Marc Jillson & The Gazebo (Love Inscribed 2)

He swallowed and held his chin high. He knew what we were, yet that didn’t change his need to hear it. To be certain, absolutely. “Hunter—”

The doorbell buzzed.

Liam and Quinn were at the door, Quinn grinning, Liam handsomely expressionless, each toting two coffees.

Liam handed me one of his, and Quinn tromped into the house calling after Hunter.

“Are you ready to go?” Liam asked.

“We were eating breakfast.” I checked the time and swore. Damn time flew with Hunter. “Yeah, we’re ready.”

Liam wavered. “Should we meet you there?”

I heard Quinn’s thumping steps and Hunter’s wheels behind me. I jumped into my sneakers. “We’re coming.”

Liam led the way outside. “Please tell me we’re walking.”

Hunter rolled after him, ahead of Quinn and me, camera bag swinging from his chair. “Was that a dig at my driving?”

I snorted. “I hope so.”

Liam smiled at me. “It most certainly was.”

Quinn and I laughed until Hunter silenced us with a death glare.

“Don’t be too upset, honey,” I cooed. “You can laugh at me panting up the zigzag path.”

“This is a bare-bones party,” Liam said when we arrived on site to dewy grass, barren of life.

I leaned against him as we both stared at the turret-shaped roof, glittering with frost. “A few more people will turn up.”

At least, I sincerely hoped.

Quinn glanced at our point of contact and suddenly found the roses fascinating, and in fact, Liam should definitely come check them out with him.

Hunter laughed and rubbed the back of my thigh. Could he feel my thrumming anxiety?

I folded my arms tight under my armpits. Would this be the gazebo’s last day? All those inscribed names and padlocks—would those lovers be doomed?

I concentrated on the comforting warmth of Hunter’s hand.

“Come,” I murmured, curving around the gazebo. At the arch window where Hunter’s parents had carved their names, roses pushed against us from either side. I pulled out the army knife I’d been carrying all morning.

“What’s this?” Hunter said, gravelly.

“You know what this is.”

Hunter eyed the knife. “It’s only been a few weeks.”

Plus an entire summer, but that didn’t matter. “This is our tuna sandwich, Hunter.”

I pressed the tip of the knife against the wood. It immediately shut down on my finger. “Motherfucker!”

Hunter warred between concern and laughter, opting for laughter.

I laughed too, sucked on the small cut, and handed the army knife to Hunter. “You have it. So much for being romantic.”

Hunter chiseled our names into the wood a few inches below his parents. Proudly staring at it, he fondled the back of my thigh again, and warmth oozed through my bones. I examined his defined features—the pouty bottom lip, the hard line of his nose, the straight lashes. I breathed in cool air and exhaled a faint cloud toward him.

Somewhere in the distance Liam and Quinn were murmuring.

Hunter withdrew his camera and took a shot of our names, then snuck a candid shot of me watching him.

“Hannah’s here. With Victor.”

I shot my head around. Victor, holding his cane and a contemplative look, waltzed toward the ramp like he was breathing in the past. They acknowledged us with a wave, but before we could head over, Mary called from the top of the path, waving and yoo-hooing us, arm hooked around Dan’s.

“Hey, Mom. Dad,” Hunter greeted, and we halted before them.

Two sets of humored eyes soaked me in—barely a nod to Hunter. “Marc. Lovely to meet you in person.”

Hunter cleared his throat. “Was it a good flight?”

“Good, yes.” Dan said distractedly. His eyes jumped from ecstatic to telling me if I hurt Hunter, I would have him to reckon with. I nodded to Dan’s silent warning. “We’re glad we could come support you.”

“Thank you,” I croaked.

“Mom—” Hunter said.

She kissed her son’s cheek. “What have we missed?” She waved a hand around us and the gazebo.

“You’re just in time, the bulldozer is driving up now,” Hunter said, gesturing behind them. “You haven’t missed anything.”

“Well, one thing,” I said, stepping behind Hunter and resting my hands on his shoulders.

Hunter flexed under me and cocked his head back, like he wasn’t sure if I was saying what I was most definitely saying.

I grinned down at him. “Marc?” he asked softly.

“The thing is, Hunter,” I whispered, in full view of his parents. “I don’t want to live regretting things anymore.”

I kissed him softly, just the touch of my lips against his, and electricity consumed me. I breathed it in for a beat, and reluctantly drew back, winking at his beaming parents. “I didn’t just come around for breakfast,” I said. “I came around to be with my boyfriend.”

I was engulfed in a Dan-and-Mary shaped hug. Hunter laughed. “Don’t smother him.”

“It’s okay,” I said, words muffled in Mary’s scarf. “I like it.”

When they released me, Hunter gave his parents a warning stare and lured me to our quiet spot between the roses.

“Are you frisky?” I asked. “I’m all good for some public fun, but your parents catching us . . .”