The Best Man

by Natasha Anders

  “Hey.”

  “Hey,” he returned with an equally bland smile.

  “So I guess you closed up shop before I did?” Spencer’s sporting goods store—by far the biggest and most popular business in town—was across the road and just a few doors away from the boutique. It was always busy, even in the middle of winter, since people drove from miles around to shop there. She could see the store whenever she looked out the window. Something she had fought against doing today, especially since part of her knew she would only be looking outside in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Spencer.

  “I delegate,” he informed her succinctly. “No need to be there for the close of business.”

  “Nice to be the boss, I guess.”

  “I trust my people to get the job done.” He shrugged. He was wearing his usual uniform, a gray sweat suit with the logo of his store—SC Sporting Solutions—discreetly embroidered in red on the breast of the jacket. He wore the clothes with the ease of an athlete. He looked magnificent as he leaned back, one arm hooked around the back of his chair, massive thighs spread and broad chest pushed out like the dominant male he was.

  “How did you get home last night, Daff? Your car was still at the farm when we left,” Daisy asked suddenly, and Daff cast Spencer a circumspect look before replying.

  “I was blocked in. Spencer was on his way home and offered me a ride.” His eyebrows, those straight, dark masculine slashes above deep-set emerald eyes, rose almost to his hairline, but he didn’t negate her story.

  “Why’d you leave without saying goodbye, Spence?” Mason asked, and this time she watched him carefully for his response. He looked uncomfortable; his mouth—beautiful and bow shaped with just enough fullness in the lower lip to make it highly kissable—tightened for a second, emphasizing the deep, craggy grooves in his lean, tan cheeks.

  “You were busy,” he muttered. Spencer always muttered or growled or grunted. It fostered the perception that he was a big, dumb jock, but Daff was beginning to doubt her long-held belief about him. A few of their more recent interactions were making her really question everything she thought she knew about him. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Daisy dismissed. “We’re never too busy for you.”

  “Hold up,” Mason said, tugging at one of Daisy’s curls. “There will be many, many occasions when we’ll be far too busy for him.”

  Daisy blushed before elbowing Mason in the ribs.

  “You know what I mean, Spencer,” she said, ignoring Mason’s chuckle.

  “Thanks, honey,” he said with a grin, and the grooves in his cheeks turned into full-on dimples. The smile had a weird effect on Daff, and she touched a quick hand to her chest, not sure what to make of the suddenly off-kilter beat of her heart.

  Their beleaguered waitress eventually made her way to the table and everybody paused for a moment to place their orders, nobody bothering to check the menu they all knew by heart.

  “Thanks, Thandiwe.” Daisy smiled at the young waitress, who also happened to be an intern at the veterinary practice where Daisy partnered with their father.

  “So while you’re all here, Daisy and I have some news,” Mason said, toying with Daisy’s fingers. Daff’s eyes flew to her youngest sister’s face, and she was alarmed to note that Daisy looked . . . subdued. “After the wedding, we’ll be moving to Grahamstown while I complete my studies.”

  Mason would be studying architecture, they all knew that, but until he just spoke the words aloud, Daff hadn’t thought any of them had considered that the only way he could do so would be for him to leave Riversend.

  “We picked it because it’s closer than Cape Town, so we can still make the drive back to Riversend on some weekends and for the holidays.”

  “What about the practice?” Lia asked Daisy, her voice shaking slightly.

  “We considered me staying here and Mason commuting back every weekend, but in the end decided that we didn’t want to be apart for such long stretches at a time. I’ve spoken to Daddy about it, and he says he’ll hire someone to help out and when Mason and I return I’ll take over the practice.”

  “That sucks,” Daff said, more devastated by the news than she allowed them to see. She leveled an accusatory glare on Mason. “You just had to take her away from us, didn’t you, asshole?”

  “I’ll bring her back,” he said with a somber smile. “This is our home. We want to raise our kids here.”

  “The five years will fly by, and we’ll visit so often it’ll be like we’ve never left,” Daisy added.

