Chapter 9
Marc
Iwas lying on my bed, doing a damn fine impersonation of a starfish if I said so myself, and staring up at the ceiling fan, wondering how everything could have gone so wrong so fast. Not only had I lost the battle of the sofa, I’d bungled the surrender.
I slammed a pillow over my face and yelled.
So naturally, I didn’t hear the soft knock on the door.
“You ready to get to work?” JD’s light baritone rolled through the air, popping goosebumps on my arms and scaring the ever-loving fuck out of me.
I emitted a mortifying squeak, simultaneously bolting upright and clutching the pillow to my bare chest in what probably looked like an archaic display of modesty. To his credit, JD at least tried to hide his laugh, but it was hard to ignore the humor dancing in his bright eyes.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” I grumbled.
“Sure thing. Coffee’s on the counter.”
I waited for him to shut the door and groaned into the pillow.
What would it take for me to stop embarrassing myself in front of this paragon of masculinity?
Still grumbling to myself, I got dressed for another day of hard work in the shop.
As promised, a fresh cup of coffee sat on the counter, steam curling enticingly above it.
I took a sip and promptly moaned at the caffeinated perfection.
God, I needed that. I also needed my lists.
Now, if I could just figure out where I left them.
I was on the verge of asking JD, who was sitting on the couch enjoying his coffee, which was no doubt sweetened within an inch of its life, when my phone rang. One look at the caller ID had a smile stretching across my face.
“Hey Aunt Pentunia. How was poker?”
“Don’t even get me started. That damn Martha is up to her tricks again.
Like I don’t know how to play Texas Hold ‘Em. I’m the one who taught her bony ass!
” Aunt Petunia griped spiritedly. “And, I might add, I have to constantly remind her of the rules. That cheatin’ cow couldn’t find her way out of a wet paper bag with a map and a flashlight. ”
God, I loved this woman. Once I had solid control over my snickering–and JD was looking at me over the sofa like I’d gone and lost the last of my marbles–I said, “I’m sorry the night didn’t go the way you wanted.”
“I didn’t say that. Did I say that? Hush now. Don’t be puttin’ words in my mouth. At any rate, I just called to say I’m all by my lonesome and wanted to know when I could look forward to seeing my great-nephew.”
“Let me guess. Ms. Judy?”
“Barbra Jean, actually. And you know how insufferable that woman is when she thinks she knows something before you do.” Hand to God, I could hear Aunt Petunia roll her eyes.
“We certainly can’t have that.”
“No, we cannot. And I heard you had some company, some very strapping company?” she asked, like she was taking up fishing.
I chuckled under my breath and allowed myself to look at JD from under my lashes.
Strapping was definitely one way to put it.
Not even the loose cotton tee could obscure the muscles defining his shoulders, which was all I could see of him now that he’d turned back around.
But I already knew the rest of him more than met the criteria.
I swallowed and cleared my throat, suddenly wondering if I needed to have the thermostat for the apartment checked. Wouldn’t hurt.
“Marc, dear, will you be bringing this strapping young lad with you so I can see the man helping my favorite great-nephew restore our beautiful flower shop?” Aunt Petunia crooned.
She may be used to my thoughts wandering off after years of dealing with it, but that didn’t make me feel any better about not paying attention.
“I’ll be sure to ask.”
“See that you do, sweetie. I’ll have the sweet tea nice and cold by the time y’all get here.”
Still chuckling to myself, I ended the call and looked up to find JD looking at me once more.
I smiled at his openly curious expression.
“Change of plans. We’re going to see Aunt Petunia.
Besides, we still need to resolve the whole mattress situation.
You’re going to absolutely love her. Everyone does.
Even Martha Elcott, who I swear has made it her life’s mission to irritate my great aunt to death.
At any rate, Aunt Petunia’s a hoot and a half,” I rambled on as I fixed myself a to-go cup of coffee.
