Give Love a Chai (Common Threads Book 2)

by Smartypants Romance

  “Would others consider you single too? Are you sure there aren’t any women in your life who think they’re in a relationship with you?” Pippa quizzed.

  “No one expects anything from me. What’s with all of the questions?” I asked.

  “I just want to see what we’re dealing with. Love triangles are tough. Can you imagine dealing with a love square or pentagon?” She shuddered.

  “Not sure it’s even a love triangle. A love line perhaps, with some legal procedures mucking it up,” I said, resigned to my role as the soon-to-be ex-husband. Sure, I’d step out of the way, as Tia wanted, but don’t expect me to be happy for them. Whoever said that, if you really loved someone, you’d just want them to be happy, was full of bullshit.

  Pippa shook her head, a thoughtful frown on her face. “You know the only side I’m on is Tia’s, right? Clayton’s a fantastic guy. But you know what I keep thinking about? Tia and I knew each other back in Beijing, and we restarted our friendship in undergrad. She took a gap year or something after high school, but she had so many AP credits that she eventually caught up, and we ended up in a ton of classes together. She was not the same as the girl from Beijing, nor was she who she is today. She was devastated, like a ghost. That Tia from college makes sense now. If divorcing you hurt her that much, then it’s a logical assumption that there were a lot of intense feelings to start with.” Pippa paused before asking, “Do you ever get over feelings that deep?”

  No!

  It tore at me to hear about how devastated Tia had been. It made me want to get up and throw things, punch a wall, punch myself for hurting her. It made me more resolved to step away from this whole situation and to give Tia what she really wanted—a clean slate with a marriage to the man of her dreams. Yet, a traitorous part of me clung to Pippa’s question with pesky hope. Do you ever get over feelings that deep?

  Had Tia?

  Could I?

  Chapter Nine

  Tia

  December 17, 2009 (never sent)

  Andrew,

  It has been more than ten years since we met. A decade of knowing you.

  It was incredibly awkward to be the new girl. I was doomed to be the outsider. Until you came over to sit at my table at lunch. We were two loners sitting together every day at lunch—you eating a sandwich that never seemed enough for you, me eating leftovers from the food that my mom had cooked the night before. I tried asking if I could bring sandwiches or get school lunch, but she insisted that homemade Chinese food was superior.

  I really tried to listen to my mom, but sometimes, I just wanted pizza. You were the pizza that I craved. Turns out, maybe my mom was right, and too much pizza was not good for me.

  Ting

  Ugh. I’d had better days.

  I should have been celebrating—my family and friends were around, the food was great. I’d stress eaten at least a bazillion bacon-wrapped scallops in the last hour, and even conceded to eat one crab rangoon. All I had to do was stand there, smile and say thank you whenever people congratulated me, and let Clayton guide the conversation.

  However, all I could think about was the impending doom once this party ended. Which was why I was stuffing my face as if it was my last night on earth. What were calories if my life was going to be in ruins tomorrow?

  I HATED that I was putting Clayton through this mess. I HATED that I had pulled Andrew back in. I was the person who got secondhand awkwardness from watching The Office. Now, I was going through the motions at my own party, feeling preemptively awkward for my future self.

  By eleven p.m., the guests had mostly filtered out. The remaining guests were clustered around the bar, too drunk to care what we did. With every person who came to say goodbye, I mentally counted down the minutes of my life. After trying unsuccessfully to keep Clayton’s uncle Bob and aunt Jenna Mae from leaving by sprouting every fact I knew about Texas (which was unfortunately not a lot) and ignoring Clayton’s hints to leave, I decided to try all of the leftover desserts. Or just plain eat everything until I passed out and had to be taken to the hospital, where I could feign amnesia or something.

  While eating my sixth little pastry, I had finally run out of excuses when Clayton tracked me down by the lemon bars. Outside of the small frown between his brows, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “Hey, Tia, let’s go find Andrew. I want this conversation done with.”

