“I don’t mean the dress,” he said. “You’re glowing, Mari.”
“Am I?” she laughed, made a little self-conscious by his heady stare. “I got some sun today. We both did.”
Marc shook his head, a small, quizzical smile on his lips. “It’s not the tan.”
Clarisse’s arrival broke the delicate bubble of the intimate moment. Mari and Marc thanked Nathan and Clarisse profusely and promised to tell everyone who would listen about their wonderful farm and café.
A wistful sadness came over Mari as she climbed onto the motorcycle and Marc drove down the lane back to the main route. Night settled slowly on their return to Harbor Town.
She didn’t know for sure what to expect when Marc pulled into her driveway. She released him reluctantly, having grown used to the convenient excuse of holding him so close while they were on the bike. He kept his feet planted on the concrete of the drive while she dismounted. Mari smoothed her dress and tried to read his expression, but his face was cast in shadow.
“I’m leaving the cherry tarts,” she said as she removed her tote bag from the storage unit. “Give them to Brendan tomorrow at his party for me, will you?”
Marc turned the ignition on the motor and silence fell, interrupted only by the waves hitting the shore rhythmically on Sycamore Beach.
“Why don’t you give them to him yourself? Come to his party with me.”
Mari froze in the action of hoisting her bag to her shoulder. “What? No, Marc. Of course not.”
“Why not?”
Her chest tightened when she heard the stiffness of his tone.
“It’s a family party,” she murmured. When he didn’t reply, she continued. “Surely…surely your mother is going to be there?”
“She’ll be there. What’s that got to do with me asking you, as well?”
“Oh come on, Marc. It’s got everything to do with it. I don’t want my presence to ruin a family celebration.”
“There’s no reason your presence should ever ruin anything,” he stated bluntly. “But there is,” Mari shot back. “There is, and you know it. It would be rude of me to show up and make your mother feel so uncomfortable at a family function. Excuse me for saying so, but it’s disrespectful of you to suggest it.”
He leaned toward her enough that she caught sight of the tightness of his lean jaw. “How do you figure that?” he demanded. His voice had been quiet enough, but she sensed his anger. The old, familiar feeling of helplessness rose in her.
>
“It’s disrespectful and selfish to deliberately do something that would make Brigit unhappy.”
“So I’m selfish for wanting to be with you.”
“Yes. No,” Mari sputtered. “I mean, it’s selfish in this particular instance.”
“What about this afternoon?” Marc replied briskly, reminding Mari all too well of his skills as a prosecutor. “My mother would have preferred I didn’t spend it with you. Was I selfish then? My mother thought I should have worked things out with Sandra. I suppose I was selfish every time I went against her wishes, though. Right?”
“No, Of course not,” Mari seethed. “That’s not what I meant. This situation is different.”
“I know it.” His loud bark made her jump. “But that doesn’t make it wrong for me to want to be with you.”
She opened her mouth to make a blistering comment—how dare he try and make her seem like she was being petty for bringing this up?—when someone called her name. She blinked and peered through shadows thrown by the bushes lining the yard.
“Eric?” she called, thinking she recognized her friend’s voice.
“Yeah,” Eric replied. After a few seconds of silence, he stepped into the light of the streetlamp. He glanced warily from Mari’s stiff expression to Marc’s angry one.
“It was such a nice night, I thought I’d walk over and see how things went with the realtor today. Is everything okay?”
“Yes, of course,” Mari replied quickly.
Eric’s gaze flickered over to Marc. “Do you have some time to talk? I had some good news today. I’ve wanted to tell you about it all day, but I couldn’t reach you on your cell.”