As for the bride and groom, well, they’re the picture of wedded bliss. Baker has his arms wrapped around Sloane as they sway back and forth. They’re staring at each other with a look of pure love and devotion. This is their day, and it’s been incredible and intimate, with just those closest to them, which is exactly how they wanted it.

  Their parents are sitting at one of the tables, all chatting and laughing, enjoying the moment. Everyone but me has someone, even if that someone didn’t show. As always, I’m the odd man out.

  My heart squeezes in my chest. I need some air. Quietly, I turn and step outside onto the front porch. The air is crisp and cool, but it doesn’t bother me. Sitting down on one of the rocking chairs, I close my eyes and let my mind wander to a time when I thought my life would be different.

  I have a good life. Great friends, who are my family, and a career I worked hard for, and I love every minute of. But even with all of that, it still feels as if something is missing. I’ve always known what the something is. Someone I can share it all with, but I lost my chance.

  The door opens, and Baker steps outside. “The man of the hour,” I say, holding my fist out, and we bump knuckles before he takes the rocker next to mine.

  He grins. “She’s officially mine.”

  “You didn’t need a marriage certificate for that,” I remind him.

  “I know, but damn, Sloane Sinclair has a nice fucking ring to it.”

  “I’ll give you that.” I nod.

  “What are you doing out here?” he asks, his brow furrowed in concern.

  “Just getting some air. Everyone was all loved up, and I thought it was a good time.” I shrug. It’s not a complete lie. It’s not just that I thought it was a good time to escape. I needed the reprieve from the heaviness of being alone.

  “Well, you’d better come back inside. Landry and Cam are about to revolt if we don’t cut the cake.” He chuckles.

  “Oh, I know. Your son gave me that cute look of his to convince me to get him some earlier. Rowan took over, and I saw her with Landry, which was Cam’s idea.” I go on to tell him the details, and he grins.

  “That’s my boy.” He stands from his rocker. “Come on.” He nods his head toward the house, so I stand and follow him back inside.

  I know he wants to say more. He knows it was more than fresh air I was seeking. That it was a reprieve from being the odd man out, but he doesn’t mention it, and for that, I’m grateful.

  Landry hands Camden to Sloane, and he leans over while in her arms, reaching for the cake. He manages to swipe his finger through the icing. He grins victoriously as he shoves his finger into his mouth, licking it clean.

  Everyone laughs as Baker and Sloane make the first cut, while Camden, who’s in Sloane’s arms, is still reaching for the cake. Baker gathers two small pieces and feeds one to his wife and then offers the other to Camden, who takes it eagerly. Baker leans down to kiss Sloane, while Camden takes the rest of his cake from his dad’s hand and shoves the remainder of the small piece into his mouth.

  We spend the next few hours laughing, talking, and dancing. I dance with Camden and Coral and then snuggle up with Alex while his parents take the dance floor for a spin without him. It’s a good day, and while there is a heaviness that sits on my chest, there’s also a lightness that shines.

  These are my people, and getting to celebrate them makes my world a little brighter. Even as the odd man out, I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.

  Chapter Six

  Eden

  * * *

  Foster is paying me—well, the agency—for nothing. I come to his place three times a week, but he’s neat and cleans up after himself. I don’t need three eight-hour days here. I guess maybe he’s messier when the season is in full swing? I’m not sure, but I find myself with extra time on my hands.

  That’s why I’m in his kitchen making him dinner. He tells me I don’t have to, but the man has been making me breakfast three times a week since my first full week here. It’s the least that I can do. He’s at the gym with the guys—his words, not mine—and well, I assume a workout makes you hungry. I wouldn’t know. I can’t think of a single time I’ve stepped into a gym to work out.

  I’m lucky that I’ve got a good metabolism. I’m sure one day that won’t be the case, but I’m taking full advantage of it while I can.

  I’m pulling the meatloaf out of the oven, just as the door from the garage opens. I hear his heavy footfalls as he makes his way to the kitchen.

