How to Lose a Bachelor

by Anna Banks

  He ran a hand through his hair. “I would have done anything to save the relationship. But by that point, it was over and I knew it.”

  “Save the relationship? When you were so bent on ending it? I mean, that’s the impression I get, anyway.” America was going to think she was a psychic if she kept throwing out tidbits of information like that. So, she was forced to rein in her temper yet again. She retrieved her chair and pulled it back to the table, sitting down carefully. Sometimes composure could be a slippery slope. “So, I think it’s your turn to ask a question.”

  He speared the chicken with his fork. He seemed taken aback and confused. What, he didn’t even remember what had happened that night? Give me a break. Still, though, something was bothering him, she could tell. Other than the one bite, he hadn’t touched his food. Obviously he recalled how well she couldn’t cook. “Tell me about your family,” he said.

  Rochelle straightened in her chair, trying not to visibly bristle. “My father is in jail, actually.” But he already knew that. Grant was the one who put him there. He made the phone call she had always been too scared to place. The Sheriff’s department had come. Her mother had been taken away by ambulance. Grant had made the call. He’d been strong enough for the both of them.

  “And your mother?”

  “She died two years ago. Complications of pneumonia.” Though in spirit, her mother had died long before that. Rochelle had moved her into her apartment in the city to look after her. Her mother’s health had kept fading and fading, until she was a mere wisp of the person she used to be before her husband decided to use her as a punching bag.

  Tears welled in Rochelle’s eyes. Should she have called Grant when her mother died? What would she have said? And what if he’d acted callously again?

  Grant wiped a hand down his face, pausing to pinch the bridge of his nose. “God, Rochelle, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” she said, looking at the napkin in her lap. “How could you?” A fat tear spilled over but she wiped it away quickly. Grant had liked her mom, and she’d liked him. Grant had saved her mom’s life.

  Damn him for acting like an emotional nitwit and damn him for turning her into one.

  “Was it…did she…?” he said, clearly flustered by the limitations governing their exchange.

  “I’d rather talk about something else, if you don’t mind.”

  He sighed, nodding. A few moments passed that felt like centuries. Absently, he took another bite of his potatoes. “I believe it’s your turn to ask me a question.”

  Find a question, find a question, find a question. Any question but the one you’re thinking of right now. But it came out anyway. “You said you wanted to marry the woman you broke up with.” Don’t ask questions you shouldn’t care about anymore.

  “Yes, I did. I already had a ring.”

  She filed that away for later, only allowing the shock to hit the surface. She couldn’t deal with what that meant, not in front of the cameras and Chris Schnartz-Legend and especially not in front of Grant. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure if she could deal with it at all. A ring. He’d had a ring to give her. That is, if she was the one he was talking about. “If…if you could find this woman again, if you could look her in the eyes right now, what would you say to her?” She took a bite of her potatoes, just in case her mouth wanted to ask any other stupid questions. And then she tasted the familiar crunch of walnut.

  She’d grown sensitive to it, always acting as Grant’s taste tester back when they had dated since Grant was severely allergic to walnuts. He broke out in horrifying welts all over his body, and sometimes his throat even closed up, depending on how much he’d eaten. And she had dumped an entire bowl full in those freaking sweet potatoes. “Omigod Grant,” she said, dropping her fork. “This has walnuts in it!”

  Grant didn’t seem the least bit fazed. He questioned her with a look. “You knew it had walnuts in it. You put them in yourself.”

  “I was following the recipe, you idiot! How much did you eat?” Because timing from when he took his first bite until now…he’d be showing signs very soon.

  He cast a worried glance at the still-rolling cameras. “And it was delicious, really,” he said pointedly.

  Wait, what? Why was he stalling? He knew what was going to happen. Did he really want that to go down on television? This was life or death, and he was still trying to play the part of strangers talking over dinner! And why do I care? “Grant, how much did you eat?”

