My Fiancé Chose My Best Friend-At My Dad’s Funeral novel · Chapter 22 of 24

Chapter 22: Sit at Your Own Table

Alexander put the coat around my shoulders and left his hands there.

"You're in your shirtsleeves," I said. "It's thirty degrees."

"I've been out here three hours. I stopped feeling it at about the second."

"You could have waited inside."

"The senior partner said I'm a party to the firm, not to your building." He smiled a little. "I took him literally."

I laughed, and it came out unsteady, and he pulled me in against his chest.

Down the street a car horn sounded twice.

The city was still moving along.

"It's done," I said into his shirt. "I thought it would feel bigger."

"What does it feel like?"

"I put down something heavy, and my arms don't know what to do now."

He held me until I stopped shaking.

Then he took a breath, and I felt him gather himself.

"Tilda. I have to say something, and it's going to cost me. Will you let me finish?"

I stepped back and looked at him.

"That's the first time you've asked."

"It's the first time I've been afraid of the end of the sentence."

He pushed a hand through his hair.

"You own the building the firm works in, and I work in that firm. For five years every rent dispute has my name on one side and yours on the other. Every partner who loses an argument will say you gave me an edge."

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