Arm Candy (Real Love #2)(57)

“I’m sorry,” Roxanne says kindly.

“Don’t be.” I slide my hand onto Grace’s shoulder. “It was a long time ago.”

Roxanne deftly steers the conversation in another direction. “Grace has to go no matter where it is. She’s my maid of honor.”

“I am?” I can hear the surprise in Grace’s voice.

Rox throws a hand. “I was going to ask you this week in a big to-do over drinks and dinner and a gift, but I couldn’t wait.”

“I could have guessed you’d jump the gun.” But Grace is all smiles.

“I couldn’t get married without you there! I’ll still buy you drinks and dinner if you say yes.”

“Yes!” Grace exclaims and then runs into her friend’s arms. She bats watery eyes and hugs Roxanne close. “How soon should we start planning?”

“Never too soon!” They erupt into breathless giggles and I swear to God my heart dips like it’s too full to stay suspended in my chest.

“You’re invited to come with her,” Mark offers.

“Oh. Uh. Thank you.”

I’m able to picture it in Technicolor clarity. An island wedding, only I’m in a guest chair, and Grace is gliding down a white runner wearing a linen dress with flowers in her hair.

Again—no alarm bells sound.

“Be honest, Mark.” I lean in while our girls chatter animatedly. “Is one of the reasons you proposed so that she wouldn’t call you her ‘boyfriend’?”

Mark lets out a sound between a cough and a laugh. “That’s the worst, isn’t it?”

“Horrible,” I agree.

“No. ‘Man friend.’ That’s horrible.”

“No shit.” I chuckle. “Grace and I haven’t agreed on a title yet.”

“Roxanne loves her. I’ve only met her a few times, but I can see why.”

“Yeah, she’s easy to love.” I mutter those words to myself, but he hears me. I get a hard clap on the back—harder than I would have expected from a buttoned-up college professor. Who would’ve guessed the guy worked out?

“It won’t be long for you, pal.” Mark signals a waiter and takes a flute of champagne from a passing tray. “You remind me of me when I first started seeing Rox.” He blows out a breath of disbelief. “I couldn’t believe she was talking to me. I knew I couldn’t do better.”

Exactly how I feel about Grace. Much like my memories of Hanna, the women who distracted me on and off over the last six years have faded, their faces grainy and blurring together.

Grace, by comparison, is a buzzing neon sign. She couldn’t fade out or blur if she wanted to.

A pregnant pause hangs in the air, and then Mark recovers our limping conversation with “You like football?”

“Go Bucks,” I answer, raising my beer bottle.

He offers an “O-H!” and I answer with a hearty “I-O!”

Much easier than talking about girls.

—

I take advantage of the band playing a slow song to pull Grace onto the dance floor with me. We fit together like jigsaw pieces, her hips aligning with mine, her fingers linked comfortably at my neck.

“You’re the perfect height.” She sounds captivated, which is a win. If there’s any pursuit worth following, it’s captivating the woman who captivated you first. “I always worried you’d be too tall. Unmanageably tall.”

Always? Interesting.

“When did you think this?” I ask.

“Whenever you were taking drinks to another woman at McGreevy’s.” Her top lip curls the slightest bit. “Though they were unusually tiny. How you liked those tiny blondes!” she chastises with a head shake.

“I was in a rut, I admit.”

“You were in a tiny-blonde rut?”

I bark a laugh that’s a touch loud in this reserved crowd.

“It may have looked like I was working a plan of some sort, but I never thought much about it. The company was nice, the ‘packages’ born of necessity. I couldn’t risk things turning serious.”

She hums her understanding.

We sway to the music and I tug Grace closer. Lowering my lips to her ear, I say, “Until now.”

She misses the next dance step but recovers easily. Her head jerks back on her neck so she can focus on my face.

“I worried that tonight might send you running for the hills.” She glances around. “Yet here you are.”

“Were you trying to get me to run for the hills? Was this a test?”

“Not…an intentional one.” Her eyes crinkle at the corners when she smiles. “I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.”

“What about you? You dropped the boyfriend bomb the other night at my place, and now you’re inviting me to an island to watch your friends get married. Correct me if I’m wrong, but this is starting to sound serious.”

“We haven’t exactly been comfortable with the next-level stuff, have we?”

“We? You’re the one used to blowing off dates.” I give her a pointed look.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You dated and dumped everyone, didn’t you? Were you ever dumped?”

“Yes. A couple of times. I was a heartbroken teen.”