The Best Man

by Natasha Anders

  “How could you say all those terrible things about him?” she asked, her voice shaking.

  “Look there’s no need for you to get all uptight about it, okay? I’ll apologize to him and fix it. He’s a guy, he’s probably shrugged it off already. Water off a duck’s back and all that.”

  Lia didn’t look very convinced, and, truthfully, Daff felt like a complete jerk, but for God’s sake, why the hell did he feel the need to eavesdrop on them in the first place? Didn’t he know that eavesdroppers never heard good things about themselves? Okay, so maybe he’d been coming to use the bathroom, but couldn’t he have waited until they had returned to the table? He knew it was a unisex bathroom; it was super awkward—and a little creepy—to come in while she and Lia were using it.

  She scrubbed her hands over her face and winced when she felt damp bits of toilet paper rolling beneath her palms. She wiped her cheeks on her shoulders, hoping she got most of the paper off, and gestured for Lia to follow her.

  When they rejoined the table, everything seemed normal. Spencer and Mason both got to their feet and held out Lia’s and Daff’s chairs. It was something she had found corny about them in high school. They had always done cringey stuff like that. Held doors, helped girls into their coats . . . smarmy, nerdy stuff that seemed to come straight out of old movies. Like they had learned their manners and mannerisms from old-school, long-dead actors in musicals. Recently, watching Mason’s interactions with Daisy, Daff had started to find it charming and sweet. And with the insight that she had lacked as a teenager, she wondered if indeed the brothers hadn’t learned their old-world chivalry from movies. They’d certainly had no other role models around to teach them.

  Once they were all seated again, she lifted her eyes to Spencer’s face, but his expression was carefully neutral and he kept his eyes averted. He didn’t seem particularly disturbed by anything she had said earlier, and she wondered if maybe she had imagined the hurt she’d seen in his eyes.

  Lia was completely unsettled and upset and kept trying to do things for Spencer. When he reached for a napkin, she grabbed it before he could and handed it to him; if he wanted salt, she passed it to him before he could fully formulate the question. She still looked on the verge of tears, and when she took the saltshaker from him before he could place it on the table, he smiled and took her shaking hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss.

  He leaned over and whispered something into her ear, and whatever he said seemed to release Lia’s tension. She practically melted and favored him with a lovely smile, which he returned warmly.

  He released her hand before glancing around the table and then levering his bulk out of the chair with more grace than such a big man should ever possess.

  “I’m off. Got plans.” Concise. The man didn’t believe in wasting words.

  “Yeah? Do I know her?” Mason grinned and Spencer slanted him an unfathomable look.

  “I’ll talk with you tomorrow. This should cover my bill,” he said without inflection, dropping some money on the table before nodding at the rest of the group in general. He left without any further comment.

  “Okay, what’s up with him?” Daisy asked Mason as soon as Spencer was out of earshot. Mason was staring at his brother’s retreating back with a slight frown on his face.

  “Not sure. He’s been a bit distant recently.”

  “How do you think he took the news about us moving?” Daisy asked, and Mason shook his head.

  “Not good.”

  “How can you tell? The man’s expression barely changed,” Daff said, and Mason looked at her with speculatively raised brows.

  “Watching closely, were you?”

  “I’m just observant,” Daff muttered defensively, and Mason snorted.

  “Not observant enough. His body language immediately changed. He shut himself in. He does that when he’s trying to shield his emotions—he battens down the hatches, so to speak. I think he feels . . . left out. Lonely, maybe.”

  He looked disturbed by the notion, and Daisy leaned in to him and lifted a hand to his cheek.

  “We’ll talk to him. Make sure he knows he’s important and welcome and included.” Mason lifted his hand to cover hers and turned his head to plant a kiss in her palm. Daff peered over at Lia and found her sister staring at Daisy and Mason with a kind of wistful envy on her face. Daff sighed; Lia really needed to get over this whole marriage and happily ever after thing. It helped to lower one’s expectations. Daisy was lucky and the exception. That kind of lightning-bolt, romantic shit didn’t happen every day.

