
“Two years,” she says.
I guess I hadn’t realized it had been that long. More time to grow further from my brother. More time to push away the feelings I can’t seem to let go of. And having her here in this space? It’s certainly not going to get any easier.
CHAPTER 5: Tatum Barker
Waiting in the Wings
Ford orders dinner from one of the restaurants in this building, and someone knocks on the door half an hour later with our meals.
“Can we eat on the terrace?” I beg.
It’s so pretty out there, and it’s such a nice night. I hate to let it go to waste sitting here inside.
“I don’t have a table to sit at,” he points out.
“So we eat out of our to-go containers with our drinks on the floor beside us. C’mon,” I say, angling my head toward the private terrace.
I ditch my phone and leave it on the counter, and I ask about how this season has been going for him. We make small talk. He eats the breakfast for dinner he ordered—steak and eggs with a side of bacon, his favorite. I munch on the spaghetti and meatballs, my favorite meal that I deny myself too often in favor of leaving carbs at the door.
Archer and I broke up. I can indulge in a little pasta to make myself feel better. And maybe waffles with a side of sausage in the morning.
He fills me in on the latest here in Tampa, and I tell him about the best wedding stories I have since the last time we chatted.
“Have I told you my most recent personal favorite story?”
He shrugs.
I laugh at the memory. “Oh my God, this coupleinsistedon bringing their dogs to the wedding. They were the ring bearers. Well, the reception was outdoors, and these freaking dogs spotted a bird. They proceeded to chase said bird and plowed into the cake table, which toppled down to the ground. It was a total and complete disaster and was absolutely something out of a movie.”
“Oh, shit,” Ford says, laughing. “What did you do?”
“Super wedding planner to the rescue,” I say, holding my arm straight with my hand balled into a fist like a superhero, and then I lean in a little closer. “I drove to Costco and bought the biggest cake I could find. It was chocolate with white buttercream, and it honestly tasted better than the Earl Grey and lavender shit they ordered from some fancy schmancy bakery.”
He laughs at that. “What flavor would you get?”
“Mm,” I moan. “Something indulgent. Chocolate hazelnut or salted caramel chocolate.” As if I haven’t planned every single detail of my own wedding that’s apparently never going to happen. “What about you?”
“Chocolate hazelnut—like Nutella?” he asks. When I nod, he says, “That. Or, you know, whatever the bride desires.”
“You got any lassies waiting in the wings?”
He makes apfftsound as he shakes his head. “Too focused on the game and family drama to invite someone into that mess.”
“Maybe Morgan? She seems tough enough to handle the drama.”
He laughs. “I literally met her for thirty seconds at the airport. Trust me when I say I wasn’t picturing our future wedding.”
“Well, maybe we should change that.” I raise my brows pointedly.
“How?”
I nod inside toward my phone. “I’ll grab my phone after dinner and see when she’s free to meet you. What day works best?”
“Never,” he mutters—I think. His voice is too low to be sure. He clears his throat. “I’m actually pretty busy.”
I raise a brow. “Not too busy to pick me up from the airport and entertain me all evening.”