  Gulp. I stuffed my seventh lemon bar into my mouth and proceeded to chew as slowly as I could. Clayton stared at me patiently. After a minute, I slowly nodded and let myself be led along the path to doom. Otherwise known as the hotel hallway.

  “I booked a room upstairs and texted Andrew to meet us there. I want privacy for this,” Clayton said, letting go of my hand, as we went into the elevators.

  As the doors to the elevators closed, Clayton leaned back against the opposite side of the enclosed space, eyes closed. He looked weary. I’d always thought that he found other people energizing. For the first time since I’ve known him, I wondered if being charming wasn’t as easy as he made it seem.

  “Are you—are you okay?”

  Eyes flying open, Clayton laughed dryly. “Why shouldn’t I be? I just watched my fiancée and an old friend … I don’t even know what I saw. What did I see?”

  Panic silenced me.

  He pressed on, “Andrew said he was in Boston for business. Is that ‘business’ you?”

  Miserably, I nodded.

  Eyes narrowed, he said thoughtfully, “I spent nearly every day with him for five years at school and at our old firm. He’s very good. Calculated and not a risk-taker. Why would he randomly visit you?”

  “I might have visited him first,” I whispered. I was the worst human. “I’m sorry.”

  The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. Ignoring my apology, Clayton put out his arm to hold the elevator doors as I walked into the empty hallway. He didn’t look at me as he led me to a room at the end of the long hallway.

  As he swiped a card against the reader, I grabbed his arm. “Please, aren’t you going to say something? Yell at me, curse at me, something.”

  “What can I say? What’s the right thing to say to your fiancée after she tells you that she flew to another city to visit an ex?” Frustrated, Clayton took a deep breath, as I physically felt the weight of his acute disappointment. “You know, one of the things that I used to admire about you was that you didn’t invite or cause drama. It’s too much. It’s not like you.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I whispered. Clayton didn’t deserve to have me stuck on another man. He didn’t deserve me obsessing over what kissing Andrew would be like, when I could no longer stand the thought of kissing Clayton.

  “Let’s get this over with, Tia. When Andrew gets here, I want to hear everything,” Clayton said, seemingly back in control again.

  Inside the hotel room, we waited in silence. Painful silence that stretched. The silence was a sign of my fall from grace—for someone so adept at small talk, Clayton didn’t deem me worthy of conversation.

  Metaphorically strengthening my spine, I steeled myself for what was to come. I will get through this. I will get through this. If I survived, I’d reward myself with a giant piece of fudge brownie. And ice cream. Maybe another lemon bar.

  “Am I interrupting something?”

  I turned quickly at the oh-so-familiar voice. Hair mussed with day-old stubble shadowing his face, Andrew stepped into the room. He glanced at me, a line of worry between his eyes, as he tilted his head to the left in question.

  “Hi, Andrew,” I breathed out. Every time I saw him, all of me reacted to him. Without thinking, I took a small step toward him. “Where did you go during the party? I didn’t see you stay.”

  “Pippa and I went to a bar down the street,” he said.

  He might as well have declared that they had a quickie in the alleyway, the way that my body recoiled. I thought they were just acquaintances. Pippa had told me that there had been nothing between them in law school. Could
something have sparked after all these years? No! My brain protested, reeling my conjectures in—Pippa was my best friend and loyal. Relax.

  From somewhere behind me, Clayton said, “Let’s get this over with. I can deal with the two of you dating in the past. Everyone has a past. But tonight, I found out that Tia visited you in Chicago. What is going on here?”

  I froze at Clayton’s directness. I waited with my breath held to hear what Andrew would say. Instead, he lifted an eyebrow slightly, but said nothing.

  Ai ya ya. He was giving me an out, letting me take the lead. Even now, he wanted to protect me. Part of me wanted to let him shield me, as he used to do in school when kids teased me for my accent and occasional English flubs.

  “I flew to Chicago”—I swallowed hard—“because I needed to ask Andrew for a divorce.”

  Silence.

  “I thought I heard you say divorce. That can’t be,” Clayton protested.

