Page 36 of Best Man (Close Proximity #1)

“ What ?” The two of them shout it in unison and then very obviously avoid looking at each other. Well, Felix does. Max does what he does normally. He stares at Felix hungrily.

“He saw Patrick kiss me,” I correct. “I shoved him off as soon as he landed on my lips, but I think it’s given Jesse the wrong idea.”

“Probably exacerbated by the fact that you’re still keeping him at arm’s length,” Felix observes.

“I’m not,” I say. Then I slump further. “Okay, maybe I am a bit. I can’t help it. I think I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.” I bury my head in my hands. “He asked me not to go, and I didn’t listen. He said Patrick was up to something and asked me to go home with him instead.”

“ What ?” Max says. “Why would you ignore his request?”

Felix stirs as if he’s definitely wanting to say something, but he restrains himself and focuses his attention on me which always makes me a bit nervous.

I shrug. “Because if I’m not the man who keeps his word and his promises, then who am I?”

“A human being,” Max says angrily. “And a bloody fine one too. Zeb, your dad broke every promise, and mostly everything he said turned out to be a lie. But that doesn’t mean you have to keep every one of yours either. That makes you as stupid as he was.”

I gape at him. “What? ”

Felix shrugs. “Much as it burns with the force of twenty thousand suns to have to admit this, he’s right.”

“Hang on,” Max says. “Let’s just pause the conversation while I savour that.”

“And you’re back to being a dickhead.” Felix turns back to me. “The trouble with you is that you’re looking for structure with love.”

“Is that my only problem? It sounds quite painful.”

“If we don’t focus on just the one, we’ll be here all year.” Max snorts and a smile tickles the corners of Felix’s mouth. “You’re looking for things that can’t be there with real love. There aren’t any rules in it.”

“What about fidelity?”

“That’s a promise, not a rule,” he says. “And promises depend on both people in the equation.”

There’s a very strained silence, and Max is now doing the very opposite of looking at Felix.

“I feel like a whirlwind picked me up and shoved me through a steel fence headfirst and then rammed me into a cow pat next to a rose bush,” I say sadly. Max and Felix blink. “It’s too soon for me to have f-feelings,” I finally say. “I don’t think it’s right to feel like this so soon.”

“Like what?” Max asks.

“Like there aren’t any rules.” I pause. “And that I quite like it like that,” I finish reluctantly. “Even though it makes me feel like I’m upside down on a very rickety and not properly policed fairground ride.”

Felix laughs and shakes his head. “There aren’t any rules for it.

That’s the point . It has to be taken on trust because sometimes in your relationship that trust will be all you have to keep going.

” He shrugs. “There’s no billeted list to check things off.

It just happens. You have strong feelings for the person, you don’t want to be away from them, you smile when you think of them.

And away you go.” He makes a flapping gesture with his hands.

“Surely that’s infatuation?”

“Call it what you like, Zebadiah, but eventually you’ll let it be love.”

“Let it? ”

He smiles affectionately at me. “I’ve always liked you, but God, you’re an idiot.”

“An idiot boss, I think you meant to say in a hyper-polite voice,” I say faintly.

Felix carries on remorselessly. “An idiot who’d put the army to shame.

You analysed and strategized and overthought everything and pottered along thinking that you had complete control.

Then bam!” I jump, and he grins mischievously.

“It hit you right between the bloody eyes. Jesse is perfect for you. Yes, he’s younger than you, but you need that.

He’s funny and charming and impulsive, and he’s stopping your slow roll into the grave through fear of feeling out of control.

And you’ve let him in. You just haven’t realized it yet.

” He rolls his eyes in quite a condemning manner.

“He’s right,” Max says somewhat piously. “You should listen to him.”

“Ha!” Felix says.

I shake my head. “How is it that I’m sitting here letting you two lecture and advise me on love?

It’s like Henry the Eighth advising people on how to keep women happy.

” Felix opens his mouth, but I hold up my hand.

“I just want the address,” I say slightly pathetically.

“That’s all I want. I know I’m in love with him.

I’m coming to terms with it slowly. I just need to get him back, explain things properly, and tell him to come home with me. ”

Felix and Max look at each other. “Good luck with that,” Felix says slightly doubtfully.

