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Gavin’s eyebrows lift above his sunglasses.
Viggo stares at me, eyes narrowed. And after a few tense silent seconds, the oddest thing happens. A slow, satisfied smile lifts the corners of his mouth. Then he sits back, propping one foot on his knee. “Splendid.”
Splendid?
I glance over my shoulder at Frankie. “What the hell just happened?”
She peers curiously at Viggo. He’s sitting with a smarmy fucking smile on his face, legs bouncing as he cups his hands around his mouth and cheers loudly, hollering Ziggy’s name.
“I’m not sure,” she says, still staring at her brother-in-law. “But I don’t think I like it.”
“Makes two of us,” I mutter, facing back out toward the field.
I’ve just found Ziggy again when I’m patted gently on the shoulder. I glance back and startle when I see a little person with curly dark hair, pale blue eyes, and a smile identical to Ziggy’s.
“Linnie,” Ren says, arm stretched across the back of Frankie’s seat. He takes her tiny hand gently and gives it a squeeze. “This is my best friend, Seb Gauthier. You remember him from the wedding? Seb, you met her then, too. She was our flower girl. This is my niece, Linnie.”
I was drunk as shit at his wedding, though I do have a vague memory of this little girl, now that I think about it, wearing a sunshine-yellow dress, twirling and throwing flower petals across the sand. My memories later into the night are fuzzier, except for every moment on the terrace with Ziggy. Those are burned into my brain, crystal clear.
I had some self-control and kept myself to only a buzz at first, sipping from a flask right up until the ceremony. I watched Ren stand with his brothers, counting down the seconds until it ended and I could chug the rest of my flask, numb that hollow ache that gaped open like a cracked scab when I couldn’t help but witness Ren drinking in every moment that Frankie walked toward him, tears filling his eyes, when I caught Frankie smiling at Ren like she smiles for no one else, and I realized I have never known that. That I have no reason to believe I ever will.
Blinking, leaving those thoughts, I nod the little girl’s way. “Hi, Linnie. Nice to see you again.”
“Your name’s Seb?” Linnie tips her head, the movement again a dead ringer for Ziggy. “I thought your name was Trouble—”
A hand claps over her mouth as she’s tugged back. I peer up and see a blond woman who I recognize is Ren’s older sister, Freya, settling Linnie in her lap. A pink blush warms her cheeks, and that reminds me of Ziggy, even though otherwise they don’t look too much alike. Maybe a little in the wide set of their eyes, their high, pronounced cheekbones. But that’s about it. Freya has nearly white-blond wavy hair to her shoulders, a silver septum ring, and ice-blue eyes like Ren. She smiles a little nervously and says, “Sorry about that.”
“She’s not wrong.” I shrug. “I’m not offended.”
“Well, look who it is.” A warm, booming voice puts an end to our conversation. I glance up as Ren’s dad—Dr. B as everyone calls him—joins us. He’s tall and broad, a handsome guy who’s clearly responsible for Ren and Ziggy’s red hair, though his is threaded with white and silver. He has one of those smiles that’s impossible not to find charming, and he claps me on the shoulder, then squeezes, just the way Ren always does. “Seb,” he says, squeezing once more, then letting go. “Good to see you again! How you been, son?”
I feel a weird twinge in my stomach, being called that. It’s not bad, it’s just…foreign. My dad walked out on us when I was six. My mom married my stepfather, Edward, when I was seven. Despite my mom’s wishes, I never called Edward “Dad,” and he never called me “son.” I have no memories of ever being called son, actually.
I clear my throat and force a smile, trying to cover up the fact that I’ve been quiet longer than I should have. “I’ve been all right, Dr. B, thank you for asking. Behaving myself for once.”
He grins. “Well, that’s good. But hopefully not too much. Being on your best behavior all the time makes things awfully boring.”
“Hey.” Frankie turns and smacks his arm gently. “Don’t encourage him.”
He lets out a warm, booming laugh, then turns when his wife, Elin, settles in her seat beside him, holding a baby who wears electric-blue noise-canceling headphones over fluffy hair as white blond as hers. Dr. B takes the baby, propping him up on his shoulder and pats his back. “So, Seb, what brings you here?”
Elin smiles my way, and that’s where Ziggy gets it—coy and curious, a Mona Lisa smile. She glances out toward the field and spots Ziggy. Her smile deepens as she waves.
Glancing back toward Dr. B, I tell him, “I’m actually here… Well, that is I’m—”
“He’s Ziggy’s friend,” Viggo supplies over his shoulder, arching his eyebrows at his father meaningfully.
Dr. B glances at Viggo, one eyebrow arched right back. “Speaking of behaving, what do you have to say for yourself lately, Viggo Frederik?”
Viggo blinks innocently, bringing a hand to his chest. “Who me?”
“Yes, you,” Dr. B says, shifting the baby on his shoulder and bouncing him gently when he starts to fuss. “You haven’t been around much. Your mother’s and my kitchen hasn’t looked like a flour bomb went off in weeks.”
The image of Ziggy, powdered with flour, blinking up at me, how close our mouths were, floods my memory. I clear my throat and shift in my seat, feeling like a despicable human for thinking erotic thoughts about Ziggy and flour when surrounded by her family.
“Oh, ya know, I’ve been busy.” Viggo shrugs. “A little of this, a little of that.”
“Mhmm.” Dr. B doesn’t seem satisfied, but he’s distracted by the entrance of another member of the family—a man I recognize as Freya’s husband, Aiden, who scoops up his daughter and gives her a kiss on the cheek, then blows a raspberry into her neck, which makes her squeal.
