She’d expected this. Of course she had. She’d expected it from the day he’d come into the shelter beaming, talking about Beau’s granddaughter like she was the Second Coming. But it still burned. Part of her had always thought they’d end up together in the end. That River would work out his abandonment issues. That he’d realize he was ready for a real relationship. That he’d try to kiss her again, only it would actually feel right this time.
But it hadn’t happened like that. Because it had been a child’s hope, one that didn’t fit the woman she’d become. Still, the disappointment felt no less crushing.
She’d been a fool to think she could start something with Jack. Why would a man like him want a woman who was still hung up on his future brother-in-law? He wouldn’t.
Einstein barked, as if picking up on her agitation, and jostled her to attention. She realized River was staring at her, waiting for a response.
She made it glib because she had to. “I feel like I’m the godfather and you’re asking for my blessing.”
“I am.”
“You have it,” she said. She meant it, too. It wasn’t his fault she felt messed up. Nor was it Georgie’s.
He cleared his throat, then said, “I want you and Finn to be my co-best men.”
She laughed, both because of the way he’d put it, and because of the horror he was unconsciously putting her through. He wanted her to stand up with him while he married someone else. She knew what Mary would say—You set boundaries with everyone else. It’s past time you got started with him. He won’t spontaneously combust if you tell him no.
But River looked so hopeful, so intent, and if she said no, he’d want to know why she’d said no. She could pretend this really was about Georgie, but then it would drive a permanent wedge between them. And their friendship really was more important to her than these feelings she’d never asked to have.
So she looked him in the eye and said, “Does this mean I get to wear a tux?”
“If you want,” he said, beaming at her. “I thought you were going to say no.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she said. “I technically haven’t said yes yet. And I’m pretty sure I can’t until you’re engaged.” She lifted her brows. “For all you know, Georgie could say no.”
But they both knew she wouldn’t. River just shrugged and said, “Fair play.”
“But I do intend to say yes once she does…on one condition.”
“Why was I sensing there was a but?”
“I’ll only do it if Hops is the ring bearer.” Hops being the dog she’d basically forced River to adopt, not that he was complaining. Hell, Hops was now one of the mascots of the brewery, the other being the surly Jezebel, who represented their line of sours.
They started imagining out loud what Hops would look like as the ring bearer. Did they make canine tuxedos? (A quick internet search on their phones revealed the obvious: they did, and they came in all colors of the rainbow.) Would Hops carry the rings attached to the old sandal he’d imprinted on after River first took him home?
They ate breakfast, chatting, and some of the hurt and confusion Maisie felt drifted away, buried in the normality of the scene. She’d spent countless mornings just like this with River. Eating breakfast and drinking coffee. Bantering.
They said goodbye, and he hugged her, something she’d successfully avoided for months now. It felt crazy good—like stepping into your house after a long vacation—but it didn’t make her want to ravage his mouth. Or lead him up to her bedroom.
Which only confused her more. She felt those things for Jack. Did that mean she was finally ready to move on?
But if that was so, why did it still hurt to think of River with Georgie? Of the two of them getting married?
“Good luck,” she said softly.
“I make my own luck,” he said with a grin. It was what she’d always said to him when they were younger.
After River left, she walked inside with the dogs, feeling every last minute of sleep she’d missed. The coffee wasn’t helping, and the muffin had tasted like chalk.
Little bits of ripped-up paper littered the floor.
After glancing back at Chaco, the usual perpetrator of messes—Einstein was a senior citizen, after all—she followed the trail to see where it took her. Another ripped-up book?
But she found a torn and bitten note in Einstein’s bed. The handwriting wasn’t familiar, and her heart quickened in her chest. Jack. He had written a note after all.
She read it quickly, in a great gulp of words, but it ended on a cliff-hanger. He’d said something about being friends, then had written, But I don’t.
But I don’t what?
She wanted to find him, to ask. Or maybe piece together the tiny bits of shredded paper Einstein had so uncharacteristically left all over the house, but maybe it was best to just leave things as they were. To accept that he’d taken her at her word, and maybe feel grateful for it. Because if she was going to be the co-best man at Georgie Buchanan’s wedding, odds were she would be seeing a lot of Jack Durand. And she wasn’t at all sure how she felt about that.
Chapter Six
Jack barely had time to shower before he ran right back out the door, grabbing two travel mugs of coffee from the pot he’d started as soon as he got home. He couldn’t afford to get sleepy on the road.
He had a little over two hours to think about his night with Maisie, wondering if she’d read the note yet, hoping she’d text him some smartass reply.
You want more of this? It’s gonna cost you. Or something equally sassy, to which he’d say, I’m open to negotiations.
But his phone stubbornly refused to beep, and he belatedly realized he hadn’t put his number on the note.
What a moron. Maybe she’d find a way to reach out to him anyway. Come by his house. Get his number from Adalia.
But right now he needed to focus on Iris.
He hadn’t been thrilled by his mother’s announcement that she was giving him a sibling, but to be fair, he’d been an eleven-year-old boy, more interested in his new PS2 gaming console than in babies. Besides, his mother barely seemed to notice him. How would she handle a baby? And did the new addition mean he’d get even less attention from her? Even then, he’d known the cold, hard truth. She’d never wanted him for anything other than for the large child support check Prescott Buchanan sent her every month.
One afternoon, his grandmother had sat him down at her worn kitchen table with a batch of snickerdoodles—his favorite—giving him her We’re about to have a serious conversation look.
“Jacques,” she said slowly, pronouncing his name with her heavy French accent. “For the longest time, it’s only been you and your mother.”
“No, Mémère. It’s been mostly you and me. Mom is too busy with her job and her love life to be bothered.”
Which was a fair assessment. His mother couldn’t seem to live without a man, and following her affair with Jack’s biological father, she’d gotten a taste for men with money. And men with money didn’t want a kid underfoot. As she got older, she didn’t want a kid underfoot either, for fear it would reveal her real age. Rich men wanted hot younger women, and while Genevieve was still a beautiful woman, she was already fearful of losing her youth. So Jack lived with his grandmother most of the time, and he preferred it that way.