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“Sometimes I get angry and don’t want to talk,” Charlie said, sounding for all the world like she was revealing what she considered to be her worst character flaw.
“Yeah? Me too. Maybe we can synchronize it so that we’re angry together and not speak for hours?”
Charlie giggled, and the look of vulnerable gratification on Spencer’s face made Daff reach for his hand under the table. She was shocked and disappointed and more than a little hurt when he moved his hand before she could take hold of it.
“Maybe it won’t totally suck to live with you,” Charlie said after a long pause, and the tension left Spencer’s shoulders. He finally met Daff’s eyes, and she was heartened by the intensity she saw in them. He groped for the hand he had just rejected and clung to it tightly.
“Great,” he rasped and then cleared his throat before continuing. “You can redecorate the room any way you like, and maybe you can move in after the wedding?” That would give her nearly a month to get used to the idea.
“Sounds okay,” Charlie said, keeping it casual. “When can we get my dog?”
“We can pick one out from the shelter after you move in.”
“If I didn’t want to move in, would I still get a dog?” she suddenly asked cynically, and Spencer smiled at her.
“I said you could, and I’m a man of my word.” His voice was solemn and utterly believable. His answer seemed to satisfy Charlie.
The rest of the day was lovely. Spencer’s strange behavior over lunch had disappeared like a rogue cloud on a sunny day, and Daff attributed it to the high-stakes conversation with Charlie. He was back to normal now, happy to hold Daff’s hand, comfortable with eye contact and even the occasional bit of PDA from Daff, despite Charlie’s gagging faces every time they kissed.
After dropping Charlie off at the farm, they made a quick stop at Daff’s to pick up a change of clothes and less than an hour later found themselves snuggling, in their pajama halves, in front of the TV and watching a cooking show. Both were wiped out after the past twenty-four hours and stared blankly at the screen. Not talking much, just sharing a bowl of popcorn and vegging out.
“Mason sent me a text. Asked me what the fuck we were up to.” Spencer broke the comfortable silence close to forty-five minutes later, and Daff, who had been on the verge of dozing off, jerked to attention. Wiping some drool from her mouth and hoping she hadn’t gotten any on his chest.
“Oh? What’d you say?” she asked, her voice slurred.
“Told him we had no idea but once we figured it out it would be none of his fucking business anyway.” Daff snorted and pushed her hair out of her face to stare at him. Sadly, she couldn’t see much past the stubbled ledge of his firm jaw.
“And what did he say to that?”
“Just said ‘okay’ and left it at that.”
“I wish it were that simple with Daisy.”
He graced her with another of his gorgeous smiles. “I told him to pass the sentiment along to her, and he said ‘sure.’ I think you’ll be fine.”
Daff giggled and scooted up to kiss him lightly.
“My hero.”
“And don’t you forget it.”
Sam Brand readjusted his hold on the duffel bag strap and lifted his hand to knock on Mason Carlisle’s front door. Judging by number of cars parked outside and the sound of voices and laughter coming from the interior, they were having some kind of gathering. Not ideal. His intention had been to surprise Mason and his bride-to-be, not ruin a dinner party. He shook off the uncertainty. His cab had left and there was really nothing to do but knock. He was here—no going back now.
The knocking set off a frenzy of barking and he sighed. Yeah . . . this was going to ruin whatever party the couple were hosting. The door swung open, and the unmistakable figure of Mason Carlisle stood silhouetted in the doorway. The guy said nothing for a moment, then huffed in surprise.
“Fuck me! Brand? What the hell are you doing here, man? We weren’t expecting to see you till the stag party.”
“That’s just a couple of days away, mate. I finished up some business early and figured, I’m in the neighborhood, might as well pop in. I don’t mean to intrude on your party, though.”
His buddy engulfed him in a quick, manly hug and then stepped back.
“Define ‘neighborhood,’” Mason invited.
“I was in Mozambique,” Sam informed him drily. “Just a hop, skip, and a jump away from here.”
“One thousand three hundred kilometers, give or take, is nothing, really.” Mason shrugged. “Come on in, man. We’re just having Daisy’s sisters and Spencer over for dinner. Nothing fancy, just a family gathering. The ladies are working on some last-minute wedding stuff, and Spencer and I were starting to feel a little outnumbered. I can’t wait for you to meet my Daisy.”
