Page 11 of Seeing You

The fierce look on his father’s face confused him.

“What the hell are you talking about?” John snapped. “I’m not selling this house! Where the hell did you get that idea?” Tossing his napkin down, he shook his head. “Is that why you’re here? You’re going to sell my house right out from under me and take the proceeds so you’ll have even more money?”

“Dad, that’s not…”

“When is it going to be enough, Marcus? Is your quest for the almighty dollar so great that you’d throw your old man out of his home? What the hell is wrong with you?”

But before he could reply, his father was storming out of the room, suddenly a lot spryer than he’d been the night before.

“Yeah, so…maybe you and I should talk before you go saying stuff like that to Dad,” Max said with a weary sigh. “I swear, you’ve got zero tact.”

He wanted to take offense, but it wasn’t the first time he was told this.

“I thought you said we needed to talk about selling the house. Isn’t that why I’m here?”

“Right now, I honestly don’t know why you’re here. You’re like a bull in a damn China shop. We need to ease into these discussions. Dad doesn’t want to sell the house, but he also can’t keep up with it anymore. You said it yourself last night; it needs a lot of work and it’s becoming an eyesore. I’m not like you. I don’t have a disposable income. I’m already planning on moving back to Sweetbriar Ridge, but I don’t want to move back inhere. I need a place of my own. No woman wants an almost thirty-year-old man who lives with his dad.”

“Why would you move back? You’re only an hour away. It seems drastic to pick up your life for…for…what?”

“Dad’s getting older, Marcus. He needs help, but he also needs to live his life without it feeling like I’m hovering. My job allows me to work remotely, so…it just makes sense.” He paused and took a sip of his coffee. “And—unlike you—I like it here. They reopened the ski resort, there’s a ton of new shops and restaurants, and most of my friends are still here. I’m actually looking forward to it.” Another pause. “Are you going to Iris Foster’s wedding while you’re here?”

“I told her it was a maybe. I don’t have to be here to go. It’s a four-hour drive, but I could find a place to stay overnight and drive home the next day.”

“Is that what you do when you go to weddings here? Drive in, ignore Dad, and then leave?”

Rolling his eyes, he smirked. “Dramatic much? And if you must know, I don’t go to weddings here. I’ve avoided them. The only reason I’m considering Iris’s wedding is because her father hooked me up with my first job in D.C. I feel like I should at least put in an appearance.”

Max groaned. “You really are the worst.”

“What? What did I say?”

“You make it sound like you’re doing them a favor. Why not just send a gift and be done with it? Plus, Billie’s doing the cake, so you know she’ll be there.”

“How do you know all of this? Do the Donovans take out a full-page ad in the paper or something?”

“I’m on a softball league with Iris’s fiancé. She comes to the games and she’s been talking about the wedding for months. I can only tune out so much, so…”

“Then I guess I probably shouldn’t go. I’m sure when the bride and groom feed each other the cake and playfully smash it, Billie will want to do it to me…just not playfully.”

Laughing, his brother reached for a brownie. “Is that what happened? She smashed the muffin in your face? That’s awesome!

“Glad you find it so amusing, but…yes. That’s exactly what she did.”

“Oh God. What did you say to make her do that? She doesn’t strike me as the muffin-smashing type.”

Sighing, he explained, “I was just commenting on how she threw away her college degree. Other people must have pointedthat out to her before. I don’t know why I had to get the muffin treatment.”

“Probably because you’re the only person to say something so insensitive.” Huffing with annoyance, Max put the brownie down. “You really need to think before you speak, bro. Between that and what you just said in front of Dad, I can’t believe more people haven’t gotten violent on you with more than a muffin. I can only imagine what you’re like at work.”

Marcus toyed with his plate for a moment. “No one’s thrown a stapler at me or anything, but…I’ve definitely gotten my share of angry emails and had more than a few colorful names called my way.”

“And you’re not seeing a problem with this?”

Actually, he hadn’t before, but maybe…

Nah. Everyone else had a problem. Not him. He was who he was and if people didn’t like it, then it was on them. He wasn’t asking anyone to change whotheywere.

“I’m not. People need to stop being so sensitive.” He took the last bite of his coffee cake and hummed with approval. “She might be crazy, but she’s a hell of a baker.”

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