Wedding Bands

by Ev Bishop

  I thought you were off men, a small part of her wheedled.

  “Hmm,” she murmured aloud. Her crazy inner voice had a point, but then again, dreams could grow and change, right?

  As she turned out of her driveway onto the highway, her phone rang. She was jumping to know if it was Callum, but refrained from answering. She arrived at the coffee shop on Main Street with time to spare though, and didn’t see Dave’s truck anywhere, so she pulled out her phone.

  Rats—disappointing, for sure, but no big surprise. She pressed the Talk icon to call back, and waited for Samantha to pick up.

  “Well, hellllloooo, dolly.”

  “Hey, Sam.” Jo squinted against the sunshine attempting to blind her through the windshield. Was anything more painfully beautiful than morning sun in a frosty-cold autumn sky? “What’s up?”

  “I was wondering if you knew what our mutual lawyer friend was up to.”

  “Um, should I?” Yikes! Jo hadn’t stopped to consider the conclusions Samantha would jump to if she knew Callum stayed the night, no matter how innocent it truly was.

  But was it innocent? Or had some part of her known exactly what Samantha would think? She grinned, but before she could say something cheeky, Samantha beat her to the punch.

  “So did you seduce him or what?”

  “Uh . . . ”

  “Wait—what?”

  “Um—”

  Samantha shrieked. “No, you didn’t. Tell me you didn’t! I was being facetious. I meant seduce him into thinking your ridiculous B & B plan was viable, not seduce-seduce him.”

  “I didn’t seduce him in any sense of the word. He stayed over, but nothing happened.”

  “He stayed over.”

  “On the couch. He was on the couch! We didn’t even kiss. We had a bit too much wine and—”

  “Too much wine!”

  “Maybe. Just a little. A tad.”

  “What the hell did you make for dinner?”

  Jo gave full details, but before she got to describe the dessert, Samantha interrupted with another top-volume shriek. “That is too much, totally unfair. You played dirty.”

  “Oh come on. It’s not like that. He was, he is, nice.”

  Samantha stopped mid-huff. “Nice, eh? That’s interesting. So you like him. You actually like him. This isn’t just about you trying to weasel him into convincing me to give the bed-and-bomb a go?”

  The bed-and-bomb. You had to give it to Samantha. She was funny—but what she was suggesting wasn’t. It was one thing for Jo, in the privacy of her own head, to wonder if she was feeling something for some guy—if Callum even qualified as something as nonthreatening as “some guy.” It was a totally different thing, a horrifying, unacceptable thing, for Samantha to notice it.

  Two large fists pounded lightly on the driver-side window, saving her from having to respond. She jumped and turned to see giant, rangy Dave. She gave a little wave and held up one finger. He nodded and headed toward The Zoo, a popular coffee shop decorated, surreally, with life-sized wire art animals.

  “Look, I’m at the coffee place. Dave just got here.”

  “Oh, I see, Dave just got there. Aren’t you just the busiest little entrepreneur ever? You have’em lining up.”

  “I do not have them lining up.”

  “Current events have way more potential than your stupid bug-and-breakfast.”

  “Sam—”

  “No, seriously. Just quit with the farfetched idea already and take up finding a man as your new obsession.”

  “Not interested.”

  “No longer believe you.”

  “I mean it, and if anyone thinks otherwise they’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  Samantha snort-giggled. “That should be a T-shirt. You could have a tree labeled ‘wrong tree’ with a sign beside it that says ‘No barking.’”

  “I have to go.”

  “So go. I’ll talk to you later—after I’ve scrounged my lawyer out of your bed.”

  The coffee shop was busy. Jo craned her head to see where Dave had managed to find a seat.

  A laugh sounded behind her. “Got you again.”

  She turned to face him, forcing a smile and trying not to feel irrationally annoyed by him. “For a big monster you’re pretty adept at sneaking about.”

  “I got you a Chai latté, but if you want something else, no worries, I’ll drink it along with mine.”

  “No, that’s fantastic—just what the doctor ordered. Thanks.”

