The Best Man (Blue Heron #1)(45)

“Hi, Dr. Lyon!” called a plump woman with pinkish hair. “My knee is so much better! It should be, with all the fluid you drained out of it!”

“Oh, good, Dolores. Glad to hear it.”

“Two hundred cc’s! I think I hold a record!” the woman said gleefully.

“Could be.” He glanced at Faith. “Sorry. Where were we?”

“Drink-throwing and slaps,” she said. “Thanks for the ideas.”

Jeremy gave a crooked smile and rubbed his chin. “Can we get that out of the way? Do you hate me?”

“No, Jeremy. Of course not. I told you that, right after the wedding. A few times. More than a few.”

“Yeah, you did,” he said. “But that was in the early days. I thought maybe as time went on, you’d get...I don’t know. Angry. You never wanted to see me when you were back in town, so...”

There was a long pause. “I needed to get over you,” she said as quietly as she could. “It wasn’t because I hated you. It was because I loved you.”

His eyes filled again, and he nodded.

“Hey, Doc!” someone called. “Oh, lord, you’re with Faith! Hi, Faith, honey!”

“Hi,” Faith said. Clearly, meeting in public had been a bad idea. “I have no idea who that is,” she murmured.

“Joan Pepitone,” Jeremy murmured. “Big Frankie’s mom.”

“Are you two getting back together?” Frankie’s mother asked.

“No, Mrs. Pepitone,” he said. “Just having dinner.”

“Okay, then,” she whispered. “I’ll leave you two kids alone.”

“Anyway,” Faith said. “It wasn’t anything but—”

“Here we go!” Jessica announced, sticking the bottle in Jeremy’s face so he could see the label.

Jeremy nodded, and Jess began uncorking the bottle.

There were times when Faith really hated all the rituals that went along with wine. Jeremy picked up the cork; it wasn’t crumbly. Jessica poured him an ounce; he swirled and smelled it, then nodded. Jess poured Faith a glass, then Jeremy, then started reciting the specials.

“Jess, if you don’t mind, we’ll let you know when we’re ready, okay?” Jeremy said, smiling up at her.

“Sure, pal,” she said. “Take all the time you want.” She gave Faith a look that wasn’t nearly as warm as the one she’d just leveled at Jeremy and finally left. Couldn’t have been more than a size four, just in case she wasn’t already a pain in the butt.

Faith straightened out her cutlery, then took a sip of wine, smiling awkwardly at Jeremy. He smiled back. All smiles, all the time.

“Jeremy,” she said quietly, looking down at her plate, “I think the hardest part of everything was that you let it go so far.”

He was quiet for a minute, idly swirling the wine in his glass, staring at it like it was the Rosetta stone. “I’d never imagined a life that didn’t have me as a straight guy,” he said. “I loved you. How could I be g*y if that was true?” He sighed. “I should’ve talked to you. I just—and I recognize the irony here—I didn’t want to hurt you. When I did let myself acknowledge that we didn’t have a normal relationship—”

“By which I assume you’re talking about Justin Timberlake?” she interjected. She now hated all JT songs on principle.

He had the grace to look ashamed. “Right. At those moments, I thought...” He sighed. “I thought, well, you seemed happy enough. It wouldn’t matter if we just kept going on the way we had been.”

Faith let that sink in. “So because I was too dumb to notice anything was wrong, it was okay to pretend to be straight.” A burst of white-hot anger flared in her heart.

Jeremy’s face changed. “No! Not like that, Faith. Just...if you were happy, then I was. Because I did love you. I still do. I hope you believe me.”

The flare extinguished.

“I do,” she said.

They sat for a few minutes. Funny, how she’d never felt uncomfortable with Jeremy before. Ever.

“Was it hard?” she asked. “Dealing with everyone’s surprise?” she asked. They’d talked about it in those first few weeks, but he’d always shrugged it off, more concerned with her, both of them trying to assure the other they were fine.

“It was hard being without you,” he said. “Every time something good happened, you were the one I wanted to tell. And every time something bad happened...well, a couple times, I was already calling you before I remembered we weren’t together.”

“Me, too,” she said, her voice wobbling. Dang it. She dug in her purse for a tissue, but Jeremy was already handing her a handkerchief. “This is very sentimental, isn’t it?” she asked in a shaky voice, and they both laughed a little. She wiped her eyes and tried not to look at him.

The murmur and hum of the diners around them filled the silence.

Faith’s heart sat heavy in her chest. Like road kill, like a dead, stiff porcupine. Okay, that was a really pathetic image. Even now, the dead porcupine was resurrecting and giving her a reproachful look—I was just sleeping, dummy—but yeah, kind of. For eight unwavering years, she’d adored Jeremy Lyon. For the past three, the argument could be made (and made well) that he’d still been the most important man in her life.