Page 12 of Never Enough

I shake my head. “Not today. Recently. We’d been keeping it a secret, temporarily, but now it’s out. Everyone knows.”

His eyes narrow on me. Then he finally opens his beer and guzzles half of the bottle before staring at me again. “Gracie Howard? Kelsie’s best friend. The one that irritates the tar out of you.”

That makes me grin.

“Define ‘recently,’” he says.

“Does it matter?”

“It matters because I’m your brother. It matters personally, and it matters because I live in this house and you apparently acquired a wife without mentioning it to the person who shares your kitchen.”

Fair point.

I take another sip. “It happened fast.”

“How fast?”

I blow out a breath, then level a gaze at him. “Does the timeline change anything?”

“It changes how concerned I should be.” He picks the bottle back up, takes a measured sip, and sets it down again. The gesture is so controlled it's almost aggressive. “Gracie Howard. The woman you've known since you were—what—twelve?”

“Eleven,” I correct.

“The woman you have been conspicuously not dating for the better part of two decades.”

“I wouldn't say conspicuously⁠—”

“I would. Everyone would. Mom has been saying it since you were seventeen.” He runs a hand through his hair, which is the Oliver equivalent of screaming. “And now you're just married.”

“Yes.”

“To her.”

“To her.”

He exhales through his nose. Long and slow. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. I have questions.”

“I'm sure you do.”

“I'm going to ask them.”

A grin twitches at my lips. “I’d expect nothing less.”

“And you're going to answer them honestly, because I'm your brother and I'm not an idiot and I can tell when you're hedging.”

I meet his eyes. Steady. “Ask.”

He holds my gaze for a beat, and I can see him deciding where to start. Oliver doesn't ask questions randomly. He builds. He layers. He constructs a foundation and then puts weight on it until something cracks. He’s careful and annoyingly thorough.

“I’m pretty sure I already know the answer to this, but do you love her?” he asks.

And there it is. Foundation first. No preamble. No warm-up. Straight to the load-bearing wall.

“Yes,” I say.

The simple word falls from my lips with zero hesitation. Whatever else about this situation is complicated—and the list is long, and growing—that part isn't. I’ve loved Gracie Lynn Howard for years. Maybe my whole damn life.

Oliver studies me for a long moment. Reading. Cataloging. Running whatever internal credibility assessment he uses to determine if someone is telling the truth.