  Dave took her elbow and led her toward two black leather armchairs in the corner under the window. Two red mugs steamed merrily away on a low table.

  “It’s sweet you remembered me going on about how much I love Chai,” Jo said, then realized he’d recalled no such thing when a confused look crossed his face.

  She removed her half-length trench coat, hung it on a nearby coat tree, and sank into a seat. “Mmmm,” she said, wrapping her hands around her mug and reveling in the steamy heat and yummy scent of cardamom, cloves, and cinnamon.

  “So what’s new?” Dave asked. “You all settled in?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “And are you still gung ho on your hotel idea?”

  “Bed-and-breakfast,” Jo corrected and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “I still can’t believe you’re here. I mean a lot of folks move away and come back, but I never expected you to.”

  Jo rested her lip cautiously against the edge of the mug, then set it down. Still too hot. She didn’t want to rush, burn herself, and not be able to enjoy the rest.

  Dave took a big mouthful. “Ow—shit! Hot!”

  Jo winced and laughed simultaneously. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine, fine,” Dave said.

  “Here put some sugar on it.” Jo passed him a small package of white sugar.

  “What? Why?”

  “Trust me. Just sprinkle a few grains on the burnt part of your tongue. It won’t magically heal it, but it will take away most of the sting.”

  A moment later, Dave beamed. “Hey, it worked. You’re awesome.”

  “Yeah, sure, that’s me all right. Awesome,” Jo joked.

  “Yeah,” Dave agreed. “You are.” He spoke without a touch of sarcasm or humor, and stared in a way that made Jo uncomfortable. Samantha had warned of this weeks ago, when they’d first ran into Dave at Safeway. . . . But, no, he wasn’t really holding a torch for her, all these years later, was he?

  Dave broke a peanut butter cookie in half and held it out.

  “No, thanks. Pathetically, I’m still full from dinner last night.”

  They chatted more or less easily for half an hour or so, and then conversation dwindled and Jo stood up to go. “It’s been fun catching up. Thanks for the invite—and for the Chai.”

  “Are you still throwing your party at the end of the month?”

  “Absolutely. Wear your fanciest duds.”

  Dave grinned and Jo saw a perfect opportunity to send the message that they were just friends. “And feel free to bring someone, okay? The more the merrier. I’d love to meet the special person in your life.”

  “Sure, if you say so. Do you want me to bring anything?”

  “If there’s something particular you like to drink, but other than that, not a thing.”

  “How many people are going to be there?”

  “Um . . . twenty or so, including me and your date, or even more maybe.”

  “Date? I’m bringing a buddy. He wouldn’t like being called my date.”

  Buddy? Rats, that had backfired. She tried again. “Well, great, but feel free to bring a romantic interest, too—”

  “Romantic? Nah, there’s no one . . . or no one yet.”

  Dave stared into her eyes intently, his face grave. Even Jo couldn’t pretend not to notice it was meant to be a “significant” look.

  “Oh, well, count yourself lucky, hey?” she said. “Single life is where it’s at.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

&
nbsp; Jo checked the time on her phone. “Shoot, I really have to run or I’ll be late. I have a bank appointment. I’ll see you Saturday.”

  Dave reached for her hand and gave it a little squeeze. “I can’t wait,” he said.

  “Yeah.” She pulled away quickly. “Should be great.” And with those lame words, she fled.

  Chapter 8

  Jo left the bank distracted—and ran smack-dab into an ornate wrought iron cage the city had put around a small maple tree, trying to protect it from breakage. She dropped her portfolio bag and almost tripped.

  Yes, putting a spike through my face in a classic Jo move is exactly what I need right now, she thought as she caught her balance.

  It’s true she wasn’t particularly surprised by the loan officer’s pronouncement, a very nice woman who seemed genuinely sorry for the bad news—but somehow, being prepared for something, or thinking you were, didn’t stave off disappointment as much as one might think.

