Page 35 of Not a Friend (Crescent Light #1)

Now

I’m not a violent guy, but what’s the resort policy on hitting someone?

I recognized other wedding guests filtering into the dining hall as we sat for breakfast. Some of them looked a bit hungover from the welcome party the night before, others were bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and ready for more festivities.

Most dressed casually, likely in preparation for early activities.

As part of Gemma’s dream wedding weekend, I’d helped her schedule a down day for folks who traveled to experience the area.

Part of that included pre-organized excursions and tours in the surrounding area that guests could opt-in to with their RSVP.

Some were trips to local wineries; some were day trips to San Francisco to see touristy locations like Alcatraz Island and Fisherman’s Wharf. At the request of Gemma’s mother, there was also a bus to shuttle any interested guests to nearby shops throughout the day.

It was the perfect way for Grant and Gemma to get out of hosting duties all day so they could whittle away at Gemma’s last-minute wedding to-do list .

With my help, of course.

Kieran and I joined Michael at the large table he was holding. We wasted no time ordering food. I wasn’t lying when I told Kieran I was starving and rejected his offer to split something.

Martinez sauntered up to our table just as my tart mimosa touched my lips.

“Thank fuck,” he said, plopping down at my side. “I was hoping you’d have mimosas at the ready.”

Behind him, Miles, Leo, and Jared followed. Rounding out the group, to my infinite luck, was Nate.

Maybe it was the hunch of his shoulders or the way he kept his head dipped low, but I got the sense he was hiding behind Jared as they approached.

Maybe he was just as at odds with his feelings as I was.

His eyes met mine for a split second as if to say, Sorry, as he took the last seat on the far side of the table.

Unfortunately, our split-second look wasn’t lost on Kieran. He brought his arm around to rest territorially on the back of my chair as a large plate of waffles was plopped in front of me.

While Kieran was a physically affectionate guy by nature, it was usually in sweet, subtle ways: a hand around the waist, a quick kiss on the temple. But this? Clinging to me, hanging heavy arms across my shoulders? It felt forced. Performative.

And I couldn’t help but notice that this new habit of his seemed to flare whenever Nate was present.

Who is this guy, and where was my confident boyfriend?

I did my best to keep my eyes glued to the waffles in front of me and not let them drift anywhere near the man at the end of the table, but there was that magnetic pull again.

That force of nature that guided my eye to his every time I took a drink of my mimosa, or anxiously adjusted my hair, or leaned in to hear someone speak.

I was once again incredibly grateful for my friend’s discretion as they attempted to ignore the tension that could’ve been cut with a knife. Jared—never one to control his facial expressions—thankfully kept his eyes trained anywhere and everywhere that was not Nate and me.

Martinez, bless him, started nudging my knee under the table any time he caught my eyes lingering for too long. Were it not for Michael and Kieran’s general cluelessness and preoccupation with sports talk, this would’ve been a very different breakfast.

“Who’s all going out today?” Leo asked over his mimosa.

“Raise your hand if you’re joining the booze cruise!” Michael boomed, his hand shooting high in the air.

Martinez’s hand shot up like lightning next to him, and Miles and Leo’s hands followed.

“Woah, woah, wait,” Kieran perked up. “What’s the booze cruise?”

I eyed him incredulously. He knew what the booze cruise was—he’d heard me talk about it with Gemma over multiple FaceTime planning calls. Otherwise known as a sensible, private boat tour of the San Francisco Bay, the “booze cruise” also happened to have a full-service bar on board.

Even if I wasn’t going to be preoccupied with assisting Gemma today, I knew the booze cruise was probably the last activity I’d want to join. Spending the whole day outside in the sun, stuck on a boat with no food and a bottomless bar, enduring the choppy San Francisco Bay water? Yeah, no thanks.

“Babe, we’re definitely doing that today,” Kieran said with finality.

I prickled. “I can’t. I’m helping Gemma today.” I’d only told him about it five times. “And so are you, remember?”

We’d planned for Kieran to stick around to help us with some of the last-minute tasks in case we found ourselves in need of extra manpower from someone who regularly hit the gym.

“Gemma’s got plenty of help,” Michael insisted. But what did he know? He was the brother; I was the best friend. He wasn’t the one who’d been helping Gemma plan for over a year.

Jared leaned over Martinez. “I’m helping today, too, Olive.”

I knew that already. Gemma and I had planned it all out: who would do which tasks, who would help, and who would be on retainer as a backup just in case. Jared would help Grant with some of the heavy lifting, I would help Gemma with decor, and Kieran would be an extra set of hands.

“See?” Kieran pointed to Jared. “He’s staying to help so we can go on the booze cruise.”

My cheeks flushed. Did we really have to have this conversation in front of a table full of people? Already, an awkward silence descended. From the corner of my eye, Nate adjusted in his seat, stretched his neck.

“I can’t,” I repeated. “Jared’s helping Grant. I’m helping Gemma.”

“Well, I’m going,” he said, leaning back in his seat, then added as an afterthought, “if that’s cool with you.”

I nodded tightly, sipping my mimosa. “Have fun.”

A little embarrassed and a lot frustrated, I kept my head down for the rest of breakfast and pretended everything was fine.

Nate’s gaze prickled my skin with every glance.

Even without looking at him, I could feel it like a sixth sense, a hot brand against my skin.

I was hyperaware and couldn’t shut it off.

Every time his voice cut through the din of the dining room, every time he laughed at something ridiculous Martinez said, the sound danced over my senses. Ignoring him was impossible .

When our eyes met again from across the table—just a quick peek over the rim of his glass as he drank—something else lingered there.

Instead of the knot in my belly twisting tight, the look gave me a certain…

comfort? Relaxation? Like releasing a breath after holding it for too long.

It was our silent communication. A look that asked, You okay?

I’d be lying if I said part of me wasn’t happy we got the chance to talk in the vineyard.

I was happy for him. Happy he was finally doing all the things he worked so hard for.

Happy Crescent Light was getting the attention they deserved.

Maybe I didn’t know where we stood—go figure—but I felt like I could finally let go of some of my animosity.

It was nice. Like catching up with an old friend.

Nothing more.