“Dan, this is so weird.” She exhales. I can’t handle seeing her distressed, and close the distance between us, pulling her in for a hug.
“Hey, whatever it is, it’s okay.” I feel her nod against my chest, and release her, taking a step back.
“BaronaskedmetomarryhimandIsaidyes.”
It takes me a few seconds to catch up to the rapidly blurted out words. And when I do, my stomach flip-flops. Guess thatpeanut butter sandwich I had before I left wasn’t such a good idea. Then again, I didn’t know this was going to happen.
“Oh,” I say, hoping like hell she can’t tell a part of me is dying inside. I bend over and pretend to tie my shoelace, when in reality, I’m trying to pull myself back together. Because right now, I feel completely torn apart.
Apparently, Lark is unaware of how she’s just destroyed me, as she keeps talking. And I force myself to listen.
“I mean, we’ve been together for so long. And I think our families expected it to happen sooner. I don’t know. It’s crazy, and it’s happening fast. Like, New Year’s Eve fast. And okay, Dan, I need you to say something, please.”
The panic in her voice snaps me out of my bleak thoughts. I might still feel broken, but my friend is spiraling. And if there’s one thing I’ve become good at these last few years, it’s putting her needs before my own.
“Hey. Breathe, Birdie. This is meant to be a good thing, right?” I straighten, forcing a grin, and rub my hands up and down her shoulders until she finally nods. “New Year’s Eve will be good. You’ll never forget your anniversary.” I tease.
She lets out a shaky laugh, but her shoulders relax somewhat. “Yeah, I guess.”
If I had to guess, I’d say she’s feeling pretty damn overwhelmed. Which, to me, as someone who knows the woman pretty fucking well makes sense. Lark’s not one to love having a lot of attention on her, and a wedding is pretty focused on the bride from what little I know.
But she’s doing this, I guess, overwhelmed or not. Which means there’s only one thing for me to say. “Congratulations,Lark. I’m happy for you. And I look mighty fine in a tux, so no worries there.”
The look of relief she gives me says she believes those words.
Guess I’ve also become good at lying to her.
I offer to take Lark out for breakfast to “celebrate” her news. Even though celebrating is the last fucking thing I want to do.
I’ll do anything to see her smile, and when we pull up to the café, the same one I got coffee from earlier this morning, that smile is back where it belongs.
“Mmm, I can’t wait for pancakes.” She moans, rubbing her stomach as we walk inside.
I tuck my ball cap down low, and we head for a booth in the back corner where I can sit facing the wall and hopefully not be recognized.
“Blueberry or strawberry today?” I ask, and she taps her chin, pretending to think seriously about it.
“Blueberry. With a chocolate shake. Let me guess, eggs Benedict for you?” She winks. A part of me rages inside my head, still angry at the fact that I let this woman, who knows me better than anyone, slip through my fingers.
“Yeah, but I might mix it up and try the salmon benny today.” It takes a lot of effort to keep my voice casual as she smiles at me from across the booth. This is the Lark I love. This light, happy, fun-loving woman with a heart of gold.
“Oh, really? Gettin’ fancy on me, Montgomery?” she teases.
Lark is the one person who doesn’t call me Monty. Asidefrom my parents and a few folks back home, of course. I don’t know why, I’ve never asked her. I like it, though. But it means when she calls me by my last name, it’s a special thrill.
Pathetic as that may sound.
“Well, only the best for you,” I quip right back and her eyes dance with amusement.
“How is you choosing salmon instead of ham best for me?”
I lean back against the booth and fold my hands together on the table. “Simple…” I pause, and Lark sees right through me.
Snorting, she shakes her head. “You’ve got nothing.”
My own head shakes from side to side ruefully. “I really don’t.”
She reaches out and pats my hands. “That’s okay, I still like you.”
