Page 42 of A Wedding in a Week

We leave, which takes forever, Marc saying goodbye to what feels like a hundred people while Hayden watches his progress. I know he does because I watch him do it, protectiveness roaring back even though I know Marc’s his own man who can make his own choices.

That’s me.

For tonight, at least.

My heart still trips when I see Hayden come to a decision of his own. He heads my way, and if I wasn’t trying hard not to growl like Jess would at a poacher, I might remember my manners because Hayden makes a generous offer. Or one that might sound generous if I wasn’t pretty sure he had other motives.

“I’ll bring one of my glamping tents over for you.”

Let him onto my farm? Over my dead body.

Marc’s hand finds the small of my back again, but he can’t have heard that offer. He says, “Ready to go?” with a smile aimed fully at me.

I also notice Hayden’s expression. He blinks, and don’t I know what it’s like to be that dazzled? Up until tonight, Marc’s only been a face on Hayden’s phone. That’s like comparing a pasty wrapped in plastic to one of Mum’s amazing homemade versions.

Marc chose mine, I remember. He chooses me again now, his hand on my back a clear signal we’re together this evening, and Hayden takes a step back. He also nods at me, which I translate as him reading the lie of tonight’s land.

It almost makes me regret overreacting.

I tell him, “Thanks for the offer, though,” as we leave, emerging into the very last rays of a sunset that finds every metallic strand in Marc’s hair and lights them. The breeze ruffles it like Hayden ruffled my feathers, then it blows the other way and I take a turn at steering Marc in that direction, my hand on his back now, not moving it away until we’re back where he parked the Land Rover between buildings shrouded in scaffolding and construction netting.

“What did you thank Hayden for?”

I’m not sure how to answer without sounding a possessive wanker. I don’t have to. Marc stops where the shadows thicken, not done asking questions. “You know he thought we were at the party together, don’t you?”

I nod.

“He doesn’t know we came to do some research.”

That curls something tight inside me—we’ve done a lot more than that tonight, haven’t we? A lot more for days now.

Marc asks similar questions. “Was that the only reason we came here, Stef? To do more market research?” Here comes some of his trademark bluntness. “Or did you think we were on a date too?” That bluntness comes with a physical touch that’s so tender in contrast. My chest locks the moment the backs of his fingers brush across it. “Because the way you look, Stef—”

I skim a hand over the front of a shirt I knew was too tight to be subtle. “In this, you mean?”

“No. I mean you. The way you’ve been looking at me all evening.” I’m sure I’d see his flush start its ivy-like climb if we weren’t shadowed between these buildings. “You always look good to me, Stef, but tonight I kept seeing the way you looked at me…”

He searches my face for so long, I wonder what he sees.

He tries to tell me. “Yes, we talked plenty about the presentation, but you looked at me the whole time as if I… As if you…” He swallows. “As though we…”

His knuckles still brush my chest. Our fingers meet, moving apart just as quickly only to come back together the moment Marc says, “I keep thinking about what we did in the Land Rover.” He adds, “Back at the yard before John interrupted,” as if I need reminding. “Told myself that was me doing more of that getting you out of my system for good. That I’d get back to being professional.” He huffs out a short sound. “But then I saw you with Hayden, and when I recognised him from the app...” He shakes his head. “It means I know what he wants, which is someone like you.” He shakes his head at himself again. “Can’t say I’m usually jealous, but I couldn’t stand back and watch you realise he was an option for you.”

“He isn’t.” My voice comes out gritty. I can only hope it also sounds genuine. “Because I know what I want too. And, yeah, Hayden and I do have a lot in common.” Marc’s face falls, so I hurry. “But he isn’t you, Marc. He isn’t you, so I’m not interested. I’m only interested in you.”

There.

He needs to know this, so I keep going. “Tonight felt like a lot more than you and me working on your presentation. It felt—”

Right.

So right that I can’t finish, and it doesn’t matter that I’m standing upright, not hanging upside down in the vehicle we’re next to, I’ve still never been more off-balance. It means I stumble over how to finish. “I don’t— I don’t want—”

“What? What don’t you want, Stef?”

The ground still seems to shift beneath me, but I dig deep for an answer that’s my whole truth, three years late but heartfelt. “I don’t want to stop.”

Marc asks a careful question as if he doesn’t believe me. “You don’t want tonight to be over?”

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