It wasn’t until I was going to ask JD if he’d like one as well that I realized he was standing beside the couch looking a little lost.
“Um, unless you’d rather not.” Aunt Petunia wouldn’t be too happy, but I wouldn’t force her presence on him if it made him uncomfortable. “You can stay here, or I could, uh, drop you off… somewhere?” I finished awkwardly.
“If you’re okay with me meeting your Great Aunt, I’d love to. She sounds like a riot.”
I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
Of course, I wanted him to meet Aunt Petunia, and not just because he was helping me fix up her shop.
Fact was, next to Aunt Petunia and Alex, JD was probably the most significant person in my life.
Wow, that was fucking sad. My smile glitched, and I drop-kicked the pathetic thought back into the ether where it belonged.
JD had saved my life. He would always be important for that reason alone.
“O-kay,” he dragged out. “Taking that as a yes, is what I’m wearing okay? I don’t want to offend your aunt.”
I barked a laugh. “She’s a tough old bird and damn near impossible to offend,” I said, but he seemed genuinely concerned, so I gave him a once-over now that I could see all of him.
And Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Might as well throw in the Wise Men while we were at it.
No man had any right to look that good in a muscle shirt and loose athletic shorts.
Yeah, Aunt Petunia would be more than fine with the abundance of eye candy—I mean, skin on display.
Me? I’d be distracted as hell. And I did not need to be thinking about the last time I saw that much of this man’s beautiful skin.
I finally convinced my eyes to travel back to his face, not at all noticing the favors those shorts were doing for his thick as fuck thighs, and other obviously thick appendages. “Uh…”
He nodded as if I’d actually answered his question when I was really trying to convince myself that the heat suffusing my face was from being in the sun yesterday.
He plopped his rucksack on the sofa. “Right. More of a casual day. Can always change again if we come back and end up working,” he said, pulling the bag open and promptly pulling off his tee.
I made a strangled sound as I was confronted once again with perfectly sculpted pectorals, abs that not even the copper hair on his torso could obscure, and a tapered waist that was making me feel some kinda way.
“Good call,” I eked out and bolted back into my bedroom.
If my voice had pitched a little higher than usual, well, at least he was too distracted to pick up on it.
Clearly my hero worship problem was finding new ways to fuck with my head.
Which was honestly the last thing I needed.
I filled our twenty-minute drive to The Brennity with chatter to hide my earlier awkwardness, which in hindsight, probably compounded it.
Thankfully, JD was a good enough sport about it and kept up his end of my running commentary, asking questions and making noncommittal noises when appropriate.
When we pulled into the retirement living community, he let out a low whistle.
“Damn, this place is next level.”
I flashed him a grin as I navigated the curving road lined with meticulous landscaping. “Yeah, this place is pretty great. It’s awesome that Aunt Petunia could get in when she did. I’ve heard the waitlist is no joke.”
We turned into the visitor’s parking lot so we could check in with the concierge, and JD sucked in a breath.
“Holy shit, that’s a lot of azaleas. I mean, I figured they grew around these parts because I’ve seen them pretty much everywhere, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many in one place or in so many colors. ”
I frowned as I put the car in park. “Wait, you have azaleas up north? How did I not know that?” I shook my head in disbelief, and we made our way into the welcome center.
We’d checked in and we’re nearly to my aunt’s cottage when I pulled JD up short.
“Maybe don’t mention to my aunt that I didn’t know the thing about the azaleas?
I’d rather not get called out on my flower game being weak after four years of service. ”
“That big a deal, huh?”
I rolled my eyes. “You have no idea. I’m already regretting not brushing up on the Victorian Language of Flowers before coming here.”
“The what now?” JD asked, following me.
Rather than answer, I finished walking up to the door and knocked, squaring my shoulders every bit like I was preparing to go into battle…
or get the ever-loving life squeezed out of me.
Within moments, my brace-for-impact proved warranted as Aunt Petunia flung open the door and wrapped me in a rib-creaking hug.