  I could feel an uncomfortable heat flushing through my face, my neck, my upper chest as I nodded.

  Clayton’s blue eyes darkened, a tic in his jaw working overtime. His hands clenched into fists. Looking at both me and Andrew, he said in measured tones, “Explain, please. I thought maybe there were some leftover feelings. Now, you’re telling me that you’re also married to him? Tia, did you think I was a fool?”

  “You’re not a fool!” I said, trying to pat his arm as if I were soothing an angry kitten.

  Andrew interjected, his tone surprisingly calmer than before, “No one’s trying to make anyone look like an idiot, Clayton. Tia and I dated in the past, got married too young, and got a divorce. Except, the divorce never went through.”

  I added, “I just found out a couple weeks ago when my lawyer was starting to work with your lawyer around the prenup. My lawyer called me, and I flew out to Chicago to ask Andrew to sign the divorce papers.”

  “Did you sign, Andrew?” asked Clayton.

  “No.”

  To ease Andrew’s defiant response, I rushed in, “Don’t worry about it. Andrew and I will sign tonight, and I’ll give the papers to my lawyer on Monday to file immediately. Then, we can get married next summer like we planned. Right?”

  “You said, ‘Andrew and I will sign.’ You haven’t signed either, Tia?” Andrew asked sharply, picking up on the tiny, embarrassing detail.

  I shook my head miserably.

  From my other side, Andrew turned quickly towards me, his eyes piercing. His expression was hard to read. He seemed untouchable.

  On the other hand, I could tell that my non-signing had triggered something for Clayton. He began pacing. Every now and then, he would glance at his watch—a nervous habit, I knew, whenever he was feeling stressed. He wasn’t looking at either Andrew or me, but his fierce concentration made me wonder what he was thinking. Was he thinking of the best way to tell his parents that our engagement was over? Was he thinking how quickly he could get out of this mess?

  What a shock this must be for him. How chaotic, how dramatic—all things that Clayton was not. He was articulate but not demonstrative. Yet, with our engagement starting to crumble, I expected him to be angrier. Instead, he was too calm. Why wasn’t he showing more feelings? If you truly loved someone, wouldn’t you care more?

  After watching Clayton pace for a while, Andrew cleared his throat to get my attention. He pointed to my shoes. “Tia, you should sit for a bit. Your feet must be killing you.”

  Looking down at my feet, I was surprised to see that I was still wearing the only pair of heels that I owned. Now that he mentioned it, yes, my feet were frozen in pain, carved by the unforgiving lines of the stilettos. Clayton barely spared a glance at us, as he continued to pace. He didn’t look anywhere near done, so I sank onto the king-size bed that dominated the hotel room.

  Gingerly, I took off one of my shoes, groaning in relief. I wanted to cry with happiness that my foot was free at last.

  Across from me, Andrew sucked in a ragged breath. My eyes were instantly drawn up to his. There was a flicker of heat in them, as his eyes dropped to my mouth. Slowly, careful not to disturb anything, I took off my other shoe. I couldn’t help a small groan from escaping. Andrew’s eyes shuttered at the sound. When they opened, the edge of heat was blazing with hunger.

  I stared right back at him. I couldn’t have looked away, even if there were a mountain of lemon bars having a pillow fight next to me.

  It was hard to remember to breathe, as we stared at each other. Andrew had the singular gift of making me feel like the most important person. His eyes didn’t roam when he looked at me. Instead, they observed and absorbed. They forced me to focus on him, on this moment.

  I devoured the gray of his eyes, the darker flecks in his pupils, the high cheekbones that reddened under my gaze. Andrew held his body tight, tension of a different kind radiating from him. With every raspy breath we drew, our bodies leaned infinitesimally closer.

  The thud of the shoe falling from my hand onto the ground shook us out of the spell. Clayton looked up from his pacing. If he had noticed our flushed faces, he didn’t say anything.