  Stupid bank policies. Stupider bankruptcy. Stupidest Devin—no, that was a lie. Stupidest her. She didn’t go there often anymore—found it unproductive and unhelpful to dwell on the two-fold implosion of her relationship and restaurant. She’d spent three years working hand to mouth, wasting all her off time laid out on the couch crying or staring at the TV, unable to bear public places—and still, in the end, hadn’t managed to pay everything off. She didn’t care if other people declared bankruptcy. She hated that she had. And she hated that her name and her reputation were tied to that dirt bag. What an idiot she’d been. What a complete, total idiot!

  Her heart hammered and her vision blurred. Oh no—no. It had been so long. Not here, not now. She leaned against the door of her pickup, then bent forward slightly, resting her forearms on her thighs for support.

  Breathe, she commanded herself. Breathe.

  She tried. She really did, but the air seemed thick, sticky. It caught midway down, hurt her chest, like it was something too big to swallow and she was choking—

  No, it’s okay. That’s just the anxiety. You’re not choking. You’re fine. You went to the bank. You did really well. The loan officer, Michelle, was really nice—

  It wasn’t a big breath, but she managed a bit of air. Her vision steadied. She closed her eyes, but continued bracing herself against the truck.

  One more breath, really slow—good. Feel the oxygen right through to the bottom of your lungs, lifting your ribcage—

  You were professional. You have nothing to feel ashamed of it. And you did it—you went to the bank.

  She was breathing normally again, and was queasy with gratitude at being able to do so. And she had gone to the bank. And survived. And in terms of an attack? Well, this was just a baby one—and the only flare up in months.

  “So that’s something, right?” she whispered. “A victory of sorts.”

  “Pardon me? Are you all right, ma’am?”

  She looked up. An elderly man in a suit and tie had stopped, the lines in his face a story of concern and mild irritation that he might be held up.

  No, that was her thing, putting it on him.

  “I’m fine, thank you. Just dizzy for a moment there.”

  “You should eat something. I always get light-headed myself if I don’t eat something,” he said gruffly, moving away even as he spoke.

  For some reason the practical advice, given without fanfare, struck Jo as spectacularly kind. And he made a good point. She’d figured she was fine to go without breakfast after indulging so heavily the night before, but now hunger was chewing a hole in her gut.

  And she suddenly felt ridiculously fine. Powerful even. She’d gone to the bank! Endured the humiliation she’d feared. Heard the news she hadn’t wanted to hear. And was fine! She had even managed to thwart her panic before it overwhelmed her. Lunch—on her, ha ha—was definitely in order.

  She was about to climb into her truck, when the stupid cage around the poor tree caught her attention again. There was some sort of symbolism at work here. And it was a striking image as well. She hesitated for a second, then thought, What the hell? She’d just spent ten minutes propped up, trying to breathe, what was one more embarrassing pose?

  She grabbed the camera she always kept in her bag, removed the lens cap, and checked the sidewalk for dirt. It was clear, except for a few dry leaves that scuttled across the cement like crabs in the light breeze. Jo lay down on her back and took two shots. Sat for a moment and skidded her butt closer, leaned back, and shot again. Saw the angle of a specific branch—shot once more.

  She remained planted on the ground and reviewed her pictures. Then smiled. The last one was good. Black metal pickets, banded together with heavy rings, tried to confine the growing tree—but it stretched and reached, far surpassing the unnatural restraints, and exploded into the brilliant blue sky with leafy branches of fervent color—orange, red, gold-kissed-greens. . . .

  Jo clambered up to her feet again, said excuse me to a couple of people walking by, and dusted off the seat of her jeans.

  Now what did she feel like having?

  Pizza? No. A good old-fashioned deli sandwich? Nah. A street over, there was a new-to-her café that advertised Pad Thai. Just the thing. Definitely. Something she never cooked for herself.

  She didn’t bother to take the truck. It was only a couple blocks away.

  Halfway there it struck her. She’d thought of Devin, of what had happened between them, for all of a second, for the first time in weeks and weeks and weeks. And it hadn’t spiraled into an obsessive thought cycle. And she hadn’t cried. Shitty bank appointment or no, things were looking up.