  “Wow, what’s all this?” Foster asks.

  I place the meatloaf on the stove and turn to face him. He’s wearing sweats and a hoodie, his hair is mussed, and his lips are tilted into a smile for me.

  “I made dinner,” I tell him. “I thought you might be hungry.” I glance over at the clock on the wall. “I know four might be a little early to eat, but everything can be heated up later. I don’t know if you’re hungry after a workout, but I assumed that you would be, so yeah.” I sigh, my shoulders dropping. I’m rambling, and it’s embarrassing.

  “Four is not too early, and I’m starving. Have a seat, and I’ll make us a plate,” he says, stepping toward the cabinet.

  “Oh, I made this for you.”

  “And this is a lot of food for one person. You’re staying to eat with me.” He gives me a look that tells me not to argue with him, so I don’t.

  “I guess that means I’ll at least be here to clean up after,” I tell him. It’s not a hardship to stay. Spending time with this man, being in his orbit in any capacity, has quickly become the best part of my days.

  “No, ma’am. You cooked. I’ll clean up. Now, sit.” He nods toward the stools at the massive island in his kitchen, and I do as I’m told, perching my ass onto one of them.

  “This smells great, Eden. Thank you,” Foster says, placing a plate in front of me and one next to me for himself. “What do you want to drink?”

  “Oh, uh, water is fine.”

  He grabs two bottles of water from the fridge and takes his seat. He wastes no time, cutting into his piece of meatloaf and forking up a bite. “Damn,” he mutters, placing his hand over his mouth as he chews. “If I had known that everything you cook was this good, I’d be begging for you to cook for me every night.” He winks.

  If he only knew what that wink of his does to me. It turns my belly into knots and has my heart fluttering, as if it has wings inside my chest.

  “I cooked a lot growing up. That was one of my chores at most of my foster families. They found out I could cook, and I had to earn my keep. Never mind that they got money monthly for housing me. By the time I made it to the Harpers, it was kind of my thing, and we all cooked together.”

  “Do you still talk to them? The Harpers?” he asks.

  “Occasionally. I send them birthday and Christmas cards, and they do the same for me. They weren’t affectionate people, and I craved affection. I thought if I cooked for them, that would earn me a hug or a smile, but both were few and far between. I think that’s why I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I was safe, warm, and fed, but I still missed the closeness.” I shrug.

  “Yeah, affection isn’t something that’s handed out. Not the good kind of affection. I can still remember the first time Mrs. Pruitt, Hope, hugged me. It was the day I moved in with them, and I stood there frozen, not sure what to do.”

  “It’s hard to trust good intentions when all you’ve ever been on the receiving end of are bad ones,” I agree. It’s comforting and overwhelming all at the same time—how similar we are, from our backgrounds to how we see life. Really, it’s only our careers that separate us, which sounds weird, since that’s exactly what brought us together.

  He nods. “By the time I went off to college, I was accustomed to her hugs. She gave them freely, like I imagine a mother would.”

  “Do they have kids? Mr. and Mrs. Pruitt?” I ask.

  “No. They were never able to have children of their own. I don’t know why they didn’t adopt or foster a smaller child, or a baby even. Instead, they took me.”

  I think about what he said while I swallow my bite of meatloaf. “Maybe they were waiting for you. I can only assume that the situation and the child needed to feel right. Fit their family, and you were their choice, Foster.”

  His brows furrow slightly, as if he’s deep in thought. “I guess I never thought about it like that.”

  “It took me a while to turn my thinking around, too. The Harpers were new foster parents. I was their first and their last. They, too, were unable to have children of their own. They might not have passed out hugs freely, but they did choose me.”

  “Do you ever wish you had reached out more?” he asks.

  “Sometimes. More here recently. What about you?”

  “Yeah, but then I tell myself too much time has passed, and I talk myself out of it.”