  “You know, I knew someone once who had an allergy to peanuts,” he said casually sipping his wine. “He takes medicine for it now, though. Doesn’t bother him at all.” His look couldn’t be more meaningful.

  Medicine. Doesn’t bother him at all. “Oh. Right.” She didn’t realize until now that she was clutching at her throat. She released herself and tried her best to appear relaxed in the chair—a feat as difficult as nailing pudding to the wall. “I, uh, thought I put too much in it for a second there. You didn’t think it tasted strong?” Totally lame and totally unbelievable, but Chris hadn’t yelled cut yet. In fact, he stood there looking rather pleased. He knew what happened when Grant ate walnuts, too. Had he known the recipe called for them?

  In transparent relief, Grant said, “Not at all. It was delicious. The chicken is great, too.”

  The potatoes tasted like dirt and butter whipped together into a paste, and the chicken was drier than a mouthful of sand sprinkled with teriyaki sauce. He was lying, and they both knew it. What bothered her the most, though, was the fact that he apparently knew she’d put walnuts in it, and he ate the potatoes anyway. He must have thought she’d done it on purpose. And why wouldn’t he think that? For God’s sake, she’d done everything else in her power to humiliate him, but her intentions were never to kill the idiot.

  Is this what he thought of her now? And why, why, why did it bother her?

  For a few moments, they just stared at each other. What was the next move? Whose turn was it to play the part? Should she say something? But she was too rattled to open her mouth. The least Grant could do was change the subject so they could get this dinner rolling again and ultimately over with. Even Chris began to fidget from his position just outside the view of the camera. The parts he could actually keep of this segment were rife with awkward silences and uncomfortable glances. He cleared his throat several times, but she was too mortified with herself to act. Grant seemed perfectly at ease, if not a little perplexed.

  That’s when the ridiculousness of the situation settled in. All of it, since the beginning of the show. Everything she’d been doing. His efforts to deflect her wrath. Their mutual, if somewhat misplaced, determination to come out on top. They had been so competitive that a simple mistake had been misinterpreted as attempted murder.

  And all at once Rochelle burst out laughing. It didn’t take long for Grant to join in, his deep bellows resounding throughout the kitchen. They laughed so hard and for so long that the camera crew began to get antsy. She was quite certain Chris was already editing this part in his head. Why he didn’t just cut the entire scene was beyond her.

  “You thought I did it on purpose!” Rochelle said, breathless.

  “Well you can see why, can’t you,” Grant said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

  Now she was gulping for air. So he had noticed her efforts to sabotage him. And he’d planned accordingly this evening…for premeditated murder? “Why would you eat it?”

  “I was covered! At least, I was hoping…”

  They both let loose another explosion of laughter. Rochelle gripped the table, as if doing so would help her breathe in steadier streams of air. Grant’s face flushed, either with the force of his laughter or the force of his embarrassment.

  “Remember that one time at the pub when your throat closed up and we were trying to decide which of us was most qualified to perform a trachea?” And the qualifications had been directly related to how much they had drunk in relation to t
heir body weight.

  Grant nods. “And Colby came at me with the sharpened straw and I knocked him unconscious!”

  “We had to take you both to the hospital,” Rochelle recalled with glee. “And your mom had to come get us in the van!”

  “I think that’s a wrap,” Chris said irritably from the crew line. Exasperation radiated from him as he walked to the table. He gave Rochelle the once over, then rested his accusatory gaze on Grant who was still guffawing. When it became apparent Chris had something he felt was particularly important to say, Grant calmed down, though a broad smile stayed plastered on his face.

  “You two are so weird,” Chris informed him.

  Weird. It was what he’d always called them when they were dating—and it was usually when they were acting particularly in love.

  In love.

  And with that, reality washed over her. Of course he thought they were weird. They’d been at each other’s throats for weeks, and now they sat laughing together over a potentially deadly mishap. Plus, he knew their past. Why they were at odds. And now he was probably confused as to why they weren’t.