  I immediately leaped up and retreated to a side table in the large room, padding over in my bare feet, to grab a bottle of water with shaky hands. I needed distance from Andrew—physically, mentally, emotionally. The five extra feet wasn’t enough.

  From the reflection in the window in front of me, I saw Andrew sit down. He looked deceivingly casual, his arms spread out on the back of the chair, his legs sprawling.

  It wasn’t just Andrew’s physical appearance that was dangerous to me. No, the greater danger was him, the indescribable mix of him. He made me want to trail after him, to try to be the lucky one to uncover his secrets. I remembered the joy I had felt when he bequeathed a rare smile at a joke or shared a fear or desire—chasing those emotional highs had been addicting when we were younger. And like an addict, the withdrawal crushed me.

  “Tia,” Clayton said, interrupting my thoughts. I hadn’t noticed that he had stopped pacing in front of me. He gave me a forced smile that didn’t fully reach his eyes. “I’ve been going over the last couple of weeks. I knew something was up when you disappeared two weeks ago. You’ve been so anxious and jumpy. Every time I tried to kiss you, you’d draw away. I thought you were nervous about the wedding planning. Now, I know why. I’ve seen the two of you together, and in that short amount of time, even I can see there’s still something there.”

  “Clayton, I can explain.”

  To Andrew and in a colder voice, he asked, “Why did you come to Boston? You could have called her, emailed her, communicated via lawyers. Why show up in person?”

  Andrew said, not bothering to get up, “I wanted to see if Tia would be open to exploring a relationship with me.”

  As if that statement confirmed some conclusion that Clayton had already reached, he told me, “Maybe we rushed into this engagement. I still think we have a great friendship and could make a marriage work. However, if we get married, I want to know that it’s because you are absolutely sure you want to, not because it was the easiest choice. Right now, I don’t think you can say you are sure. I don’t want to force you to pick me if you aren’t certain. If you are sure, I’ll believe you. We’ll forget about this.”

  He looked at me, his blue eyes questioning, a spark of hope in them. I opened my mouth to tell him that of course, I was one hundred percent sure that I wanted to be Mrs. Clayton Davenport and eventually laugh about the craziness that happened before our wedding. But one hundred percent was such an absolute number. A black and white number that brokered no doubts or questions. And I couldn’t lie to myself. Or to him.

  Shaking my head, I admitted, fighting back tears, “I think I need some time apart to figure things out. Please don’t hate me.” I waited for him to hate me.

  “I could never hate you,” he said, sighing, looking frustrated and confused. After a long pause, he added, “I—I need to remove myself from this.”

  “We’ll call it a bre
ak, a pause.”

  Clayton laughed bitterly. “A break is too ambiguous. At this moment, do you know if you’ll sign the divorce papers?”

  I hesitated for a second before saying quickly, “Of course.”

  Clayton raised an eyebrow at me. “Without regrets?”

  There was nothing that I could say. I should push the divorce proceedings through. Yet, he had guessed right—no matter what I said, I hadn’t signed the papers myself, and that must mean something. The truth was that, every time I looked at them, I felt sick.

  “I thought so. Tia, if the Band-Aid is going to come off, let’s rip it off now. Let’s make this clean. And in the future, if you decide that you do actually want to be with me, without any doubt, let’s talk then.” His blue eyes shone with stubbornness.

  This was too big of a decision to be made in the middle of the night. Part of me wanted to argue that we needed more information, more time, before making any decisions.

  A traitorous part of me felt … relief.

  It was that relief that gave me enough foolish bravery at the moment to twist off my ring. “Here.” I held it out in my palm.

  Both of us stared at the twinkling ring, before he reached to accept it, a finality in his movement. With the symbol of our future casually dropped into his suit jacket pocket, he headed for the door.

  Andrew stood up finally, as silently, the two men assessed each other. Andrew’s hands were curled into tight fists at his side. His stance was wide and arrogant, as he looked coolly at Clayton. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Clayton however was easy to read. Waves of resentment and exhaustion rolled off of him. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped himself.