Page 120 of Run to Me

He gestures to the table piled with cards and wrapped presents, and I take a step backward, bumping into someone. Surely they can’t expect me to sit front and center while opening presents. I’m the worst at faking happiness, and I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings—like Miguel’s once he realizes how much I hate the moccasins he bedazzled for me, no matter what they look like.

The hand on my shoulder stops me from running out the door. “You don’t have to open your presents tonight,” Graham says loud enough for everyone to hear, and I’ve never been more grateful for someone coming to my rescue.

Miguel pouts while I hug Graham a little too long and collect myself. Soon, I’m passed around from person to person. Several of the guys lift me off the floor, but I keep my grumbling to a minimum until I end up at Jensen’s side again.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his eyes searching mine for any sign of distress.

“Yeah. I’ll kill you later.”

He barks a laugh and puts a hand on my lower back, directing me to the dining room. “All the excitement will settle when we eat. Come on, birthday girl. Pick your seat, and I’ll make you a plate.”

I choose the chair at the far corner, opposite from where the beach-themed cake sits at the head of the table. Jake shouts to get everyone’s attention.

“In honor of Maisy, we have a large assortment of appetizers and desserts, all of her favorites. This next part, Tate told me I have to say.” He holds up a flower lei and winces. “Snacky birthday, Maisy. I hope you get laid.”

A collective groan rolls around the room, but Tatum and I grin at each other. She’s pleased with herself, knowing I secretly enjoy her cheesy humor.

Marcus drops into the head chair—the one I assumed Jensen would occupy—at my end of the long table. He looks like a different person in a tropical shirt and linen shorts. An uncomfortable person.

“Have I ever seen you in shorts?” I ask, eyeing the hairy leg closest to me.

The opportunity to tease him further vanishes when he doesn’t take the bait. Because he’s no freaking fun. “Your man organized this whole thing. You picked a good one,” he says.

“As if there’s ever been another choice for me.”

Our gazes slide to Jensen, who chats with Pam and Judge while piling food on a plate. He looks relaxed and happy, genuinely at ease in this social setting.

“Have you told him that?” Marcus asks.

“No,” I admit. “Feelings are scary things.”

“Especially for the person waiting to find out if those feelings are reciprocated.”

Studying him, I ask, “Have you told Roni that you love her?”

He clears his throat and squirms in his chair. I imagine in life-threatening situations he’d never lose his calm. But we’re discussing relationships, an unfamiliar battleground for us both. “I have,” he says.

Amused by his discomfort and pleased that he found love, my lips tug at the corners. “I’m happy for you, Marcus.”

With a straight face, he leans in close and says, “Just a little happy? Or are you mega happy?”

“Get out of here.” I shove his arm, laughing as Jensen slides a full plate of food in front of me. He plants a kiss on the top of my head and sits at my side.

While we eat, my friends tell embarrassing stories about me. I may be blushing fiercely and tempted to hide my face in my hands, but I relish the memories being shared, even the ones that make my eyes water or bring fits of laughter at my expense.

Jensen carries my empty plate to the kitchen and returns with two flutes of champagne, one for each of us. Everyone else has a flute too, some with fruit juice in place of the alcohol. When he stands at the head of the table near the cake, my stomach sinks. The only thing I find more daunting than giving a speech is being the subject of one.

He clinks a fork on his glass, drawing everyone’s attention. I shakily set my flute down and plant an elbow on the table and a fist at my mouth. I’m nervous for both of us.

“Thanks for showing up to celebrate Maisy tonight. Some of you traveled a long way for her, and she—I mean, you—hold on.” With a deep breath, he removes his cell phone from his pocket and swipes the screen. “It’ll be easier for me to read my speech.”

He clears his throat. “I’ve had several opportunities to observe Maisy’s relationship with each of you, and I noticed a pattern. One by one, you pull her aside—into a corner, into the shadows—for secret conversations. All hours of the day and night, her phone pings with notifications from people vying for her attention, her blessing, her advice. You all love her, but there’s one person who shares a deep connection with her, one I know she cherishes above all others. I’m sorry to put you on the spot, but I’d like to ask this person—you know who you are—to stand up and say a few words.”

Four people stand up.

Tatum glances around, slack-jawed, and cries, “It’s obviously me!”

Graham looks at me, brows raised high on his forehead, to see if I’ll back him.