  In the restaurant, Jo took a two-seater table hidden away from the rest of the diners by a half wall and an extraordinarily leafy ficus tree. Moments later a waitress arrived with a pot of green tea and a heaping plate of noodles and shrimp that Jo had ordered and paid for at the counter.

  The server disappeared, and Jo closed her eyes to savor the gingery, fishy goodness for a moment. Then she tore open the paper package holding her chopsticks.

  The ficus tree shook lightly as someone sat down on the other side of wall, blocked from her view—but not from her hearing.

  “Thanks, it looks amazing,” a familiar masculine voice said.

  She tried to resist the urge to peek and confirm what she thought her ears were hearing? Callum? Here?

  “Enjoy,” chimed the same server who’d brought Jo her meal. “Will someone else be joining you?”

  “Not today.”

  “Then do you mind if I steal this chair for another table?”

  “Not at all.”

  Jo could refrain no longer. She took a big mouthful of noodles—oh, man, they were delicious—stood up a little and peered over the wall. It was Callum all right. His face wasn’t visible, but she’d recognize his crown of blue-black hair anywhere.

  She settled back into her seat. She’d like to approach him, but she already had her food. It would be kind of weird. But then again, she was kind of weird, so . . .

  “And how is everything?”

  Jo jumped as a second server appeared by her elbow. She hadn’t realized there were two sets of stairs to the small landing.

  “Really good so far,” she said.

  “Can I get you anything else right away?”

  “No, thank you. I’m fine for now.”

  Callum’s head popped over the wall. “Hey, it’s you. I thought I recognized your voice.”

  Jo grinned. “I just noticed you a minute ago, too. I was trying to decide if I should disturb you or not.”

  “You definitely should’ve disturbed me—and you should’ve this morning, too.”

  “Ha, yes. Sorry to disappear on you like that.”

  “Are you meeting someone?”

  “No—well, I was, but it’s done now.” Jo motioned vaguely toward the door. “I was just running around, stopped for a quick bite.”

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “Not at all.”

  Moments l
ater he was pulled up to her tiny table, so close their knees touched, his own plate of Pad Thai nearly resting against hers.

  She held up her mug. “Green tea, too?”

  “What else? Great minds and all that—cheers.” They clanked porcelain cups.

  “Do you come here a lot?” she asked through another mouthful of noodles.

  “A fair bit. My office is really close by.”

  After a few minutes of eating and chatting about the food and the décor, Callum’s foot started tapping.

  “Nervous?” Jo teased, then realized from the shadow that crossed his eyes he was. “What’s up? Is it something I said?”

  Callum shook his head, and sank his teeth into his lower lip for just a second. Random desire and a wave of heat rippled through Jo. Oh, how the body had a memory all its own. The things they used to do. . . . She wanted to bite his lip. She set her chopsticks down. “Seriously, what is it?” she asked, her voice embarrassingly rough.

  “I—well, do you think we should talk about, you know. . . . What happened between us, and what didn’t happen, all those years ago?”

  Jo’s body responded again, but this time it was nerves not lust that jangled her senses. She did want to know why he’d given up on her, why he’d bailed, but she was also afraid to hear it. Didn’t want to know the ways she hadn’t measured up or been good enough for his dreams for the future.

  She shook her head. “No, let’s not. What’s the benefit? We were very young. I for—” She stalled and changed tracks. “Let’s leave it at that.”

  Callum’s eyes blazed, like “leaving it at that” was the last thing he wanted to do, but then his phone buzzed. He read the text message, and slid his cell back into his pocket without responding.

  “Well, I think—” His phone rang shrilly, interrupting whatever his thought was. “I’m on lunch,” he said without a greeting. “What do you need?—No, that’s fine. I’ll be back in half an hour.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Samantha Kendall? No—her sister. That’s right. Jo.”

  Jo speared a large shrimp with concentrated effort, feeling like she was eavesdropping though it wasn’t like she could avoid hearing. “Do you need some privacy?” she whispered.