Whispers of Destiny: His Belated Love novel Chapter 194

Rosemary was all set to wash some peeled potatoes when, out of nowhere, she hit a slick spot on the floor. Her flip-flops must've had about as much grip as a used bar of soap, because down she went.

Before she hit the floor, she managed to take out everything on the counter with her, sending dishes and bowls clattering all over the place.

Quick on the draw, Martin swooped in to catch her, but he'd been squatting so long that his legs had gone numb. He lost his balance, couldn't hold on, and ended up taking a nosedive himself, turning into an impromptu human cushion at the very last second.

Even with Martin breaking her fall, the guy's gym-honed body was tough as nails, hardly softer than the actual floor.

Rosemary's head was spinning like she was on a merry-go-round, and she couldn't make heads or tails of the situation.

Clueless, she had no idea that her face was currently smooshed against the guy's six-pack, nor did she notice the crowd of onlookers that had gathered at the kitchen entrance.

She furrowed her brows and gave her head a tiny shake, trying to shake off the dizziness. The small movement made it look like she was nuzzling him, though.

Flat on his back, Martin had one hand still on Rosemary's waist, and as she moved, his Adam's apple bobbed reflexively. Whether it was pain or something else, his voice came out so raspy it was barely audible: "Rosemary, stop moving."

Before she could even process what was happening, someone yanked her up from Martin's embrace. The person was rough but didn't hurt her.

When she saw who it was, her instinct was to put some distance between them. Why was this guy, Maxwell, always popping up like a bad penny?

Maxwell had a frosty look on his face, his jawline tight as a guitar string. "How long were you planning to lie there?"

Martin, already back on his feet and ignoring the blood seeping from cuts made by the shattered porcelain, confronted Maxwell directly. Dropping his usual humble demeanor, he said, "Rosemary's my guest today, and I won't let her be harassed."

"Harassed?"

Facing off against Maxwell's overwhelming presence, Martin didn't back down an inch. "Anyone with eyes can see that Rosemary's not comfortable with you up in her space. Isn't what you're doing right now pretty much harassment?"

He pulled Rosemary to his side. "Today's a family dinner, and we didn't set a place for outsiders, Mr. Templeton, so please leave."

The air was thick with tension, as if a spark could ignite at any moment. Two tall dudes blocking the kitchen entrance made the small space feel even more claustrophobic.

Nina, sensing the hostility, tried to intervene: "Martin, Maxwell, let's talk this out..."

But nobody gave her the time of day.

With no other option, she turned to Archer for help, thinking that he, being the same age and a long-time friend, might have more luck getting through to them.

But when she turned around, Archer was nowhere to be found. She spun back to see him lounging on the couch, munching on an apple. When he caught her stare, he even had the nerve to ask, "Aunt Nina, this apple's pretty good. Where'd you get it?"

Nina forced a laugh: "...You like it? Grab some to take home later."

After that, she didn't count on him anymore and turned back to the two posturing men.

Maxwell eventually pulled Rosemary back: "Fine, we won't impose any longer."

"Do I need to spell it out for you?" Martin didn't budge, pulling Rosemary slightly forward. "Here, everyone but you belongs. You're the outsider."

The friendship between their families was mainly because of Martin's grandfather and Rosemary's grandfather. Nina got along with Rosemary's mother, but they were never really best friends.

After Rosemary's mother passed away and her grandfather returned to Havenfield, the two families drifted apart. No!

Nina had almost finished the prep work before Rosemary even arrived, so with just cooking left, it wouldn't take long.

They carried the dishes out to the living room, where Archer had left. Maxwell and Martin were sitting at opposite ends of the sofa, ignoring each other.

With those two human ice sculptures around, there was no way the meal was going to be cheerful. Nina, noticing Martin's blood-stained clothes, frowned, "Why don't you go and take care of those cuts?"

Martin's just got some superficial scrapes, and the bleeding has already stopped. But since he's wearing light-colored clothes, the blood spread and made a big ol' mess. It looks worse than it is—out of sight, out of mind, right?

Nina turned to Rosemary and started, "So maybe later Rosemary can..."

Take you to the clinic to get some ointment.

But before she could finish, Maxwell cut in, "I'll do it. No need for any unnecessary touchy-feely stuff between guys and gals."

He glared at Martin's deceptively innocent face. Used to think the guy was the picture of nobility, but now the more he looked, the more he saw a holier-than-thou act—a smooth operator with a belly full of tricks.

Back in the day, when the three of them were shipped off for training, they'd take hits way worse than this without even batting an eye. Just dust themselves off and keep on trudging through the muck with a heavy load. And now he's acting all delicate, needing ointment? Give me a break!