  “It’s never too late, Foster. They’re a part of your life, and from what you’ve told me, they would be an even bigger part if you would let them. They chose you. It wasn’t pity or to make them feel better about themselves. You were who they wanted.”

  He’s quiet as he finishes off the rest of his dinner. Foster likes to process things, and it’s obvious he overthinks them, at least when it comes to anything connected to his past.

  “Violet.”

  That’s it. One name, and he clamps his mouth shut.

  “Who’s Violet?” I ask, keeping my voice soft.

  “We met in college. She was there the day I got drafted. We’d talked about the future, and where it was going, and what my being drafted meant. I asked her to marry me that day, and she said no. She wanted to go to medical school, which I knew, but she didn’t want to do long distance, and she didn’t want to be in the limelight that this career came with.”

  “I’m sorry. That must have hurt.”

  “Old rejections and insecurities. I didn’t fight for her. I was angry that she changed the plan, and I just… let her walk away. She left my house that night, and I never saw her again after that.”

  I can hear the pain in his voice. If I could take it for him, I would. “Where is she now?”

  “She’s a doctor.” He smiles sadly. “The last I heard, she was dating another doctor. I stopped checking up on her after that. I lost my chance to be in her life, to care about her, when I didn’t fight for us.”

  I can’t help it. Reaching over, I place my hand over his. “Foster, she didn’t fight either. There are two people in a relationship, and the fallout is not all on you.”

  “It is. I could have given it all up for her. I could have followed her to medical school.”

  “That’s not fair to either of you, and you would have ended up resenting that she got to live her dream, and you didn’t.”

  “I loved her.”

  “Sometimes, love isn’t enough.”

  He turns those dark brown eyes my way. “You ever been in love, Eden?”

  I shake my head, swallowing hard. “I never let anyone get close enough. I never got close enough to fall in love. It’s hard for me to trust people, and yeah, that hinders the whole love thing, as well.”

  “Do you trust me?” he asks, leaning in close.

  I hold his stare. “I think I do.” I swallow hard as I keep my eyes locked on his.

  “I don’t trust easily either. The guys, they’ve earned my trust, but still, you’re the first person, other than my ex, that I’ve opened up to about my life growing up. I don’t know if it’s because I know our backgrounds are so similar, or if there’s something in my soul that recognizes yours, but I trust you.” He reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I hope one day, you’ll trust me, too,” he whispers.

  He leans in a little closer, and I lick my lips because I may not have much experience with love or dating, but I know when a man is thinking about kissing me. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I do trust him, but something holds me back. I start to lean into him just as my cell phone rings, jolting me.

  Foster slowly settles back into his chair, his eyes still locked with mine. I break the spell as I look down at the island and my phone. No one ever calls me but work and my best friend, Carrie, and it’s her name that’s flashing at me on the screen. I stare at the phone as if it offended me, which is why I don’t see him lean close.

  His lips brush against my temple. “Answer it,” he says, grabbing our empty plates and standing, moving toward the sink.

  Exhaling a heavy breath, I pick up my phone, noticing a slight tremble in my hands, swipe at the screen, and place it next to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Hey, you,” Carrie’s cheerful voice greets me. “What are you doing for dinner? I thought you could come and eat with us. It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”

  “Like two weeks.” I chuckle. I don’t know what I did in life to have Carrie be a part of my journey, but I’m forever grateful. “I actually already had dinner.”

  “Boo,” she says. “Fine, dessert then. Nick and the girls made double-chocolate cupcakes.”

  “That sounds too good to pass up,” I tell her, my eyes on Foster’s back as he loads the dishwasher.

  “So, we’ll see you soon?”

  “I’ll be there. Give me an hour or so.” I don’t want to rush out of here, not after whatever that moment was that just passed between us.

  “Sounds good. Be safe. Love you.”

  “Love you, too,” I answer quickly before the line goes dead. “That was Carrie, my best friend. She invited me for dinner, and since I’ve already eaten, she offered dessert,” I explain, because the only other option is to ask him why he kissed me. Okay, it was his lips pressed to my temple, but that’s a kiss in my book, and I need to know what I have to do to be on the receiving end of more of them.