  Except, they still were. She couldn’t let Grant’s admission mean anything to her. She couldn’t let herself feel anything for this man again. Could she?

  Yes, they were weird indeed. Weird and pathetic. She was just sitting here laughing with Grant as if they didn’t have a dark past. For a few precious moments, it had been like old times. Except, it could never be like old times again. Not really. And they’d both do well to remember that.

  Standing, she placed the napkin on the plate and scooted her chair out. “Thanks, Chris. If that’s all you need for the shoot, then please excuse me.”

  “Chelle—” Grant said, standing, too. There was pleading in his eyes, and it made her remember that he had bought a ring and was going to ask her to marry him…until he’d suddenly broken up with her for no apparent reason? To move on to better things? What was that supposed to mean? It made her remember everything she had lost and the pain she had gone through to heal. And she wasn’t ready to do that again.

  “Don’t call me Chelle.” She turned on her heel and walked away.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Progress had been made, Grant was sure of it. Otherwise, Rochelle wouldn’t have been trying so much harder to get voted off the show. He snuck a glance at her from across the dinner table, careful not to let Ellie, the other contestant on their two-on-one date, see him.

  Grant cringed. It looked like someone had given a monkey a paintbrush and instructed it to use Rochelle’s face as a canvas. That, or a birthday cake up had upchucked on her.

  And her dress was decidedly hideous. All geometric shapes and colors and apparently the material was cut from a burlap sack and dyed to within an inch of its life. Of course, he should have been thankful that she was wearing a dress at all, instead of that traitorous, rancid sweatshirt she was so fond of.

  She could act like a court jester all she wanted. She’d opened up to him during dinner the other night, if only for a moment. And as far as he could glean from their conversation, his biggest obstacle with her was Tiffany Wallace. Yes, he’d gone out drinking with friends after the breakup. Yes, he’d had too much to drink, and yes, Tiffany Wallace had kissed him. Obviously this is the part Rochelle saw when she came back for him. If only she’d seen him pry Tiffany off of himself and call her a cab. If only she’d seen that he didn’t kiss Tiffany back.

  Oh sure, he’d wanted to kiss Tiffany. He’d wanted her to make his pain go away. He’d wanted to take comfort in her arms and in her body, wanted to use her just as she intended to use him. But he couldn’t. Not with the image of Rochelle walking away from him at the restaurant burning so brightly in his mind.

  Thankfully, Ellie interrupted his darkening mood with an easy question. “So, Grant, have you dined here before? I was hoping for help with the menu.”

  Grant relaxed instantly. He’d already played this game several times this week with other contestants. This was the last two-on-one date before the next Friendship Ceremony. It had been awkward to say the least. The show thought it would be entertaining to pair type-A personalities with type-B personalities; the results had been…interesting. Lobster bisque ended up in a contestant’s lap, another contestant somehow inadvertently admitted to having a taste for live worms, and yet another one questioned Grant’s personal choices in life because he’d ordered a rib-eye.

  This particular date should have been effortless for him. After all, Rochelle would feel obligated to sit there like a corpse and not engage in conversation, the way she always did. And when Ellie saw that Rochelle had stepped down, she’d feel more at ease and hopefully somewhat pleasant. After all, she was a kindergarten teacher. Weren’t kindergarten teachers supposed to be pleasant? Plus, if she misbehaves on the show, her job could be in jeopardy or something like that, right?

  He hoped that was the case. “Sorry to say I haven’t. I’m not from around here, and they’ve been taking us to different restaurants this week.”

  “Oh well,” she said prettily. “I guess I’ll have to be adventurous.” She gave him what felt like a practiced smile. Ellie was one of the more down-to-earth contestants. In fact, she and Maya seemed to be the only sane ones on board. Everyone else felt so…predatory. Except of course, for Rochelle who was about as predatory as the limp napkin splayed across his lap.

  “Tell me, Ellie,” Grant said for conversation’s sake. “Do you enjoy eating out or do you like quiet dinners at home?”

