The Best Man

by Natasha Anders

  “I figured. But you can’t cancel.”

  “I know. I wouldn’t.” Of course he wouldn’t. He took his commitments seriously, and he would never disappoint the girl. Even if she probably wasn’t really keen on the idea of spending the day with them.

  “What’s the time?” he asked while hastily gulping down his coffee.

  “Eight thirty, no rush. Enjoy your breakfast.” He ignored her words and continued to gobble down his breakfast, occasionally buttering a piece of toast and hand-feeding it to her when she ate too little and too slowly for his liking. Daff rolled her eyes but accepted the offerings.

  “I said there was no rush, Spencer,” she said when he’d polished off the meal in record time.

  “Hmm.” He wiped an arm across his mouth, moved the tray aside, and then focused a predatory look on her. “Rush through breakfast, take my time through dessert.”

  “Oh.”

  In the end they wound up rushing anyway. After a lengthy and satisfying morning session, they broke all speed records to get showered and changed before dashing over to the McGregor farm in Spencer’s truck.

  They had just parked in front of the farm when Daff glanced over at Spencer and gave a horrified shriek. He jolted and shot her an alarmed look.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Oh my God! Your neck.”

  “What? Is it a spider?” He sounded so panicked that for a moment she forgot her own horror and stared at him in fascination.

  No way.

  “Are you afraid of spiders? Is big, bad Spencer Carlisle terrified of a teensy, weensy wittle spider-wider?”

  “Is it a spider, Daff?” he asked urgently, starting to dust at his clothes and his hair. He looked completely freaked out. She clapped a hand over her mouth, trying her best not to laugh, and he glared at her before hopping out of the truck and doing the spider dance, all flapping arms and flailing legs.

  Daff was hosing herself with laughter. She practically fell out of the truck and rounded the front of it to watch him flail around. It was too much. This massive specimen of man afraid of a tiny bug. It was absolutely adorable.

  “Did I get it?” he asked after he stopped flapping around, both his hair and eyes completely wild.

  “Th-there wasn’t one.” She forced the words out between the gales of helpless laughter. “N-no spider, Spenc . . .”

  “What the fuck, Daff? Why did you say there was?”

  “I—I didn’t . . . it’s the . . . you have . . .” She was bent over, hands braced on her knees as she tried to compose herself. This was serious. He couldn’t talk to her mother looking like that. But she just couldn’t stop laughing. “Hi-hi-hickey. Neck!”

  She lifted a hand to point, and he clapped his palm over his neck, somehow looking even more horrified than he had just moments ago. It set Daff off again, and they were both unaware of the group of people on the porch now watching them in bemusement.

  “So what’s going on, guys?” It was Mason. Why the hell was Mason here? Daff looked up to see her entire family on the porch, watching her and Spencer. Her mother had a small smile on her face while everybody else just looked befuddled.

  “Uh . . .” Daff pointed at Spencer. “Spencer’s afraid of spiders.”

  “Yeah. He’s a regular wimp with creepy-crawlies, made me get rid of them when we were growing up. When we got older, I used to charge him for the service. Take note, kid.” This last as an aside to Charlie, who had her best rebellious teen face on.

  Spencer, still clutching a hand to his neck, was staring back at everybody silently. He looked confused, trapped, and so unutterably defenseless that it just about broke Daff’s heart.

  She straightened and walked over to where he stood, always completely separate from everybody else, and stepped into his little bubble of isolation, taking his free hand into hers.

  “Wrong side of your neck, big guy,” she informed him beneath her breath, and his eyes dropped to hers. He looked so achingly vulnerable, and she smiled up at him.

  “Just this,” she said. “Spencer and Daff.”

  She clutched his big hand between both of hers, and he lowered his hand from his neck as he lifted his head to face her entire family and his.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Why are you guys here so early?” Daff asked Mason as she approached the wide-eyed group. Spencer hesitated for a brief moment but followed before she had to tug him along behind her.

  “Daisy and I were dropping Charlie off. She stayed over at ours last night.”

