Once he had time to think about it, Nate was sure he’d come up with a lot of very smooth, confident responses to that question—responses that an adult of nearly forty would say when hit with a hammer of lust to the balls. Since he didn’t have that time, he had to just go with what felt right.
“How about you get to keep the macarons?” He shoved the small box of leftover confectionary into Flynn’s hands. Bad enough, from the slightly confused expression on Flynn’s face, but then apparently he had to keep talking. “My treat.”
Flynn looked down, and his eyebrows hitched up a skeptical inch.
“Thanks.” He sounded as dry as sand. “Appreciate it.”
Before Nate could think of anything else to say, Katie guided a tipsy Fiona out through the doors. They were both in giggling good humor. It was probably for the best. Nate wasn’t sure he could fumble the moment any more, but he didn’t want to test it.
“I’ll call you,” he said.
Flynn hefted the pink box at him. “I’ll be eating cake. Katie, I hope your wedding goes well.”
He turned and left. The huge, ugly Land Rover he drove was unmissable.
“That is one hot man,” Fiona said. She blinked when Katie squeaked out a mortified “Mum!” “What? I’m married. He’s gay. Doesn’t mean I’m blind, or that he’s not hot as hell.”
“Sorry,” Katie mouthed at Nate. Then she added aloud, “We should probably get back to the hotel. I want to try and call Bradley, let him know how things are going. He’s worried about whether his mum likes ‘all this fancy stuff.’”
“What does she like?” Fiona asked. “Not even champagne. Who doesn’t like free champagne?”
She followed the question up with a bout of the giggles that nearly knocked her and Katie over.
Nate gave a last rueful look after Flynn. With a sigh he abandoned the cake-box question and caught Fiona’s arm to prop her up.
“Let’s get you back to the hotel,” he said.
The storm broke halfway across the parking lot. The rain bounced off the tarmac and puddled in the dips and hollows. Even the last half-run steps it took to get to the car were enough to leave them drenched and sober up Fiona a bit.
“Oh,” she gasped with dramatic disappointment. “My cake got wet.”
Nate knew how she felt—more or less.