You wouldn’t think it possible of a wiry old woman in her seventies, who’d started shrinking from her five-seven–and was still bitter about it–but here we were and I was getting close to tapping out.
“Marc! It’s about time. Well, don’t just stand there.
Come in, come in,” she said enthusiastically, ushering me inside.
“You too.” She flung a glance toward JD before turning back inside and walking to the kitchen counter, where, sure enough, an iced pitcher of sweet tea was already sweating.
She gave him an appraising once-over and smirked.
“You must be the tall drink of water, Sergeant Gallagher, that Barbra Jean would not shut up about. I can see why.” She darted a look toward me so fast I prayed he missed it.
“Can I get you some sweet tea, hon?” she asked JD, already pouring him a glass.
“The sweeter the better, ma’am,” he replied with a wide grin as he accepted the full glass.
She raised an iron-grey eyebrow and replaced the pitcher on the counter. “Don’t worry, Marc, dear, the unsweetened stuff is in the fridge for you to doctor to your heart’s content.”
“Thank’s Aunt Petunia. You’re the best.” I placed a kiss on her soft, wrinkled cheek, then went about “mad-doctoring” my sweet tea as Alex liked to say.
Look, I was a Southern boy at heart, I was, but there were some Southern essentials I just couldn’t bring myself to love.
Sadly, overly-sweetened tea and apple pie made that list. Though I did my damndest to keep the latter as quiet as humanly possible.
“Gallagher, why does that name sound so familiar?” she mused aloud as she sipped from her own glass, as shrewd as ever.
I froze mid-stirring my concoction and shot her a panicked look.
She wouldn’t put me on the spot like this, would she?
I knew she hadn’t been a fan of me enlisting, but I never dreamed she’d punish me for it by actively embarrassing me.
That wasn’t her style. Or it hadn’t been before I’d left.
I swallowed thickly and risked a glance at JD.
I wasn’t sure what to make of his relaxed smile as he topped off his tea.
“I think Marc told you about me,” he began, taking a sip, and my heart lurched into my throat. Oh Fuck. Please no. I was doing fine–mostly–with the pretending. “I’m the friend helping him get the shop in order. By the way, this tea is incredible. Wish we had something like it up north.”
“Oh, bless your heart, you’re a Yankee.” She patted his arm as if it were something he’d contracted instead of where he’d been born and gave me a sad look. “He’s a Yankee, Marc.”
I snorted a laugh into my cup, and my heart returned to its normal location in my chest. “Try not to hold it against him.”
She scoffed and placed her bony hand flat against her chest. “I would never. Anyone who takes care of my Marc is alright in my book, especially when they’re this handsome.
” To my absolute mortification, she patted him on the cheek and winked.
It was a coin toss whose face was more red: mine or JD’s.
I spotted a small bouquet still tied in its paper resting on a little breakfast/dining table and walked over to it, eager for a change in topic. “Really, Aunt Petunia? This is the best you could do?”
“Hush your mouth. I have limited resources here,” she huffed, walking over.
I picked up the small bouquet, plucking at the vibrant red camellias and bell-like lily of the valleys, but I couldn’t resist tugging free the strange addition of the buttercups.
The first two made sense. They represented “longing for you” and a “return of happiness”.
But for the life of me, I couldn’t see how “radiant with charm” factored into that.
Not that I wasn’t flattered. I held up the expertly trimmed buttercups I’d removed and arched an eyebrow at Aunt Petunia, who shrugged.
“What? She said he was handsome and had good manners. It seemed appropriate.”
Chuckling to myself, I turned to JD, who was looking more confused by the second. “I don’t get it,” he said, joining us with yet another refilled glass of tea. Lord help me, someone who enjoyed overly sweetened tea as much as my aunt.
“These aren’t for me,” I said, feeling six kinds of ridiculous as I handed him the flowers.