“Expecting someone?”
Joy shook her head, eyes locked on her notes.
“No one’s sitting here, then?”
“My backpack is. That a problem?”
Joy knew she was being a bitch. But she’d been up most of the night studying because Gale, who lived across the hall at the sorority house and who’d finished her finals, decided to host an impromptu party. The noise had been distracting.
She should have gone to the library, where she wouldn’t have been disturbed. But it was too late now. She’d waste precious study time crossing campus—exactly what Mr. Rugby was doing, wasting her time.
No, you can’t have my seat, she wanted to say. It’s taken, go away. But a lopsided grin spread on his handsome face.
Oh, wow.
Energy zinged through her faster than caffeine. He was cute.
“I need to cram in another chapter for an analytics exam. All right if I set this by your feet?” He started to lift her backpack.
The energy fizzled and her focus snapped back to the chair he wanted to commandeer. She grabbed the strap and he let go. “The floor is really gross.”
His expression confirmed her initial self-assessment: she was a bitch. His mouth parted, and she was sure he was about to tell her exactly what was on his mind. But the guy at the table beside hers abruptly stood. His foot twisted in his backpack strap, which he’d dumped on the sticky floor.
Off-center, the guy toppled into Mr. Rugby. With lightning-fast reflexes, Rugby dude looped one arm around the guy’s shoulders and, legs braced, stopped them both from falling on Joy’s table. In his other hand he balanced his coffee mug. Joy didn’t see one drop spill. She also didn’t see the chair her backpack had been on tip over. Her bag now rested at her feet.
Once the commotion settled, Mr. Rugby set down his coffee on her table and took off his sweatshirt. He laid it on the floor beside her feet and set her backpack on top.
“You don’t have to do that.” She flushed with embarrassment. She didn’t want him to stain his sweatshirt on her account.
Ignoring her, he sat in the chair her pack had just occupied.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said with a small smile and slight shrug.
How could she? That was one of the nicest gestures anyone had done for her backpack.
Joy smiled shyly. “You aren’t going to give me a choice, are you?” Unless she packed up and left, they were sharing the table. She had to hand it to him for being bold. Another time, another place, another her, she might have acted in a similar manner had she seen an attractive guy sitting alone at a table with a spare chair.
“No, I’m not.” He laughed lightly. “I’m Mark.”
She grasped the hand he offered. “Joy.”
To her relief, Mark didn’t try to engage her in conversation. He did ask to walk with her to class, and as they crossed campus they exchanged their basic stats—clubs, majors, year in college, where they were from, and what they planned to do with their degrees after graduation. Joy had thought the last time she’d see him would be when he’d wished her good luck on her final before she went into her classroom, but he was waiting for her after her exam. He’d finished his early and thought he’d swing by her building to see if she was still there. He then walked her back to the sorority house where she lived and asked her out to dinner.
“There’s something about you, Joy.” A curious smile drew up his lips. “Something I like very much.”
He flattered her. Of course she said yes, because when they’d started talking, Joy immediately liked him. He was from New York, a state she’d never visited. A state Judy had thought she’d one day move to with Todd. Mark had played rugby when he was an undergraduate, he’d told her. As if his sweatshirt and the muscular shoulders underneath weren’t a big enough clue. But there was something about him. His demeanor and personality reminded her of happier times. Times when her dreams mattered.
They dated through college, even after Mark had graduated with his master’s and returned to New York to work in the family business, commercial real estate. The day after Joy’s graduation, Mark proposed. They’d planned early on that Joy would move to New York after school and live with him. She wanted to work in the cosmetics industry, and Vintage Chic had been one of her top choices postgraduation. She just hadn’t expected Mark to propose so soon. But she loved him, so she’d said yes.
Mark spins her again, then holds her close. He kisses her ear, her jaw, the side of her neck. Joy hums with pleasure. He brings his mouth back to her ear.
“What do you think would have happened if I hadn’t sat at your table?”
I wouldn’t have met Dylan.
Because she wouldn’t have driven cross-country to move in with Mark.
Joy’s face flushes with the heat of embarrassment at the sharp left turn her mind took. It must be the champagne. Alcohol loosens her tongue and lets her mind travel to places she doesn’t want to go. The memories are uncomfortable. They make her question her choices.
“Well?” Mark prods for an answer.
She clears her throat. “I wouldn’t have had as much fun in college. And we wouldn’t be married.”
“I think we would have found each other no matter what. What’s between us, it’s too powerful to ignore.”
She wants to believe so, but there are times she doesn’t feel drawn to him as intensely as she had been once to someone else. Still, she plays along. “Where do you think we would have eventually met?”
“A bar.”
She grimaces. “Boring.”
“Tell me about it. I like how we met.”
“So do I.” And she does. It’s a sweet meet-cute.
He cradles her face. “I love you, Joy.”
“I—”
Thea, Mark’s three-year-old niece—their three-year-old niece—squeals. Toddler legs propel her across the dance floor. Her short fingers grip a dessert plate of precariously stacked cake slices. Her brothers, Tim and Ted, chase her.
Mark swerves aside with enough force to lift Joy off her feet. They narrowly avoid a collision of bride, tulle, cake, and kids. He gives Joy a look and they both burst into laughter.
“That was close,” Mark says.
“It wouldn’t have been pretty.”
Joy’s gaze trails after the kids. Her new sister-in-law, Dara, in a show of supermom reflexes, swipes the plate from Thea before it lands in her mother-in-law Yvonne’s lap. Dara’s husband, Hayden, clamps his hands on the boys’ shoulders and maneuvers them into an about-face. He marches them outside.
The rhythm of the music is fast, but Mark eases them into a gentle sway. He tucks a finger under her chin so that she’s looking into his eyes. He takes a breath as if weighing things in his mind, and his mouth parts. He then shakes his head.
“What is it?” Joy asks, wondering at his swift mood change.
“Nothing. It can wait.” He brushes a kiss on her cheek.
Her brows fold. “Something’s bothering you.”
He stares at her for a long moment, then sighs. “All right. I don’t want to wait to have kids. Let’s start tonight.”
“Tonight?” she asks with a laugh. “You’re drunk, Mark.”