On the Run (Whispering Key #2) - May Archer Page 0,72

ten-year-old cars were considered new, folks still thought of Rafe as being married and treated Gage like he was twelve. But somehow Toby—Trey—had become a fixture in less than a week.

I couldn’t say I was unhappy about it; he’d kinda become kind of a fixture in my life, too. It was thrilling…

The same way a roller coaster was thrilling when you were heading for the drop.

“Not today. The guys and I just got back from running a tour.” I nodded at my brothers, who’d grabbed their favorite table in the back. “Last I saw him, Trey was at Mason and Fenn’s place with the party committee. The contractors finished work inside the main house just in time for Mason and Fenn to come home tonight, and Trey and the committee are hanging fairy lights and decorations around the yard.”

Scotty turned to make our coffees without needing to ask our orders but gave a dubious glance at the sky outside. “He’d best be careful with that. Gonna rain soon.”

“Oh, Trey knows,” I assured him. “He’s got the whole thing down to a science. ‘Paper products must stay in the house until the final moments, Beale. Like crafting a soufflé, Beale.’” I grinned. “Needless to say, I was told my help was not necessary.” And I hadn’t felt sad about that in the slightest.

Scotty laughed and put our drinks on a tray. “Well, when you get home, tell him I got the ingredients to make that coffee he wanted the other day. I googled it, and it turns out the thing only sounded fancy. It was actually simple as anything.”

That was pretty on-brand for Toby.

“I’ll let him know, Scotty. See you tonight?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

When I got to the four-seat table, Rafe had arranged himself with his eyes closed, his head tipped back to the wall, and his feet stretched over a second chair, so I grabbed the seat next to Gage, who was busily scrolling something on his phone and set the drinks in the middle of the table.

“You gonna make it to the party tonight, Rafael?” I kicked lightly at the chair with his feet on it. “Think you might need a nap?”

Rafe cracked open one brown eye. “Listen to you. One week ago—a mere seven days—you were all ‘Parties are bad. I hate parties.’”

“I do.” I twisted the cups to find the one with my name on it. “They are.”

“Uh-huh. And yet, you’re not having a panic attack or making plans to flee the island.” Rafe dropped his feet and leaned toward me. “Hmm. Let’s think about what’s changed.”

“Let’s not.”

“Oh, no, I’m with Rafe on this one.” Gage shut off his phone and set it facedown. “Let’s talk about the color-coordinated, designer-shoe-wearing, party-planning elephant in the room.”

I sipped my tea and stared at the bright July day outside the window.

“Things seem to have gotten serious between you remarkably fast, even for two people who knew each other years ago.” Rafe picked three packets of sugar out of the container by his elbow and added them to his iced coffee. He tasted it, then reached for three more. “Even for soul mates.”

“So, are you happy?” Gage asked.

Was I?

That morning, I’d woken up with Toby wrapped around me, which had become our norm. The sky outside had been rose-tinged with sunrise, and I’d known I’d curse myself for putting off my run until the day got hotter, but it had been really hard to force myself away from the man in my arms. I’d stared down at Toby’s face, which I’d already mapped a dozen times over the past week in moments like that, and remembered Mason was coming home tonight. Tonight, Toby would tell Mason about the problem he was facing in New York—the one he wouldn’t explain to me. Tonight, Toby and Mason would figure out a solution—one that might involve Toby leaving for good. All the frustration that had built up over the past week at feeling myself grow closer to Toby—but also not, thanks to these giant, gaping holes—ate at me. It gave me a tight feeling in my chest that felt like a portent. Like something bad was coming.

And then, Toby’s dark eyes had fluttered open, and the instant he saw me, he’d smiled like the thing he’d been dreaming of had come to life. Just like every other day this week, I’d told myself that maybe I didn’t need to know all the details of his life or his problems. He’d trusted me with his identity