  “Five years?” The dismay was evident in Lia’s voice, and her eyes shone with tears. She lowered her head quickly to hide them, but everybody had already seen them. Not that Daff blamed her—she felt like howling, too. She sneaked a peek at Spencer, but his face was downcast and unreadable. Only the slight tightening of his lips betrayed how he might be feeling, but other than that he was a closed book.

  “When will you move?” Daff asked.

  “Probably late January, so we’ll have time enough to get settled and find a place before the semester starts.”

  “That’s less than five months away,” Lia stated unnecessarily. “And you haven’t even set a date for the wedding yet.”

  “We thought the first Saturday in November,” Mason said, and Lia gasped.

  “Does our mom know? I can’t imagine she’s too thrilled about that!”

  “She’s not. But because it’s a backyard wedding, I’m not anticipating too much work,” Mason said, and all three women shot him identical incredulous looks, which he returned with a blank, confused stare.

  “What? What did I say?” Mason asked, and Spencer chuckled softly. The unfamiliar sound startled Daff into looking at him. His handsome, rugged face was alight with laughter as he grinned at his brother.

  “I’m thinking they don’t agree with you.”

  “But it won’t be a huge production like Lia’s wedding was,” he retorted. “No fancy hotels and gift bags and froufrou crap like that. I imagine it’ll be more like a braai or something . . . won’t it?” The last two words sounded uncertain when Daisy shot him a lethal glare.

  “Mason, our wedding isn’t going to be some common braai, where people show up in shorts and drink beers with their barbecued steaks!”

  “I mean, I know we’ll put a fancier spin on it, but . . .”

  “No! We’re hiring caterers for the three- to four-course dinner. There will be proper tableware and silverware, no paper plates, no paper napkins, and no plastic forks.” Daisy’s face was going an unbecoming shade of red and Daff, her earlier sadness shelved for the moment, sat back and enjoyed her youngest sister’s rare display of temper.

  “I’m sorry, angel. Of course it will be beautiful and romantic and everything you want it to be,” Mason asserted hastily, and Daff snorted. The guy was thoroughly whipped and it was glorious to see. Daisy’s bottom lip quivered ever so slightly and Mason swore beneath his breath before dropping an arm around her shoulders and dragging her close to whisper in her ear. He followed up whatever he said with a kiss to her neck, and a reluctant smile softened her lips.

  The show of intimacy made Daff uncomfortable and she shifted her eyes, only to meet Spencer’s hooded green gaze. He looked grim, and again she wondered how he felt about the news that Daisy and Mason would be leaving soon.

  She wasn’t sure how to break eye contact and was grateful when their food arrived to distract everyone. The rest of the conversation centered around wedding plans, and Mason wisely kept his mouth shut this time and offered input only when asked.

  “I’ll take you to the farm to pick up your car, Daff,” Lia offered between bites of her lasagna, and Daff smiled gratefully. She hadn’t exactly been relishing the thought of walking back to the farm in the cold. Spencer barely said a word as the meal continued, which was kind of unnerving when one considered how he had once seized every opportunity to talk to her in the past. His bumbling conversational attempts had
n’t been very sophisticated or remotely successful, but Daff was honest enough to admit to herself that she hadn’t made it very easy on him. Depending on her mood, she would half-heartedly encourage him or completely ignore him. It had taken him long enough to get fed up with her mixed signals, and part of her mourned the loss of his earnest attempts at conversation. Another—much smaller—part of her was happy he no longer seemed interested in her.

  She considered his strong, masculine profile again while he spoke with his brother, and she sighed. Yes, only the very smallest part of her was happy about the loss of his attention.

  He turned his head unexpectedly and nailed her again with his penetrating stare. Her throat went horribly dry at the latent heat she saw in that burning regard. Why had she never noticed that before? Never seen all that intensity beneath the formidable brow and the flop of shaggy hair? It made her knees feel so shaky she was happy to be sitting down.

