Page 38 of A Wedding in a Week

So is this whole evening, even when he yawns so hard his jaw cracks, but I guess that’s what comes from rising with the lark to take the next photos he shows me.

He shuffles even closer while there’s a party happening in the main bar—people sing an off-key happy birthday—but all I hear for sure is Marc. “I took these as well. Look.”

I do, his knee pressing against mine as he hands me his phone.

My arm isn’t weak now—I don’t need his help to hold it steady—but he cups my hand, and I like that too.

Who am I kidding?

I more than like him pressed against me like this. I also like that he lowers his voice so only I can hear it. Most of all, I like that we haven’t just shared a meal. Marc also shares some secrets after pausing over another photo. This one’s framed by another arch, only one made by nature in the woods that used to be a magnet for him. “This is still my favourite part of the farm.”

I touch the screen showing a patch of woodland. “You always liked the woods best.”

Marc lets go of my hand to rub at the back of his neck, and I miss its heat until it comes back, sandwiching mine between his and the phone again, and that feels better. So does him sharing glimpses of what it was like for him to visit us when he was so much younger.

“I didn’t get to climb too many trees where I lived in the city. It was always the first thing I wanted to do whenever I came back. Wish to fuck Noah had been allowed to come with me at least once.”

“He could—”

“It wasn’t an option.” Marc presses his lips together. He’s unable to keep this in. “It should have been. Fuck knows Cornwall’s a safer place to grow up. Healthier, you know? In lots of ways.” He clears his throat, although his voice still rasps as he gets back to the subject. “Anyway, I’d always head for the woods first. One of the oaks was taller than all the others. I could see everything from its top. The sea. The farmhouse.” He gestures around us. “Even the fishing boat in the harbour that belonged to my first summer foster parents.” He glances at the window, a smile emerging. “Be great to catch up with them before—”

He looks away, that smile fading, so I finish for him. “Before you hear if your presentation is strong enough to get the job?”

He nods.

“You know there are other jobs here.”

This time he shakes his head. “Not with such a good starting salary.”

I know he’s right—graduate opportunities in Cornwall are thin on the ground. I still start to make an offer. “But if Love-Land Weddings pans out, you could…” I shut my mouth to stop myself from voicing what’s both too soon and still a pipe dream. The reality is he already knows the farm supports too many people, so I make a different offer. “You want to stop in to say hello to the Lawsons on the way home?”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“No.” How could I when his smile floods back with more of that glow I love on him?

He also yawns one more time, a real jawbreaker this time. “That would be great but maybe another time.” I expect him to add that he’s too tired, but that isn’t his reason. “I want to make the most of this evening.” Pink touches his cheeks now like it did in that rose-filled alcove. “I don’t get you to myself on the farm too often. Which reminds me.” He scrolls to another photo. “Remember this?”

This shot is strafed with sunbeams, making a glade in the woods magical, the tall oak he’d described at its centre. Marc spreads his fingers, the tree filling his phone screen. He also surprises a laugh from me by asking, “Remember when I got stuck all the way at the top? Lukas had to find you to come rescue me.”

“I remember. I also remember how long it took to get you back down.” He’d needed to stop so often with me right behind him as if I was a safety net to stop him falling.

Marc nods, and I’m never going to get tired of getting an up-close view of heat that climbs as steadily as he’d always climbed trees on the farm before fear must have paralysed him. Tonight it also comes with a quick admission—a quiet one that I lean in to hear over the sound of other diners and the party next door. “I wasn’t really stuck, Stef. I wanted you all to myself, that’s all.”

“Me? But we were always together.” He and Lukas were my shadows, remember? I couldn’t go anywhere on the farm without them both trailing behind me.

He must remember the same thing. “Not without Lukas being there as well.” He lifts his gaze from his phone, fixing me with eye contact I can’t break away from. “I’d just turned fifteen. You were nineteen. That was the year I realised.”

I lower my voice too. “About being gay?”

He shakes his head, still speaking quietly, conveying the determination I’ve heard from him so often lately. “No, Stef. That’s when I knew I’d only ever want someone like you. Someone who would be there if I needed, even if he was busy. Who’d drop everything—anything—if he heard I was in trouble.”

Of course I’d dropped everything. Anyone would have at Lukas arriving back at the yard, panting that Marc was close to falling.

I must frown.

Marc does the opposite, his smile there yet somehow fragile. “You know I was high enough up the tree that I could see you coming, right?”

I shake my head, a small movement that he tracks, his gaze a triple helping of soft, liquid, and hazel. “I saw you sprinting, Stef. You even vaulted a gate. You doing that for me kinda set my bar high. Became my benchmark.”

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