  Of course she did. And she’d probably had an awesome time, and now, with that fresh in her mind, she’d have to spend a day in Spencer’s mediocre company. He felt like an ass for resenting his brother a little for that. And for resenting Charlie for so easily creeping into Mason’s affections. He was jealous of the sibling relationship he saw blooming right in front of his eyes and pained by the one that he seemed to be losing with Mason, as well as the one that he couldn’t get off the ground with Charlie.

  Daff’s hand tightened around his, and he was once again grateful for her support. It still blew his mind that she’d taken his hand so damned easily, right in front of her family and everybody. Like she was claiming him, like she was proud for the family to know about them. He knew he shouldn’t read too much into it. It wasn’t permanent. Her feelings for him were nowhere near as intense as his were for her, but still this gesture felt . . . significant. And for the first time, he felt like he was wanted and belonged.

  “Come on, kid. Time’s a-wasting, and we have shitloads to do today.”

  “Daff.”

  “Sorry, Mum,” she said cheerfully. “Craploads. We have craploads to do.”

  Charlie reluctantly peeled herself away from the group. She already looked like she belonged with them, and Spencer felt that pang of envy again. It wasn’t an admirable trait, and he felt like a shallow asshole. He should be happy that she was fitting in.

  Charlie skulked past him and Daff and clambered into the truck.

  “See you guys later,” Daff chirped. Spencer lifted a hand in farewell, and Daff only released his hand when it was time for her to get back in the truck.

  The first five minutes of the drive was silent, and Daff reached over to put on some music while Spencer stretched his mind for something to say to Charlie. He felt like an idiot around this child. He could never seem to find the right words. Maybe because it meant so much to him.

  “Eww!” Charlie exclaimed after a few minutes, finally breaking the increasingly awkward silence. “You have a love bite.”

  Shit! Spencer sighed in exasperation. Of course that would be the first thing she remarked on.

  “Who did that? Did you do that?” she demanded of Daff.

  “Of course I did,” Daff shocked him by admitting. She turned in her seat to grin at Charlie. “It’s an awesome one, isn’t it? I’m quite proud of it.”

  “Oh eeeewww.” The girl’s disgust was actually quite comical, and for the first time she struck Spencer as a normal teen. It relaxed him somewhat. “Stop talking about it.”

  “You brought it up,” Daff said with a shrug. “So what did you do at Daisy and Mason’s last night?”

  “Watched movies and stuff. It was okay.”

  “Yeah? I love my sister, but she talks about the wedding a lot.” Spencer checked the rearview mirror to gauge the girl’s reaction, and she bit her lip uncertainly. Obviously not wanting to betray Daisy. “Right?”

  “Daisy’s nice,” Charlie finally said, and Daff nodded.

  “I know. So nice. Too nice. God, she was such a Goody Two-shoes growing up. Lia was worse. But Daisy was clever, too. Always with her nose in a book, which is awesome and all, but it made Lia and me look bad. And Daisy never knew about makeup and stuff.” Spencer slanted Daff a curious look, wondering where she was going with this.

  “Do you know about makeup . . . and stuff?” Charlie asked after a beat.

  “Of course I do,” Daff said nonchalantly. “I could g
ive you some makeup tips if you like.”

  “She’s a little young, Daff,” Spencer said, and she threw him a look of exaggerated, openmouthed shock.

  “A woman is never too young to learn about makeup, Spencer,” she admonished, wagging a finger in his face, and Spencer bit back his response when Charlie giggled at her words. The sound was so sweet, carefree, and innocent that it took the wind clear out of his sails.

  “Sorry, ladies. I stand corrected,” he said meekly. When he sneaked another peek at Charlie, he was rewarded by the look of astonishment on her face. Daff reached over and squeezed his thigh in approval.

  “Anyway, how can you handle all the lovey-dovey stuff over at Daisy and Mason’s?”

  “They kiss a lot,” Charlie admitted, sounding faintly disgusted. “Nobody needs to see that from old people.”

  “Tell me about it.” Daff groaned. “Fair warning though, kid. It won’t be as often, or as gross, but you’ll see me kiss your big brother a bit today, too.”