  Even as I think the thought, I know it’s a terrible idea, but quietly, with each meal we share, each story of our past, and each smile, I’m leaning into him. Leaning, falling, whatever you want to call it. It’s bad. It’s so bad, but I don’t know how to stop it.

  “Dessert is always good,” he says, turning to face me. His arms are braced behind him on the counter, but those dark eyes stare deep into my soul.

  “Her husband and daughters made double-chocolate cupcakes.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him to come with me. I know Carrie and Nick wouldn’t mind, but I keep my mouth shut. He’s my pseudo-boss. We might have shared something, which I’m not sure about just now, but it was the moment. All the sharing and talking about our pasts and his ex, that’s all this was. I can’t let myself read too much into it.

  “Sounds nice,” he says. His eyes are dark, and there’s a look on his face that I can’t read, and I hate that. Suddenly, I want to know everything about this man—all his tells—and I want to be able to read him, communicate silently.

  “I should go,” I say, standing. “Let me help finish cleaning up.”

  “No. I’ve got it. Go enjoy your family.”

  I smile because there might be a lot that we still don’t know about one another, but we know that our friends are more than just friends. They’re all we have in this world, and the fact that he knows that, that he respects it, only makes me lean into him a little more.

  I need to stop leaning.

  If not, before I know it, lean turns into love, and I’ll allow my heart to be broken by a man who is not broken, but a little bent. It wouldn’t be his fault. It would be mine. I can’t let that happen.

  “I’ll see you on Friday,” I tell him, rushing out of the kitchen and to the front door. I quickly change my shoes, and when I stand back to my full height, he’s there, arms crossed over his chest, watching me.

  “Be safe, Eden.” He steps toward me and wraps me in a hug. I sag into his embrace, relishing the feel of his arms around me. I don’t know how long we stand together, but eventually, he steps back and shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweats.

  I swallow hard. “I will. I’m always safe,” I say as I wave awkwardly and rush out the door. I’m in my car and backing out of his driveway before I take the first deep breath I’ve taken in the last fifteen minutes.

  I barely remember the drive to Carrie’s place, but when I pull into the driveway, the front door opens, and my best friend steps out onto the porch. She waits for me, and as soon as I reach her, she opens her arms, and I fall into her embrace, hugging her tightly. I might not have grown up with affection, but Carrie is always passing out hugs for free, and I need one of her hugs. I need her to ground me, because I’m starting to fall for him, and I know it’s wrong.

  I’m not good at this. Men and dating. And Foster, he’s… everything, and I don’t know how to handle what I’m feeling.

  “Come on in. Nick and the kids are in the basement, playing a board game.” Carrie grabs me by the hand and pulls me into the living room. There’s already a glass of wine waiting for each of us as she tosses me a blanket, and we snuggle up on either end of her couch, facing each other.

  “Tell me.”

  And so, I do. I tell her about my new assignment, the way I thought I would get either reassigned or fired. I tell her about his apology and how he insists that I eat breakfast with him every day. I tell her about the children’s home, just not why he’s connected. I’m sure she assumes it’s his celebrity status, but I won’t tell his secrets. I did make her promise not to tell a soul because he’s not doing it to be in the spotlight. I even told her about the kiss on my temple and the hug he gave me before I left tonight. I let it all spill free—word vomit in its best form—and once I’ve expelled it all, I’m exhausted and desperate for her take on my situation.

  “His life isn’t like ours,” Carrie says calmly. “I think before you let this go any further in your mind, or in your heart, you need to think about that. Is being in the public eye something that you’re okay with?”

  I take a minute to think about her question and nod. “Yeah, if it meant being with him, then, yes, I could handle it.”

  Carrie nods. “The two of you seem to have a lot in common, outside of your careers being total opposites.” She smiles.