  “Lia, you ready to go?” Her question startled Lia out of her dreamy funk, and she stared at Daff blankly.

  “What?”

  “I need to get home,” Daff said. “Got some housecleaning to do.”

  “Ah, your semiannual cleaning spree?” Daisy teased her. Daff was the slob of the three sisters and the victim of many hours of ribbing because of it.

  “You’re going to need a shovel and a wheelbarrow,” Lia said. “Should I ask Daddy to drop them off for you?”

  Mason was laughing his ass off by now, and Daff glared at the three of them.

  “Why don’t you just hire someone to do your cleaning?” Mason asked between chuckles.

  “I can do my own cleaning,” Daff grated, a little fed up with this by now.

  “No, you can’t,” Daisy said, shaking her head. “Mason is right; you should get some help. It’s really nice to see the floor and be able to find your shoes—”

  “Or your feet, for that matter,” Lia interrupted her.

  “Jesus, it’s not that bad,” Daff growled, embarrassed. “You make me sound like one of those hoarders.”

  “If the shoe fits,” Daisy said.

  “She wouldn’t know if it fits, she can’t find it beneath the rubble,” Lia retorted, and the other three screamed with laughter.

  “Oh, for God’s sake. Lia, are you taking me to my car or should I walk?”

  Lia wiped her eyes, her shoulders still heaving with her silent chuckles.

  “Yes, okay. Get your panties out of that twist.”

  “This is what happens when she doesn’t eat. She gets mean and feral,” Daisy observed, and Daff glared at her.

  “Watch it, Deedee,” she warned. “I know where you keep your girl porn.”

  Mason sat up, immediately on high alert.

  “Her what?” he asked eagerly.

  “Nothing. Ignore her, hunger has made her delusional,” Daisy said, and Daff smirked, knowing that her sister’s fiancé would keep hounding Daisy until he found out exactly what Daff had meant by that comment. It wasn’t exactly porn, just a small stash of erotica that Daisy had been meaning to give away for years. She was too embarrassed to donate the books to the local library or clinic, because everybody would know it was from her. Daff had once suggested Daisy make anonymous donations, and her sister had confessed that she still had the childish habit of writing “this book belongs to Daisy McGregor” on the inside cover of every book she bought. Now Daisy’s eyes promised painful retribution as Mason immediately leaned toward her and started badgering her.

  “What girl porn, Daisy? C’mon, I know you’re keeping something from me.”

  “I don’t know what she’s talking about,” Daisy maintained, not meeting his eyes.

  “Aw, angel, why you gotta be like this? If you have girlie porn, maybe we could have a read through together, see if there’s anything interesting to try.” Daisy’s chest hitched and her breathing increased as she lifted her eyes to meet his. The expression in them was shockingly sultry.

  “You’re not exactly lacking in imagination,” Daisy said, a husky note entering her voice.

  “Okay.” Daff surged to her feet and added a couple of bills to the money Spencer had left in the middle of the table. “I’m out of here. Coming, Lia?”

  “Oh my God, yes, please.” Lia was on her feet in seconds, tossing her own money onto the growing pile, while Daff threw a disgusted look at the c
ouple who barely seemed aware of their surroundings anymore.

  “Ugh, sometimes you guys are a bit much,” Daff complained, and Lia made a strangled sound of agreement. They left the overly affectionate couple who acknowledged their departure with half-hearted waves before going back to their intimate whispering.

  “Thanks, Lia,” Daff said after Lia parked beside her tiny hatchback VW at the farmhouse.

  “You coming in to say hi?” her sister asked, unbuckling her seat belt.

  “Nah, I just want to get home,” Daff responded, reaching for the door handle. Truth be told, she needed to figure out what she was going to do about the Spencer thing. Until she apologized to him, she wouldn’t feel right. She had said some truly awful and unfair things and now felt like the bitch everybody already thought she was.

  “What did he say to you?” Daff asked, pausing with her fingers wrapped around the handle, and Lia frowned in confusion.

  “What?”

