It was the honest-to-God truth. When a tearful Stacey had found Luke in the small groom’s room at the church that morning, his first thought had been that he’d raise hell to stop whatever was upsetting her. His second thought was that he knew exactly what needed to stop to ease her pain: the wedding.
It had hurt. It had hurt hearing the woman he loved say that she was in love with someone else—her best friend. It had hurt even more knowing that the truth had probably always been there, and he and Stacey both had been guilty of convincing themselves otherwise.
But that was the tricky part about loving someone—their happiness had to mean more than your own. It wasn’t love otherwise.
So he’d gotten over it. Got plenty drunk with Gil, then went about the business of healing.
His plan had worked. Stacey and Isobel were happy, if not exactly open about their relationship, and Luke had learned to be…content.
At least until Eva.
“Stacey said you let everyone assume it was you who called it off.”
He shrugged. “Her dad’s kind of an asshole. He’d cut her out of all future Christmas dinners if he found out she was gay. I care about her too much to let that happen until she’s ready.”
“If she ever is.”
“Right.”
“Does it bother you?” Jordan asked. “That people think you ditched her on her wedding day?”
He gave a rueful smile. “As you’ve delighted in reminding me, I’d had some practice by that point.”
“Ah yes, the mysterious bride number one,” she said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs.
He nearly leaned forward to get a peek at the way his shirt must be riding up on her slim thighs, before reminding himself that he wasn’t twelve.
He did, however, make a mental promise to himself to check out those perfect thighs up close later.
“So you didn’t break her heart either,” Jordan was saying.
Luke shrugged.
“Did she break yours?”
“Nah,” he said, meaning it. “It was mutual and the best for both of us.”
“Yet she let you take the blame?”
“I insisted. I was nineteen; she was my first love.”
Jordan sighed. “Damn, you really would have made a killer candidate for Jilted.”
“I thought I was out of the running now that we’ve established that I’m only part asshole, rather than a complete one,” he said, standing to grind more coffee for a second pot.
Winston promptly transferred his love over to Jordan, who reached out a hand to stroke his head.
“I’m rethinking,” she said. “Ladies love a gentleman nearly as much as they love a bad boy, and I think there’s definitely a gentleman lurking beneath the backward hat and glares.”
“For what it’s worth, I only glare at you.” Luke punched the machine, the angry whir of the grinder announcing that he was done talking about himself.
When the kitchen went silent once more, he turned and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms and studying her.
“You miss New York?”
She blinked in surprise. “What?”
He smiled. “Look, if we’re going to fight, screw, then have a get-to-know-you morning-after chat, it’s got to go both ways.”