Marc Jillson & The Gazebo (Love Inscribed 2)

I edged into the living room. “What are you watching?”

Jason eyed me. “What are you doing, Marc?”

I slung myself into the free spot next to him. “It’s been a big week for me. Big couple of weeks, actually, and I’m really tired. TV is exactly what I want right now.”

Jason hummed. “Okay.”

We sat side by side for half an hour, Jason explaining at regular intervals that the judges wanted artistry, flexibility, hip alignment . . .

He studied me. “Are you sure you want to watch this?”

“Sure.” I rubbed my nape.

“You don’t look so sure.”

“That has nothing to do with ballet.” I darted my gaze back to the TV screen. “I was a shit to you when I moved in with Uncle Ben.”

He absorbed that and nodded. “To be fair, you were a shit to everyone. I wasn’t special.”

“Yeah. Did Uncle Ben tell you that?”

“Anyone could see it.”

“I am sorry, Jason.”

Jason rubbed my shoulder and squeezed comfortingly. “You were grieving.”

“No excuse to be an asshole.”

“True.” He muted the TV. The quiet ratcheted my heartbeat. “I want to stay.”

I waved my hand around. “There’s certainly room for it. More soon, I hope.”

“Your uncle doesn’t want me to give up my job.”

I smiled softly. “God, he’s a good man.”

Jason’s eyes welled. “All this time and he never slept with anyone, being okay if I did . . . and the secret, Marc?” He blinked hard. “Neither did I.”

My stomach did a happy little pirouette. “You’ve told him this?”

“I keep working up the guts.”

“Hiding the truth won’t land you the love you’re looking for.”

“I want him to admit he wants me here forever.”

“Jason?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re the only one in his world who calls him Harry.”

Jason slammed his eyes shut and it was my turn to pat his shoulder. I stood. “Do you want a coke?”

His throat bulged with a swallow. “Zero, please.”

I stepped into the hallway, and smacked into Uncle Ben near the door, staring at his feet. Behind him, shopping bags sat in the entranceway. How long had he been there?

One step, and he engulfed me in the tightest hug of my life.

“Um, okay,” I whispered.

Five, six, seven seconds, he held me, wiry beard pressing at my throat. He pulled back and admired my face and kissed my forehead with a firm smack.

He let me go, straightened his posture, and walked into the living room. I waited, listening, much like Uncle Ben must have.

“Harry,” Jason said, startled, and I imagined him lurching to his feet.

Uncle Ben’s deep, gravelly voice cinched with sincerity. “I want you here forever.”

Chapter Sixteen

“You don’t have to do that.”

Hunter looked over the orange he was peeling. “Do what?”

“Stop eating to make me breakfast.”

“Sure I do,” he said, continuing to peel the orange. “Or you’ll eat all of mine.”

“It is a really good fruit salad.”

“Yes. And by all means, leave the apple.”

“The pears, orange, and mango are yummier.”

“An apple a day keeps the doctor away. So does this green smoothie.” He pushed his glass toward me like he was serious.

I hastily plucked an apple out of his bowl and popped it into my mouth.

He laughed. “We’re doomed already.”

Orange peel dropped to the wooden board and he growled at me. “You couldn’t have told me that before I started peeling?”

“You underestimate how much I’m digging this fruit salad.”

“Did you not eat before you came here?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, you know, I didn’t want to wait a second longer to bug you.” I flushed.

“Really,” Hunter mused.

“I’m weirdly nervous. Neither of us knows what will happen today. I know we’ve done everything possible to save the gazebo, but . . . what if this truly is goodbye?”

“Then maybe,” Hunter said, voice cracking, “it’s told one last story.”

I gripped his bowl as soft, sweeping shivers unsteadied me. Hunter’s phone shrilled.

He raised orange sticky hands and I accepted the call from his mom. “Hey, Mrs. Hunter.”

“Oh, Marc. I wasn’t expecting you to answer.” Her knowing smile brightened the screen. “We’ve arrived in Pittsburgh.”

I cast Hunter a confused look. “This will be a day to remember. Here’s your son.”

Hunter blazed as he said hello. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Just okay?” she hummed.

I plucked an orange from the bowl and enjoyed watching Hunter fluster. “Good. Real good. Um, so we’ll meet you at the gazebo? Do lunch after?”

“Yes. Thank you for sending the draft of Marc’s article, tell him we loved it.”

He glanced over at me and I grinned.

“He heard you, mom.”

“You two are . . . friendly.”

“Yep. He came around for breakfast. Look, can we catch up later?”

“Of course, dear.”

“Okay, bye.” He hung up. “I forgot to mention they wanted to come to the gazebo-goodbye party.”

“Definitely forgot that tidbit.” I plucked out another apple. “Just came around for breakfast?”

“It’s true.”

“So you didn’t hear the emphasis that suggested she thinks we’re more?”

“I ignored it.”

“Even though more is happening.”

“I know, but . . .” Uncertainty and hope rimmed his eyes. He spoke quietly. “After today, right? After you announce what we are.”