  “Spencer,” Daff clarified. “You were all eaten up with guilt about our conversation earlier until he whispered something in your ear. So what did he say?”

  “Oh.” Lia hesitated, as if contemplating whether to divulge the information. “He said words don’t hurt, only actions do, and then he said that my actions have only ever shown me to be a kind and caring person.”

  “He really said that?”

  “Yes? Why? Surprised that a bland, insipid, boring guy like Spencer Carlisle would have insightful gems like that to offer?” Ouch! Turned out words did hurt, especially when they were thorny zingers laid on you by the sweetest person on earth.

  “He’s full of shit,” Daff dismissed, and Lia surprised her by nodding.

  “He is. Because words do hurt. You said terrible things and they hurt him, but he was sweet enough, kind enough to let me know that he didn’t hold me accountable for your words. So I will do him the courtesy of pretending that he meant what he said. In order to preserve his dignity and pride.”

  Daff chewed on her lower lip, feeling justifiably put in her place.

  “He wasn’t meant to hear what I said.”

  “And yet he did.”

  “Yes.”

  Lia sighed. “Let me know if you need help with the cleanup.”

  Somehow Daff didn’t think she meant the cleanup of the house, and that made her feel small and petty. Despite clearly being pissed off with her, Lia was still offering her moral support. Something Daff definitely didn’t deserve.

  “I feel like crap, okay?” she admitted, and Lia leaned over to give her a one-armed hug.

  “I know.”

  Daff sighed heavily. “I’ll sort it out.”

  “I know.”

  Damn it. Her sister’s unwavering faith killed Daff. That was a hell of a lot to live up to.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Bland!

  Thwack.

  Insipid!

  Thwack.

  Boring!

  Thwack! Thwack! Thwa—

  “Fuck! Balls! Shit!” Spencer swore when his ax lodged in the fallen tree he’d been attempting to split for firewood. It wasn’t his favorite chore and he’d been delaying the job for days, but he needed to get the anger out of his system and could think of no better outlet than violent physical activity. It was this or beat the shit out of the punching bag in the makeshift gym that doubled as his home office. He had chosen this option because at least it yielded positive results from released negative energy.

  Well, that was the idea, anyway. He glared at his stuck ax and swore again, wiping his forearm across his forehead to prevent the sweat beading there from dripping into his eyes. He tugged at the ax before releasing his breath on yet another curse word. He wasn’t getting the damned thing unstuck anytime soon. He’d need a chain saw or something to dislodge it.

  God. Sometimes she pissed him off.

  She made him feel capable of conquering mountains one day and smaller than a bug the next. It was very fucking unhealthy, and he knew it. But today . . . to hear those words from her. The wake-up call had been a long time coming, but it was welcome nonetheless. Just what he needed to get her out of his head once and for all. He didn’t know how someone with such a rancid personality could have come from such a perfectly lovely family. It was baffling, really. And she was one to comment on his character, when hers was as grating as nails on a chalkboard.

  Frustrated, he lifted his arms and linked his fingers behind his head as he glowered blindly at the wind-felled tree. Why did he always let her get to him? Daffodil McGregor had been treating him like a second-class citizen since . . . well, since forever, really, and he was done with her. She was unreasonable and a little unhinged and it would be better if—after this wedding—he stayed as far away from her as humanly possible.

  On the upside, at least her obnoxiousness had taken his mind off the fact that his brother was leaving again. The news, while unsurprising, had shaken him more than he cared to admit. After Mason and Daisy left, he’d be alone once more. He had some friends, sure, cultivated relationships with the occasional woman, but he never felt like he was truly a part of something. For a while, when he was dating Tanya, he’d felt like he finally belonged somewhere and with someone. Only to find her sandwiched between two guys in his bed one day. She’d had the nerve to smile when she spotted him in the doorway. Smile and invite him to join them.

  He’d tossed them all out on their naked asses and then he’d burned the bed.

  He’d loved that fucking bed.