  She broke eye contact and focused on her salad. She tensed when she felt him lean toward her. He smelled absolutely wonderful, and she bit back a moan as her awareness of him seemed to heighten even further.

  “You should eat real food. Meat, potatoes, corn. I don’t know what that is, but it wouldn’t even satisfy a rabbit.” Startled by his observation, Daff’s envious eyes fell to his sirloin steak and baked potato. A man-size meal for a formidably sized man.

  “Spoken like a guy who’s never had to worry about the size of his ass.”

  “Hmm,” he rumbled. “I do, however, worry about the size of yours. You continue to eat like this and the nice handful you have there will fade to nothing.”

  Her jaw dropped—that was so much more brazen than she was used to from him, and judging by the way his eyes shuttered, he immediately regretted his words.

  His body moved subtly so that he was practically leaning away from her, physically putting as much distance between them as he could without alerting anyone else around the table.

  “That was uncalled for,” he said, his voice pitched low. “I’m sorry.”

  “Uh . . .” Daff wasn’t sure how exactly to respond to his initial observation and subsequent apology and knew she should simply let it go. Accept the apology and pretend it had never happened.

  “I’m on a diet,” she confessed and then wondered at the admission as well as the complete lack of artifice in her voice. The prospect of dieting made her miserable, and her voice conveyed that very sentiment.

  “That’s bullshit,” he growled, his own voice surprisingly angry. “You’re perfect the way you are. What is it with women and this quest for imagined perfection when there’s nothing wrong with you in the first place?”

  His voice rose, and the rest of the table fell silent.

  “What’s going on?” Daisy asked warily, and Spencer gestured toward Daff.

  “Your sister’s on a diet.” Daff cringed when every eye turned to her, all expressions conveying various degrees of disbelief.

  “You are? Why?” Daisy asked, her eyes wide in surprise. “You’ve never dieted before.” Daff knew Daisy often lamented the fact that neither Lia nor Daff ever found it necessary to diet, while she constantly battled with her weight.

  “I just . . .” Daff shrugged uncomfortably. “I think it’s best to maintain a healthy lifestyle. It’s a lot harder to keep the weight off after thirty—best not to let it creep up on me.”

  “Let what creep up on you?” Lia asked blankly. “You still fit into your high school uniform. Your weight has remained constant since your late teens.”

  “Does this have anything to do with the stuff the aunties were saying last night?” Daisy asked, and Daff laughed.

  “They’ve had a lot to say over the years and I haven’t let it bother me yet,” she dismissed and refused to meet their skeptical eyes, digging into her horrible Caesar salad without dressing—eww—with pretend relish.

  “But you were eating those canapés last night,” Lia reminded her, her sweet face screwed up in confusion.

  “I started the diet this morning,” Daff informed her around a mouthful of lettuce. “Look, can we stop talking about this? I’m not the first woman in the world to eat a salad, for God’s sake.”

  “But . . .” Daisy began, but her voice trailed off when Mason’s hand dropped over hers and gave it a quelling squeeze, obvious to everyone at the table. Daisy bit her lip and focused her frown on her glass of wine instead.

  Happy that the subject had been dropped, Daff crunched another mouthful of crisp, bland, water-flavored lettuce and tried her best to look like she was enjoying it.

  “So last night’s party was—”

  “Wait, that’s it? No well-meaning intervention for your clearly delusional sister?” Spencer’s incredulous voice spoke over Lia’s, and Daff bit her lip before leveling a glare at him.

  “Back off, Carlisle, this is none of your business,” she gritted, and he met her glare unflinchingly.

  “You’re hating every bite of that salad,” he stated, so much arrogant masculine certainty in his voice.

  “Still none of your business,” she reminded him, and he shook his head, looking genuinely pissed off. She had no idea why he was so offended by her salad. His reaction seemed unnecessarily extreme. She speared a slice of cucumber with her fork, bloodthirstily wishing it was his thickly muscled thigh. Like she needed his stupid opinion. Like she didn’t have enough people telling her what she should be, how she should look, talk, act, and feel. She didn’t need another voice to add into the crazy mix.

