Page 16 of More Than My Hometown

Half listening to my brothers now, I don’t even remember the bouquet toss, or Dolly handing it to Sawyer instead of tossing it. I don’t have a clue where I was at that point. Wait, no—I do. I was standing next to my father, watching as Maisey lined up with the other single women, thinking to myself that if I had told her how I felt years ago, she wouldn’t have to be lining up to fight over a bundle of flowers.

Ewan, we’ll be thirty-four this year…we swore it in ketchup…

Her sweet voice fills my head, splitting my heart in two. Emily wasn’t wrong; she’s here for me. Just not for any of the reasons I want her to be. Or even because she wants to be.

No, I’m a secondary option. The backup plan. Where you go when life didn’t turn out like you thought.

When you’re suddenly in your thirties, not married, and your biological clock is ticking, you turn to the man that you could always count on. Because you swore it in ketchup.

Fuuuuuuuuck…!

Searing pain rips through my chest, like someone took a blacksmith’s fire iron and stabbed me with it. I drop my fork, the food in my mouth turning sour, and I force myself to swallow. The start of tears burn the corner of my eyes and I snap them shut, refusing to lose it here.

If I can get through this meeting, then I can get back to the store and lose myself in inventory for the rest of the day. I can cry all I want when I’m alone counting arrows and bullets. Have my own personal pity party among the fishing lures. Come to terms with being her backup plan in my own way, on my own time.

But that is after I get through Munch.

“Ewan.”

It’s Gus’s voice that cuts through the fog. Still, it takes a minute for it to register and another to collect myself enough to open my eyes and face them. Four sets of concerned eyes stare back at me, Jace having joined the group, each one of them as silent and still as a tomb.

The urge to spill my guts conflicts with the even stronger desire to hide. To turn inward and never share another thing about myself ever again.

“What’s the bigger mess right now, your head or your heart?” Gus asks.

It’s the same kind of question he’d ask at any given point during one of these meetings of any one of us, helping us try to strategize or figure out how to attack a problem we’re facing in our department. Only this time, instead of having his game face on, his tone being all business, there’s a softness to him that I haven’t seen in years. Since I was a little kid with a broken arm, and he was nothing more than my big brother looking out for me. Not the boss, or an executive on the rise. Just the oldest of seven, looking out for the rest of us.

“I…I…” Shaking my head, I try to clear the noise, but it doesn’t work. “I don’t know.”

I push my plate forward, the sight of my lunch making my stomach lurch. Shit, no one tell Miss Harriett that was my reaction—she’d be so offended and I don’t know that I could ever live with myself if I knew that I offended her.

“So, are the rumors true?” Jace asks. “She’s back? Like staying in town back?”

I nod, throwing in a shrug for good measure. Because, I’m not entirely sure I’m the authority on this. Maybe in this room I am. But overall, probably not. Although, depending on what source is feeding the Hickory Hills rumor mill, they might have substantially more information. The bits and pieces passed along to me were a bit lacking. Even if they did come straight from the horse’s mouth.

“Why now?” Milo asks. “Can’t just be the wedding.”

I shake my head, sucking in the deepest breath I can manage, stretching my diaphragm to the max. If I’m going to drop this bomb, I’m going to need all the oxygen I can get.

“She wants to collect on our marriage pact.”

Silence.

I expect shouts, a mix of swears and hollers, all of my brothers’ voices melding together as they fight to be heard over each other, clamoring to express themselves in shock and awe. Instead, there’s nothing. Crickets. Punctuated by the hum of the vent and ping of Anton dropping his fork on the table.

That’s unexpected.

“How legally binding is this…pact?” Gus asks cautiously.

Okay, there’s the overserious, grumpy fucker we love.

“We can consult Margeaux on the legal implications of Heinz and their 57 varieties, but I’m pretty sure not at all.”

“What?”

“We were kids, Gus,” I snark. “Mandie and Jason Pike had just gotten engaged and that was all this town could talk about. I’d built a campfire in the backyard and we were roasting hot dogs, and she was rambling on and on—in the way that only Maisey can, you know? Holding an entire fucking conversation with herself while you just sit there?—worrying about what happens if we grow up and no one wants to marry us. If we never meet our soulmate. So we made a pact. If in twenty years, we’re both still single, we’d marry each other. And we sealed it in ketchup.”

“Ketchup?” Anton questions, lifting an eyebrow.