Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
She nodded and bit her lip on a smile. “Yes. But I . . .” She gazed at him. “Actually, I’m glad to see you here, Carl. It has to be a sign.”
A good sign, he hoped. Perhaps he ought to say something to cinch the goodness of this ‘sign’? What?
“Well, I better”—she gestured to her purse—“freshen up.”
She moved toward the ladies’ and his chance was gone. Maybe later in the evening.
Jason’s spot at the table was at the end, closest to the stage and the grand piano. The tables were different, they’d been rearranged, but he was sitting exactly where he’d been sitting with Owen on their first date. Uh, fake date.
He scoured the table, again. Definitely no Owen.
Alex was assigned their table, and they shared a grin as he took Jason’s drinks order. “Uncle not here yet?”
“Maybe he took Mary out for a walk and lost track of time?”
Or maybe he’d decided enough with faking. He wasn’t going to come. He’d rather hang with Hayden.
When Alex came back with drinks, and then starters, Owen still hadn’t shown up. Briefly, he’d hung up on Carl to fire Owen a quick message, but no reply. Carl was the only one glued to Jason’s line.
“Holy shit,” Alex murmured and almost dropped a plate of oysters. Jason followed Alex’s surprised gaze across the restaurant to three figures piling in at the door, being led to a round table near the window. Hannah, and Alex’s tartan-loving grandparents.
Jason pressed a napkin to his mouth. “Did you know they’d be here?”
Alex quietly hyperventilated next to him. “What do they want? Is this . . . an intervention?”
“Maybe they’re here to offer support. To tell you they’re here for you.”
Alex shook as he pretended to be busy refolding a napkin. “Oh my God. Jason. Make them go away. Please. What if . . . what if . . . I can’t right now. I have to work. I can’t cry. I—”
His breathing worsened. Sounded uncannily like Patricia had after he’d fed her pineapple. He patted Alex’s back. God, he felt those what ifs . . . the anticipation, the fear of rejection. The impending loneliness.
“Deep breath, Alex. It’s okay. I promise, it’ll be okay.”
“How do you know that? How can you be sure?”
How could he know that? How could he be sure when he kept finding excuses not to say his truths?
Pete’s parents dinged their champagne glasses, the signal for toasts to begin. Him. He was first. His chair rumbled over the floor as he stood and fumbled for his cue cards. His heart banged against his phone. He felt Carl’s doing the same. A moment of twin solidarity.
“Pete and Nick—”
“Speak up,” someone called.
Another, “Use the microphone on the piano.” Addressing the restaurant, “You won’t mind five minutes of toasts from the stage, will you? Rubbish, Peter, you’re just sour because I beat you at bowls this morning.”
A chorus of laughter and glass-tinkering started, and Jason was ushered to the platform. Alex scuttled along with him and handed over the microphone.
Immediately, Hannah spotted her son and made towards him.
Tartan watched, riveted.
Cora looked up from her own intense candlelit moment.
Pete kissed his fiancé’s fingers, interlocked in his own, and smiled towards Jason.
Gripping the microphone, Jason cleared his throat. He’d been on stage a thousand times before, in packed theatres, but this small-town audience . . .
“Pete and Nick,” he began again, shaky voice magnified, filling the room. “You’re—”
Owen entered the restaurant with a purposeful stride and effortless grace.
“Beautiful.”
Chapter Eighteen
The fabric of Owen’s crisp suit shimmered under ambient light, moulding to all his hard contours. His gaze moved around the room, calm, controlled, until it landed on Jason. Electricity surged through him and his harsh breathing crackled through the speakers.
Owen stepped out the way of waitstaff and paused, folding his arms. Dark eyes fixed on him with all their knee-buckling intensity. Something lurked in that gaze. Something heavier than all the times Jason had looked at him before.
Gently sad.
His grip tripled on the microphone. Another tap on glass had him turning his head to Pete and Nick, acutely aware of Owen watching, waiting.
The words on his cue cards hovered at the tip of his tongue. When you met, you knew. This is the real thing. This is what I’ve been waiting for my whole life and you bravely jumped in with both feet. You knew when you find the person who makes you happy, you want to have that happiness for the rest of your life. And you want that life to start right away.
Another glance at Owen. A shift in his posture. A spark in his eyes that shot tingles right through to Jason’s feet.
What if . . . what if . . .
His heart jammed into his throat.
Carl.
Cora.
Rejection.
Loneliness.
Owen.
Hannah had crossed the room, only the width of a table from Alex. Alex dropped a flute glass. It shattered, causing heads to turn.