Chapter Twenty-Three
“You know, your problem is you’re too picky. Maybe if you’d settle for what you can get, you’d be happier.”
ONCE AROUNDthe tree the fox chased the rabbit.
Nate pulled a face at his reflection in the mirror on the back of the door. Nearly forty, and every time he had to put on a tie, he heard the rhyme his mother used when she helped him put on his school uniform for the first time. He finished the knot and smoothed the tongue down over his chest.
It was his event suit. Professionally unremarkable, except for the shoes of course. Nate glanced down at his black rubber toes and let Flynn into his head. The dry humor and oddly easy laugh. He’d thought a lot about Flynn Delaney over the years—mostly over the first twenty-five or so—and he got some things right.
Hedidprefer to top. He cuddled after. That ass was ridiculously good.
But he’d never imagined Flynn having a low, easygoing laugh or that he’d be so earnestly open about who he was.
With a twist of misery in his gut, he wondered what the hell had happened between the steamy intimacy of the morning shower and the prickly anger of the rehearsal dinner. It didn’t make any sense, and he didn’t have time to puzzle it out.
Nate swallowed the lump in his throat and leaned in toward the mirror. He pulled his hair back from his forehead with one hand and frowned at his temples. Did they go back further than last week? Could he see more skin through the hair? It was an old paranoia—he’d been gray as a teenager and petrified he’d go bald in his twenties—and a fairly good distraction.
He still felt miserable, but it had sunk to the bottom of his brain. Under his vanity, the to-do list for the day, and the fact that he hadn’t had coffee yet. By the time it worked its way back up to the top of his priorities, the wedding would be over. He could, with a clear conscience, hole up on the sofa, put on something gory, and debate whether it was too pathetic to let his recuperating mother make him s’mores.
It was, but he was tempted.
Nate let his hair fall back into place, buttoned his jacket, and went downstairs. “Who was that at the door?” He ducked around Max in the kitchen and grabbed a mug from the draining board. The coffee was already brewed and black in the coffee maker, and he poured himself a generous measure. “I was in the shower or I’d have gotten it.”
“Nobody,” Max said. He shrugged when Nate gave him a skeptical look. “Just the postman. He wanted you to take a package for next door.”
“You didn’t take it, did you?” Nate asked. He dumped an unhealthy amount of sugar in his cup and avoided looking directly at his mother’s disapproving face as he leaned back against the counter. “Last time she called the police on me because I’d been working late and hadn’t a chance to drop it off.”
Max smirked at him. “You know me and responsibility. They’ll try again tomorrow.”
He sat down at the table and added a handful of dried figs to the steel-cut oat porridge and a dipper of weird red honey to his tea.
On the other side of the table, Ally put her toast down and gave Nate a concerned look. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” she asked.
“I will be,” Nate said. It wasn’t as though there were any other option. He slid around the table and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “How are you?”
She flapped her hand. “Fine. I’m fine,” she said. “Don’t worry about me. I know you liked him.”
“We don’t know why,” Max said. His spoon rattled against the bowl as he stirred the figs in. He shoved a spoonful in his mouth and talked around it. “But we know you liked him.”
“Go to hell,” Nate said.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Ally chided at the same time. She picked up a napkin and tossed it across the table. “Wipe your mouth. Your lip’s bleeding. I can’t believe Flynn just attacked you like that. He seemed like such a nice young man.”
Max snorted around the wadded-up napkin pressed to his lip. “Young? Do you need glasses now too, Ally?”
“Don’t be cheeky.”
Max snorted but subsided. He took the napkin off his lip and checked for blood.
“It’s not as though Max didn’t start it,” Nate said. He shrugged at Max’s offended look. “Nobody asked you to get involved, Max.”
“I was standing up for you,” Max muttered. “You don’t know what he’s really like. What he’s really after.”
“If what he’s really after is supposed to be you, I’ll pour my coffee over you,” Nate said. He leaned over the table and stole the bowl of oatmeal from in front of Max. “Go get dressed. I need to check that the hall is ready for the reception before I go up to the folly, so I’ll give you a lift.”
Max looked grouchy, but he drained his tea and got up from the table. “Trust me. Him dumping you is the best thing that could have happened. Give it a couple of weeks, and you’ll see that too.”
He stretched, and his shoulder joints popped loudly as he padded into the hall. Nate scowled after him and tossed the bowl in the sink. Oatmeal splattered the stainless steel.