  Something in her eyes changed. Like an instant detachment. “Both, I suppose.”

  Possibly the most boring answer she could have given. Grant tried again. “What has been your favorite date so far on the show?”

  And just like that, she sparked to life again. “I’d have to say the giant garden maze. It reminded me of my class back home. Creating mazes and such.”

  “Do you enjoy teaching kindergarten?”

  “I love it. I love children. Do…do you enjoy children?”

  Ellie was more forward than he’d expected. Good for her. “I do. I hope to have some one day. With the right woman, of course.” This seemed like an echo from their Cozy Couch session. But it wasn’t Ellie he was hoping to make an impression on. Still, he didn’t dare let his gaze stray to Chelle. Out of the corner of his eye, though, he saw her head snap up. So, the subject of children still interested her.

  It didn’t surprise him. There had been a time when the two of them had a pregnancy scare. Rochelle had been a few days late and before she took the test, they both allowed themselves to ponder over “what if” together. Both of them agreed they’d keep the baby. That they’d make it work. Grant never told her how disappointed he was when the test had come back negative. It was something he’d wanted with her, something he hadn’t realize he’d wanted so badly until it was a real possibility. But he’d told himself to be patient. That they had the rest of their lives. And suddenly they didn’t.

  “Rochelle? What about you? Do you want children one day?” he asked, the nostalgia making his voice softer than he’d intended.

  She stiffened. On the table, her fist clenched. “With the right man, of course.”

  He pursed his lips. He knew she was thinking back to the same moment in time he was. To a time when having a child with him was exciting and new. He wondered what feelings the memory conjured up for her. “We keep saying the ‘right’ man or the ‘right’ woman. What in your opinion, ladies, would the ‘right’ man be like?”

  “Committed,” Rochelle snapped.

  Ellie nodded emphatically. “Yes, committed of course. But he would have to be kind. And of course, he’d have to love children, and he couldn’t be overly materialistic…” While Ellie rambled on, Grant noticed that Rochelle’s eyes were glossing over with un-spilled tears. He cast her a worried look. She shook her head, then sipped her wine, visibly tuning out of the conversation.

  How can I get through to her that I am committed? That
hurting her was the last thing he ever wanted to do? That he’d thought he was doing the best thing for her? That all he’d been trying to do was make the decision to go to law school easy for her? She hadn’t seemed to pick up on his meaning during their one-on-one date the other night. How else could he get through to her without actually saying it on camera? They needed a direct conversation, to get everything out in the open, and they needed it soon. Maybe Chris would help him arrange it without Richie knowing…

  It took a minute for him to realize that Ellie was now crying. Jesus, and he thought tonight was going to be the easiest. He was more than surprised to find that Rochelle had reached across the table and took Ellie’s hand in hers, rubbing it gently with her thumb.

  “You got pretty specific with your requirements for the right man,” Rochelle was saying softly. “Have you been married before, Ellie?”

  Ellie sniffled. “Am I that obvious?”

  “I’m afraid so, sweetie,” Rochelle said. “But if you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to.”

  Grant blinked. Was this the same mass-destruction Rochelle who had been on the show these past weeks? Was she actually nurturing Ellie?

  Ellie turned to Grant. “I’m so sorry, Grant. I should have told you sooner than this. I owe you that much. I thought…I thought the show would be good for me.”

  “Ellie,” Grant said, putting his arm around her. He hated to see a woman cry and would have done anything to make it stop. “Rochelle is right. If you don’t want to do this right now, we don’t have to. Whatever it is, it’s obvious that it causes you pain to talk about it. You don’t owe me anything.”

  “I was married,” Ellie blurted. “To the most ‘right’ man on the planet. Every Friday night he brought me home flowers. We drew straws to see if we would go out or stay in that night. He volunteered at my school.” Grant wished there was a balm to put on the rawness that was her voice. He exchanged solemn glances with Rochelle. The best thing to do seemed to let Ellie talk it out. At least he and Rochelle agreed on something.