  “Ugh, no. What’s wrong with all of you?” she squeaked, and Spencer hid a grin. He was so damned thrilled that she hadn’t protested his title of “big brother.” Daff had slipped it into the conversation so insouciantly that Charlie had just accepted it, instead focusing on the grosser revelations in the sentence. His hand dropped to where hers still rested on his thigh and he squeezed her fingers gratefully.

  “It feels good to kiss,” Daff said. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  “No, she won’t,” Spencer snapped, and Daff rolled her eyes. “No kissing, Charlie. Not until you’re thirty-five.”

  “Jeez. Big brothers. Your poor boyfriends are going to have a hard time getting past Spencer and Mason.”

  “Daff, stop corrupting my sister—” The word slipped out without thought and caught all of them unaware. Daff’s lips curled into a smile and Charlie, quite shockingly, said nothing in protest to his claim. He met her eyes in the rearview mirror, where she was eyeing him speculatively, as if she couldn’t make up her mind about something.

  “I like Cooper and Peaches,” Charlie said, unexpectedly changing the subject, her eyes narrowing as they held his.

  “Is that right?” Spencer asked, and she nodded, her eyes challenging. He grinned and she blinked, looking completely thrown by his reaction. “You know Mason and Daisy are taking the dogs to Grahamstown with them, right?”

  “I know.”

  “Guess I’ll have to get you a dog of your own,” he said nonchalantly and released her eyes to focus his attention back on the road.

  She said nothing in response to that, but Spencer felt lighter and happier than he had during any previous interaction with Charlie. His hand clung to Daff’s for the rest of the fifty-minute drive to Mossel Bay.

  The morning was pretty pleasant. Spencer let Daff and Charlie chatter on. The teen was recalcitrant at first, selfishly hogging her words, and he really couldn’t blame her. Not when he often did the same thing, especially around strangers. They leisurely explored the small coastal town for about forty minutes before Daff dragged Charlie off for some shopping—no boys allowed—and left Spencer to wander around on his own for a while.

  He stopped in front of a small, upmarket jewelry store and scanned the window display for the longest time before venturing in for a closer look at the wares. Maybe a small gift for Daff? He wasn’t even sure if she was into jewelry. Although she always seemed to be wearing necklaces and stuff, he wasn’t certain how she would receive a gift such as this, but he couldn’t resist. He imagined her in sapphires—they would look amazing on her skin and bring out the blue notes in her gray eyes. Or maybe rubies, to match her gorgeous, velvety soft lips. She wouldn’t go for diamonds, not his colorful Daff.

  He inspected the bracelets and necklaces, the earrings and the charms, and in the end, not sure how it happened, walked out with a ring. A rose-gold ring with a pear-cut peach sapphire. It had a warm vibrancy to it that reminded him of Daff.

  And there was no fooling himself—it was an engagement ring. An engagement ring for a woman who wanted no strings and who would probably run screaming for the hills if he so much as hinted at marriage.

  Spencer was fucked and he knew it.

  Spencer seemed tense during lunch. He could barely meet her eyes, and Daff wondered if Mason or Daisy had contacted him while she and Charlie had gone to do their “lady shopping.” It wouldn’t surprise her, since she’d received a WTF text from Daisy about half an hour earlier. Daff hadn’t responded, fed up with having to explain herself to them. They would have to trust that she and Spencer were adult enough not to drag the family into a divisive brawl after this thing between them ended.

  Spencer watched Charlie dig into her burger, his eyes protective, a small—almost proud—smile on his face.

  “Why are you staring at me like that?” the girl snapped irritably, more observant than Daff had assumed. Spencer looked startled to have been caught staring but recovered quickly.

  “Tell me about your home life with Malcolm. After your mother died,” he invited her, and Charlie’s brow lowered, looking so much like Spencer in that moment that Daff’s affinity for the girl grew even stronger.

  “Maybe I don’t wanna,” Charlie grumbled sulkily, and Spencer nodded.

  “You don’t have to. I was just curious.”