  Awesome. Now he was remembering Tanya spit-roasted between two guys. Not pretty, and yet the memory didn’t sting half as much as the recollection of Daffodil McGregor saying he had the personality of a mushroom. A mushroom, for fuck’s sake!

  He growled. He actually growled like a wild animal, shocking himself in the process. He threw a longing stare at his ax before wearily making his way to his home gym.

  It looked like the punching bag was going to get that workout after all.

  The following night, Daff glared at her phone screen in frustration. There they were, in stark black and white. Two words. Sincere and yet completely inadequate.

  I’m sorry.

  She couldn’t send it to him. She wanted to. She so desperately wanted to send it and then be able to tell Lia in all honesty that she had apologized, but she knew that it was a cop-out and she also knew that Spencer deserved more. It had already taken her more than twenty-four hours to get to this point. She had spent the rest of Saturday and all of Sunday cleaning and telling herself to get busy apologizing to the man. Yet she still hadn’t plucked up the courage to do anything more than stare at the two simple words on a phone screen.

  She hit “Delete” and watched the words disappear from her screen. One tiny letter at a time. She scrolled through her contacts until she found his name, and her thumb hovered over the “Call” button for a very long time. She should go to his store tomorrow, apologize in person. But if she called first, paved the way, so to speak, it might be easier than just going in cold. She could start laying the groundwork now. It would be better if she didn’t have to look at him when she did it.

  But it was just as much of a cop-out as a text message. No . . . it was better than a text message. He would be able to hear the sincerity in her voice and know that she meant it.

  She hit “Call” before she could talk herself out of it and put the phone on speaker. Somehow, lifting it to her ear and hearing his voice so intimately close felt too personal. Especially when she was in bed, wearing nothing but panties and a tank top.

  The phone rang, twice . . . three times . . .

  This was a terrible idea. She was about to cancel the call when his voice rang out in the dark silence of her room. He sounded groggy, angry, unutterably sexy . . . and like he was right there in bed with her. The rogue thought made her uncomfortable, and she immediately regretted making this call from her bedroom.

  “Daff? It’s twelve thirty. Why are you calling so late? Are you okay? Mason? Daisy?�
� Okay, she couldn’t lie to herself—she found it sweet as hell that he was immediately concerned for her well-being.

  “Daff?” he prompted, irritation and fear mounting in his voice when she didn’t respond straightaway.

  “I didn’t know it was so late,” she admitted. It was the truth—she’d been stressing about this matter all evening, and the time got away from her. The silence stretched between them, taut, uncomfortable, and incredibly awkward. Daff wasn’t sure how to break it. She heard the faint rustling of crisp, clean bedsheets as he shifted.

  “It couldn’t wait till morning?” he finally asked, and she was relieved that he had spoken and not merely hung up on her.

  “I—I had to apologize.” Even though it was something she wanted and needed to do, the words still had the consistency of sawdust in her mouth.

  “Had to, huh?” He sounded speculative, and she heard the bedsheets rustling again. Was he sitting up? What was he wearing? Was he bare chested? Had the covers just slid down his chest to pool in his lap? Was he more than bare chested? Did he sleep naked?

  The distracting thoughts made her groan, and she pinched the bridge of her nose to get herself back on track.

  “I said some pretty nasty things,” she admitted, and he grunted. It sounded like agreement. “I should apologize for them.”

  “You should,” he agreed amicably and then felled her with a zinger. “But do you want to?”

  Her answer didn’t take much thought. “Yes. I want to.” She was surprised to find that she meant it.

  “You mean you don’t think I’m . . . what was it? Bland, boring, and insipid?”

  “I mean, I barely know you,” she prevaricated, and that prompted another grunt from him. She couldn’t quite interpret this one. “So I can’t be the best judge of what you actually are.”

  “As apologies go, this one is pretty shitty,” he said, stifling a yawn.

  “I’m trying, okay?” she snapped. Then immediately regretted the slight lapse in temper.

  “If I have the personality of a mushroom, you have the disposition of a wasp—skinny, sometimes good to look at, with a propensity to go on the attack with little to no provocation.”