The Best Man - Kristan Higgins

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school, possibly get tapped by the pros and, either way, would live a life of ease and privilege. Levi would serve his country in a war that most people didn’t think was doing much good and hopefully not get killed.

      Jeremy bought a couple of coffees and waited until the Greyhound pulled up in a cloud of exhaust and the driver got out for a smoke.

      “Looks like this is it,” Levi said, hefting his duffel bag onto his shoulder.

      “Get a window seat,” Jeremy advised, as if he was experienced in the world of bus travel.

      “Will do. Take care, dude,” Levi said, shaking his hand. “Thanks for everything.”

      It was a shitty little phrase conveying nothing. Thanks for not caring where I lived, thanks for trying to get me noticed by recruiters, thanks for sending me that pass, thanks for your parents, thanks for picking me to be your friend.

      “Thank you, too.” Then Jeremy hugged him hard and long, pounding him on the back, and when he let him go, Levi saw that his eyes were wet. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had,” Jeremy said, his voice shaking.

      “Right back at you, bud,” Levi said. “Right back at you.” A long minute passed, and for whatever reason, Levi thought maybe he should crack the door a little, now that he was leaving. “That wouldn’t change, either,” he added.

      “What do you mean?” Jeremy asked.

      If you came out. The words stayed stuck. Levi shrugged a little. “I just...I’ll always be here for you, man. Whatever happens. And you know...you can tell me anything. Call me. Email. All that good shit.”

      “Thanks,” Jeremy said. They hugged again, and Levi got on the bus.

      He didn’t go back to Manningsport for almost five years.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      “THANK YOU FOR TAKING me out,” Faith said three days after she’d landed in town. “I’m not sure how my grandparents haven’t killed each other yet. When I’m trying to fall asleep at night, I can still hear them in my head. ‘You want mustard. You always have mustard. How can you make a sandwich without mustard? Take the mustard.’ I could be on fire, and they’d still be fighting over the French’s.” She took a generous sip of her martini, one of the best things about Hugo’s Restaurant. “I’m starting to think that moving in with them was a fast road to suicide.”

      Colleen O’Rourke grinned. “Oh, you Hollands. Such a cute family.”

      Colleen and she had been friends since second grade, when Faith had had a seizure and Colleen had faked one, jealous of the attention Faith got. Colleen had been much more vigorous, the tale went, and ended up bumping her head on a counter and needing four stitches, which had made her very happy indeed.

      “So, aside from the grandparents, how is it, being back?” Colleen asked now.

      “It’s great,” Faith said. “My dad took me out to dinner last night, and it was great. The Red Salamander. Those pizzas are to die for.”

      “I’d marry your father if you’d let me.” Colleen raised an eyebrow. “I mean, if he’s tolerating that horror show, think of how he’d feel about me and all this.” She gestured to her face and torso, which, admittedly, were beautiful.

      “Don’t you even look at my dad,” Faith warned. “And for the love of God, please help me find him somebody. We’re worried that Lorena will take him for a drive and they’ll end up married, and Dad won’t quite notice because it’s harvest time.” She took another sip of her drink.

      “I’ll keep an eye out,” Colleen said. “No one good enough leaps to mind at the moment.”

      That was the problem. Good enough for Dad meant sort of a Mother Teresa/Meryl Streep vibe. Rare, to say the least. She’d spent three hours on eCommitment/SeniorLove last night and came up with only one possible candidate.

      “And how’s your project?” Colleen asked. “The thingie? The barn?”

      “Well, I’ve been tramping around our land for the past two days, taking photos, doing land grade studies, water drainage tests. Get that look off your face. It’s fascinating stuff.”

      “So this is a building for weddings and stuff?”

      “Yep. But there are plenty of great places to get married or have a party around here, so the barn has to be special. That’s what I’m calling it. The Barn at Blue Heron. Do you love it?”

      “I do! Very classy.” Colleen smiled. “So you’re back, Faith! You’re here! This is so great. I’ve missed having you around. You’re staying for two months?”

      “Give or take. I talked to Liza last night and get the impression that Wonderful Mike is living there.”

      “Don’t let him kick you out. I love having a place in Frisco.”

      “San Francisco. Only the tourists call it Frisco.”

      “I stand corrected, you snob.” She waved to the server—they’d gotten their drinks at the bar from Jessica Dunn, who’d barely said hello, but this guy was male, and as such, nearly fell over himself running to the table.

      “Hi, Colleen,” he said warmly. “Haven’t seen you in a while. You look incredible.” He ignored Faith completely and leaned against the table, his ass on Faith’s bread plate. This was the problem with having a beautiful nymph for a friend. Men swarmed around Colleen like mosquitoes around a hemophiliac. “I get off in an hour,” the waiter added.

      “Great!” Colleen said, tossing her dark hair back so he could see her boobs a bit better. “Do I know you? You’re very cute.”

      The waiter made a huffy noise and straightened up. Faith pushed the plate away with the blunt end of her knife. “You don’t remember me?” the waiter asked. “Wow.”

      “Why? Did we have a baby together? Are we secretly married? Wait, didn’t I give you a kidney?” Colleen smiled as she spoke, and Faith sensed the waiter softening.

      “You’re such a tramp,” he said warmly.

      “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful,” Colleen said, batting her eyelashes. “Can we get another round?”

      “I also need another bread plate,” Faith said.

      The waiter ignored her. “Greg. My name is Greg.”

      “Greg.” Colleen said the word like she was tasting it. “Can we get another round, Greg? Time’s a-wastin’. And at my bar, I wouldn’t keep the customer waiting.” O’Rourke’s was indeed the place to be, home of the best wine list in town as well as seventeen different microbrews and fantabulous nachos to boot. They’d come to Hugo’s because Colleen wouldn’t be able to talk if she was at her own place.

      Plus, Faith was sort of easing back into Manningsport. And hiding from Jeremy, let’s be honest, who was a regular at O’Rourke’s. Not only was Jeremy the town doctor, he also gave to every charity that came a-knocking, sponsored four Little League teams and owned a vineyard, employing about a dozen people. He was probably the most popular man in town, if not on Planet Earth.

      “Another round it is,” Greg said, touching the back of Colleen’s hand. “On the house to make up for the delay.” Because, yes, she was that beautiful, she could stab him in the eye with her fork, and he’d still want to take her home.

      “You’re a witch or something,” Faith said as the waiter walked away. “I’m filled with admiration.”

      “I may have slept with him this summer. Images are coming back to me. A white shag rug, a crisp, dry Riesling, from Blue Heron, of course... Anyway, have you run into any old friends or enemies?”

      “Jessica Dunn is shooting me the death stare as we speak,” Faith said. “Is she still slutty?”

      “Can’t

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