Page 39 of A Wedding in a Week

Lukas was the last person to launch that word at me. From him, I’d wanted to dodge it like he’d thrown a grenade. Now Marc makes me want to turn back time, only not to tell Lukas he was right. If I could set my shoulder to the globe and shove, I’d go back even further, and I wouldn’t quit until I reached the moment Marc first believed he wasn’t worth running to save.

He says, “You didn’t hesitate, did you?” as if what comes naturally to me is something special—something so rare it hints about more of his life away from Cornwall than he’s ever told me.

That guts me.

Guts me.

It also must have been a hint my parents picked up.

No wonder they opened our home to him every summer.

Marc confirming that also crucifies me. “You ran so fast, Stef. Like I was worth catching.”

I’ve lost count of how often we’ve kissed now but I want to do it again, right here with that fiery sunset as witness, until he believes what his family should have taught him, not mine—only maybe not with a room full of other diners watching. Besides, Marc shifts away, still touching that image of the oak, suggesting it holds more than a good memory for him.

My own memories filter back, flickering the same way sunlight had between leaves as I’d climbed it.

I remember leaving Lukas way behind me, which was unusual. Before we knew about the hole in his heart, he was a leggy thoroughbred to my carthorse. I’m built to pull a plough, not win races, but I also remember my first glimpse of how high up that tree Marc was, and I remember my heart stopping like Dad’s must have done one time too many.

Most of all, I relive the moment when I reached Marc, my front plastered to his back, one arm around the trunk, the other around his chest, and I repeat what I once told him. “I’ve got you.”

“That’s what you promised,” Marc murmurs, his thumb brushing the tree on his screen like he’s fond of it. His eyes meet with mine.

He still believes me. I see it. I also come to a decision.

My farm is an important part of his past. I’ll move heaven and earth to make it part of his future.

14

I’m slow to tune into Marc asking for the bill.

“No,” I tell the server. “This is on me.” But neither of us needs to pay—Lukas got there before us, paying in advance online, so maybe I don’t entirely hate him.

Marc’s still flushed as we leave the dining room but he doesn’t look hot or blotchy, just happy as we leave together. Or as we try to.

The main bar is far more crowded than when we entered, a party in full swing. Like when we arrived, Marc steers me, one hand on the small of my back again, and I had no clue how much I’d like that.

I also like that he stops at table after table, greeting partygoers by name like he belongs here, that small smile of his widening each time he recognises someone local. That describes almost everyone in the main bar, and it’s been three years since I last saw so many of my neighbours gathered in the same place, but it’s good to see them. They’d worn black the last time, like my family. Tonight everyone’s wearing brighter clothing, like the shirt I’m suddenly glad Lukas made me borrow.

I’m also glad that Marc spots the family who were his summer hosts before he and Lukas bonded. He heads for the Lawsons’ table, and after saying hello, I leave him there because someone else calls out for me.

Rebecca’s farm is on the other side of the moor; it’s always good to catch up with her. “Stef?” She kisses my cheek. “Good to see you out and about. How’s the arm?” She also proves that even sparsely populated, news travels fast in our part of Cornwall. “Heard you were at the wedding fair.” She glances Marc’s way, her eyes twinkling. “Finally putting a ring on it?”

Lukas would say something witty. All I’ve got is a mad urge to say, I wish. Instead I tell her, “I was there to make business contacts. I’m thinking about diversifying.”

“By hosting weddings?”

I nod. “With glamping.”

“Then you should meet my lodger.” She peers around the crowded bar and then waves, summoning over someone who I might look twice at if he was auburn and wiry instead of tall, dark, and as broad chested as me. He’s also good-looking, and I’m pretty sure he looks twice at me too. He also smiles in a way I’d definitely find compelling if I didn’t instantly compare it with Marc’s across the room from us.

Rebecca reclaims my attention. “Hayden has a lot of strings to his bow, like forestry and farm work, but if you’re branching out into glamping, you should definitely speak to him about that. Hayden, meet Stefan Luxton. Stefan, Hayden’s the right man for you.”

No.

The right man has just pulled up a chair across the room, settling in for a longer talk with Carl and Susan Lawson, chatting as if he belongs at what I realise is a family gathering, which Rebecca echoes.

“You’ve got time to talk if you’re here for the birthday party, right?”

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