  “Why don’t you tell me about your life with Malcolm,” she retorted, challenge lighting her eyes. “After your mother died.”

  The corner of Spencer’s mouth lifted, and he stole one of Charlie’s fries and popped it into his mouth. He washed down the potato with a swig of soda.

  “You have your own fries,” Charlie pointed out.

  “Sorry, force of habit. I usually grab a few of Mason’s. It pisses him off.”

  “Why do you do it?”

  “Because I can,” Spencer admitted, and Charlie watched him thoughtfully, again with that speculative spark in her eyes. “So after my mother died, Malcolm stuck around till my eighteenth birthday. He left when I turned eighteen, he probably figured I was old enough to take care of Mason by then.”

  “That was a douchebag move,” Charlie said, sounding way more adult than her years.

  “I think we can safely agree that he was a negligent asshole,” Spencer said with a bitter smile, and Charlie nodded.

  “But he tried,” she whispered.

  “He did. Sometimes he’d surprise us with takeout, sometimes he’d give me money to get some food for the house, and other times—”

  “He’d buy alcohol and forget you existed for days on end?”

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  He took a sip from his soda and still avoided eye contact with Daff. What the hell was up with that? It bothered her more than she would have expected.

  “How long was he sick?” Spencer asked.

  “A few months. It was very fast.”

  “Who helped you? After he died?”

  “Neighbors. A social worker. They were going to put me into care, but I left before they could. Malcolm had some money hidden inside his mattress. He told me about it a couple of weeks before he died. It wasn’t a lot, but it got me this far. He told me to find you and Mason after he was gone. He was always talking about you guys.”

  “He was?” Daff could tell that the information stunned Spencer.

  “He had old newspaper clippings about your rugby stuff and a magazine with some gross almost-naked pictures of Mason in it.” Mason had been an underwear model for a very brief moment in time. Spencer looked completely astounded and couldn’t seem to find an adequate response to her revelations. He seemed unable to process the words and just sat there blinking at Charlie for a few moments.

  “I guess Malcolm was okay. Some of his friends were a bit creepy, but if anyone looked at me the wrong way or said something . . . bad to me, he’d never allow them back. I was scared that one day he wouldn’t notice and—” Her voice trailed off, and Daff’s heart clenched for the young girl. She looked small and lost sitting t
here in one of Daff’s cast-off dresses. Her short hair growing out into a cute cap of dark, silky waves.

  “You were very brave living through that, Charlie,” Spencer said. “You should never have been made to fear for your safety. I know you’re used to taking care of yourself. I know you don’t need my help. But it would mean a lot to me if you would accept it. I have to make up for all those years I wasn’t there to keep you safe.”

  “I mean—” Charlie’s eyes left Spencer’s, and she glared at her plate. “It’s not like you knew.”

  Daff, who had been holding her breath after Spencer’s heartfelt little entreaty, released it on a wobbly sigh. Charlie’s eyes lifted shyly back to Spencer’s, and Daff could have cheered for both of them.

  “I’m bossy and I don’t talk much and will probably tell you no a lot, but I’d really like it if you’d consider living at my house,” Spencer said in an awkward rush, the tips of his ears going pink.

  The girl lifted one of her fries and twirled it between two fingers as she contemplated Spencer’s pitch.

  “I suppose it wouldn’t be too bad. Especially not with my new dog to keep me company.”

  “As long as you understand that it’s time for you to start being a kid. I didn’t get to be a kid. I want that for you, Charlie. But that means following my rules, okay?”

  “What rules?” Charlie asked suspiciously.

  “I’ll try to keep them fair. But off the top of my head, stuff like curfews, cleaning up after yourself—and your dog—and studying hard.”

  “Sometimes I get angry and don’t want to talk,” Charlie said, sounding for all the world like she was revealing what she considered to be her worst character flaw.

  “Yeah? Me too. Maybe we can synchronize it so that we’re angry together and not speak for hours?”

  Charlie giggled, and the look of vulnerable gratification on Spencer’s face made Daff reach for his hand under the table. She was shocked and disappointed and more than a little hurt when he moved his hand before she could take hold of it.