  Daisy eyed Spencer and Daff apprehensively.

  “This isn’t going to be a problem, is it?” she asked bluntly, and both Daff and Spencer blinked at her in confusion until she elaborated. “The best man/maid of honor thing? I won’t have to be refereeing you guys at every turn, will I? Because that would be exhausting.”

  “They’re both adults, Daisy,” Mason said with an affable smile, while his cold eyes promised instant retribution to the next person who upset his fiancée. Whoa. It was the first glimpse Daff had had of lethal Special Ops Mason, and she gulped a bit. “I’m sure they’ll be able to work through their differences.” The silent or else tacked on to the end of that sentence was clear as a bell.

  “No problem here,” Spencer said with an easy shrug, his unfathomable scrutiny raking over Daff with frigid indifference. And she struggled to achieve a similar expression on her face.

  “Yeah, none whatsoever.” Daff hoped her smile looked sincere, even though it felt unnatural. She ducked her head and went back to her salad, signaling an end to the discussion. The rest went back to discussing the previous night’s party, while both Spencer and Daff remained silent.

  Daff continued to poke at her salad, not even pretending to eat it now, and when she caught Spencer’s critical gaze on her again, she exhaled sharply and, heartily fed up with his judgmental crap, excused herself before escaping to the bathroom.

  It was a unisex bathroom, nothing fancy, just a single room with four stalls. And it was blessedly empty now that the lunchtime crowd was thinning. She rinsed her face with cool water and swore softly when she reached for the paper towel dispenser, only to find it empty.

  “Typical,” she muttered beneath her breath before slamming into one of the cubicles and dragging some toilet paper off the roll. It was the horribly cheap, soft paper that broke when you so much as folded it. She crumpled a handful and dabbed her face with it, cringing when she felt bits sticking to her damp skin.

  The door opened, letting in the noise from the restaurant, and light footsteps came all the way to her cubicle. Daff looked up, a resigned sigh escaping when she saw Lia leaning against the cubicle door, arms folded over her chest.

  “So, seriously, what’s up with you and Spencer?” Lia asked without preamble, and Daff sucked in an irritated breath.

  “Absolutely nothing. You know Spencer and I have been amicable enemies for years now.”

  “I know no such thing.” Daff was so focused on her sister that she only diml
y registered the noise level increasing when the restroom door opened again. “You never seemed to actively dislike the guy, and he definitely didn’t dislike you. Whatever is going on now seems different.”

  “It’s not. I’m just not used to seeing so much of him. He’s better in small doses, right?”

  “Spencer’s a nice guy.”

  “He’s okay. Just not very interesting. I mean, the guy is good-looking, if you go for the big, hulking types, but that’s about it. He has the personality of a mushroom. Bland, boring, insipid. And yes, I know those words all mean the same thing, but, I mean, can you say boring? How can so much hotness house so much blahness?” Daff felt nasty saying the words, but it was better than letting on how she really felt. Or how uncomfortable she felt around him lately and how much she wished she had cultivated a different relationship with him. One that didn’t make her always seem like a rampant bitch. She hadn’t been kind or fair to Spencer Carlisle, she knew that, and the childish interactions of her youth had somehow bled into her adult relationship with him. Well, if it could be called a relationship.

  She was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she barely noticed Lia’s gasp and horrified step back. It was only when Lia swore—something the younger woman never, ever did—that she tuned back in to the present and to the unpleasant reality that Spencer Carlisle was standing behind Lia. He was glaring down at Daff with an expression on his face that was shocked, pissed off, and hurt all at the same time. It was the latter—quickly disguised—that hit her right in the gut, and she lifted a shaking hand to her mouth as she tried to formulate the apology that he deserved.

  She didn’t get so much as a squeak out before his lips compressed and he swiveled on his heel to leave the restroom.

  “Shit,” Daff whispered, and Lia was staring at her with eyes so huge they practically swallowed her face.