“The address?” I say loudly.

“Oh, it’s St Mary’s Church in Dunsford.”

“You knew it all along,” I say indignantly.

He shrugs. “Of course. I knew at some point you’d fuck up on a grand scale and then need to complete a dramatic race to forgiveness.”

I stare at him. “You’re actually scarily clever.”

“I know,” he says over-loudly. “So clever that murdering someone and concealing their body would be very easy for me.”

“I’m off,” Max says quickly and within seconds he’s gone.

I use the journey to Devon to overthink what I’m going to say. It’s an abject failure. Normally, words come easily to me. They roll off my tongue, and I use them to soothe people. It’s ironic that for the first time in my life I need them to serve a purpose and they’re deserting me.

I try to marshal well-thought-out arguments, but all I can concentrate on is how Jesse must have felt seeing me with Patrick and how stupid I’ve been that I’ve somehow given him the impression that I want Patrick at all when the truth is very far from that.

I can see now that even though I’ve let him in this month, I’ve still done it with a hand holding him away slightly. So focused on how I’d feel when he eventually realised I was too old for him to see that I was actually making him go.

Eventually, I drive down a sleepy village street. It’s typical of Devon, with old cottages set back from the road with vivid gardens full of flowers. I find the vicarage at the end of the high street marking the entrance to the old Norman church.

I park the car on the verge and look up at Jesse’s home. It’s rambling and very old and has obviously had a lot built onto it at some point. It’s also very charming with wisteria smothering the brick and looking very purple in the sunlight.

Getting out of the car, I stretch after the long drive.

I hope Jesse is here because otherwise I’m out of ideas.

I unlatch the gate and walk up the path, inhaling the heady intense scent of roses from a bush near the front door.

I look around curiously and it isn’t hard to imagine a small Jesse here playing in the garden, mucky and happy.

The smile is still on my face when the front door opens and I find myself staring at an older man.

He looks to be in his seventies, his hair thick and silvery. His glasses rest halfway down his nose and he’s small in stature. He doesn’t look anything like Jesse, but when he smiles at me there’s something in the sweetness of the gesture that tells me instantly that this is his father.

He looks me up and down, and I fidget, suddenly aware that I’m still in full morning dress. I’d raced off without bothering to get changed and had therefore caused a few raised eyebrows in the service station surrounded by people in holiday clothes.

“Now at a guess I’d say that either fashion has become very formal in London nowadays or you’ve followed my son who appeared in the same style a couple of hours ago.” His voice is warm and rich with an undercurrent of laughter.

“He’s here?” I gasp, feeling relief pour through me and weaken my limbs.

He nods. “He got here this afternoon in a fearful temper. I set him to mowing the graveyard. That will make him cool down a bit and give us time for a little talk.” He steps back, and, before I can blink, I find myself in a dimly lit hallway.

He ushers me into a study with lead windows open to the warm summer breeze.

The walls are covered in floor-to-ceiling bookcases that are crammed with books and papers and all around them are piles of more books.

I look at his desk covered with folders and more paperwork and my fingers itch to organise it.

He smiles at me and gestures me to a chair in front of the desk.

When I sit down, the leather is smooth and comfortable, obviously worn thin by the generations of penitent bums that have sat on it.

He stares at me, and a silence falls, broken only by the sound of a mower in the distance.

I wonder if that’s Jesse and feel a powerful yearning to get to him.

“So, you’re Zeb, then?”

I smile anxiously at him. “I am. It’s very nice to meet you, sir.”

He shakes his head. “Call me Michael.” He looks at me assessingly. “Jesse told me about you last week. He seemed very happy. Then .”

I squirm. “It’s my fault he isn’t happy now,” I hear a voice say and want to look around to see what idiot is talking, but it’s me, and I carry on. “I pushed him away and hurt him.”

“Why?” There’s no condemnation in his voice. Just honest curiosity on that kind face.

“Because I still can’t believe that someone like him would look at me.”

“With his looks, you mean?” A shard of disappointment crosses his face, and I shake my head .

“No. Oh, he’s pretty, but it’s not that. He’s such a good person,” I say earnestly. “He’s fun and clever and kind. And young.” I spread my hands. “You must see how much older I am than him.”