Save the Date

by Mary Kay Andrews

  “It sounds like you’ve got good reason to be upset with him, if he’s not doing his job,” Jack pointed out.

  “The thing is, if he keeps up this way, I won’t have any other choice but to fire him. And I don’t want that. I want to keep him, as my assistant, and my friend.”

  Jack kissed her shoulder and ran his hands down her back, lingering on her butt. “I’ll be your friend.” He pulled her closer and nudged a knee between her thighs. “I’m a really awesome friend.”

  “Mmm,” Cara said slowly. “But can you fix flowers?”

  39

  In the morning, Cara sat up and marveled at the man in bed beside her. Sunlight splashed across his shoulders, so brown against her white sheets. His dark hair was tousled and his cheek was stubbled. His breathing was deep and even. She could have watched him like that all morning, he was that nice to wake up to.

  It had rained hard overnight, and with the windows open, there was still somewhat of a cooling breeze.

  They’d closed the bedroom door the night before, and now she heard a soft scratching at the door. Poppy? Or Shaz? She swung her legs over the side of the bed, but before she could move, a dark arm snaked around her waist.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t go,” Jack mumbled.

  “Gotta let the dogs out. Go back to sleep.”

  “Mmm. Come back to bed.”

  Cara pulled on a pair of drawstring cotton boxer shorts and a cami and slid her feet into flip-flops. The dogs raced each other down the stairs, and out into the courtyard garden.

  She went into the kitchenette and started the coffeepot. Did she have any food in the house for breakfast? There was nothing in the kitchenette fridge, except a pint of half-and-half, some bottles of water, two cans of Red Bull, and a jar of pickles. And two cardboard cartons of leftover Chinese takeout. Shrimp with lobster sauce for breakfast? She shuddered.

  When the coffee was ready, she fixed two mugs. Realized she didn’t know how the man she’d just slept with took his coffee. She shrugged. She knew the most important things there were to know about Jack Finnerty. He was kind and thoughtful. He snored, but softly. Unlike other men she’d been with, he didn’t fall asleep instantly after lovemaking. She smiled, thinking back to last night. He’d been the only good thing about Friday.

  Upstairs, she brushed her teeth quickly and finger-combed her messy hair. She set a mug on the nightstand and stood looking down at Jack.

  Without warning he reached out, grabbed her hand, and pulled her back onto the bed.

  “Hey,” she protested. “I thought you were sleeping.”

  He rolled over on his side to face her and ran his hands up under her camisole, brushing her nipples with his thumbs. He kissed her deeply, and she tasted toothpaste. “You weren’t asleep at all!”

  “It’s called playin’ possum,” he chuckled.

  * * *

  Their coffee got cold. Eventually, she made another pot. Jack leashed up the dogs and walked them over to Parker’s on Drayton Street, bringing back two sausage biscuits—for him—and a blueberry muffin—for her.

  While he was gone, Cara showered and dressed quickly in shorts and a tank top. Not even nine o’clock yet, and it was already getting hot and sticky upstairs.

  They took their coffee and breakfast out into the courtyard garden. Jack pointed out a suspicious mound of dirt beneath one of the crepe myrtles. “Looks like Shaz was trying to tunnel out of here this morning. Sorry about that.”

  “It could just as well have been Poppy,” Cara said.

  She’d propped open the back door to the shop so the dogs could come and go, and now they heard a loud knocking at the front door.

  “Ignore that,” Cara told Jack. “Probably some guy desperate to buy flowers for a forgotten anniversary.”

  The knocking continued.

  “Sounds pretty desperate,” Jack said. “Maybe you should take pity on the poor guy and bail him out.”

  Cara rolled her eyes, but she stood up and went to the front door, where the knocking continued.

  “Hang on,” she called. “I’m coming.”

  * * *

  She pulled up the shade and stared out at her desperate customer. Only it was no customer. It was Leo. Her ex.

  Her first instinct was to pull the shade back down and run the other way. But it was too late for that. He’d already seen her.

  He was dressed for work: sport coat, tie, slacks, polished loafers. His Ray-Bans hung from a band around his neck. He looked good, like the kind of cute guy you’d flirt with if you stood next to him in line at Starbucks. Which, come to think of it, was how they’d met all those years ago. Incredibly, he held a huge bunch of lilacs in his right hand, and a box of cheap drugstore chocolates in the other.

  She unlocked the door and opened it.

  “Cara!” His eyes lit up. “I didn’t, I mean, I wasn’t sure you’d be here. Or, if you were, if you’d open the door.”

  “I’m here, Leo,” she said, forcing herself to look stern. “What do you want?”

  “Here.” He thrust the flowers and chocolates toward her. His sandy blond hair flopped into his eyes. In another minute, if she wasn’t careful, she’d push his hair back, straighten his tie. Old habits died hard. Instead, she kept her hands at her side, fists clenched tightly.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “It’s an anniversary present. Happy anniversary Cara.”

  Anniversary? She frowned. And then it dawned on her. Seven years ago today, she’d made the biggest mistake of her life.

  “Leo, we’re divorced. We don’t have an anniversary anymore.”

  “Sure we do. Just because you signed a piece of paper, that doesn’t change the fact that we got married.” He leaned in and touched her cheek. “I’ve missed you, baby.”

  She batted his hand away.

  “Really? You missed me? Why’s that? Did your girlfriend find herself another married man to fool around with?”

  He rocked back on his heels a bit, eyes wide in surprise. He wasn’t used to this attitude. Not from her. She’d been sweet as pie most of her life. Fun-loving, easygoing, eager to please. It had been Leo’s idea to move to Savannah, a year after their marriage. A great job opportunity, he said. Unlimited chance for advancement in his sales career.

  So she’d smiled and nodded, then packed up her life in Columbus, Ohio. Waved good-bye to family and friends. She’d quit the job she loved, managing a vintage clothing store near the university. And she’d moved to the South—a place she’d never even visited, except for a couple of spring break trips to Florida—to Savannah, a place where she didn’t know a single living soul.

  That Cara was gone now, she told herself. Never to return.

  Leo, a born salesman, never met a deal he couldn’t close.

  “Aww, Cara,” he said, his voice low, mouth turned down. A textbook picture of contrition.

  “That’s all over with. It was over as soon as it began. I was such a jerk. I can’t believe what I put you through. And for what? For nothing. Swear to God, you were always the only girl for me. The only girl I ever loved. My mom calls me every Sunday and wants to know when we’re getting back together.”

  Her face hardened. “Tell her we’re not getting back together. Tell her you cheated on me.”

  “Grannie Annie had a stroke last month. Did you know that? Dad fixed her up an apartment in the garage at our place. She still has our wedding picture on her dresser.”

  She sighed. “Don’t do this to me, Leo. Please?” She had her hand on the door, was about to close it. But he was too quick for her. Always had been.

  He lowered his head, put his lips next to her ears before she could jerk away. “Cara Mia, why?”

  It was a line from the song, the stupid song her mother named her for. In another minute, if she let him, he’d be warbling “Must we say good-bye?”

  “This won’t work, Leo,” she said, shaking her head sadly.

  “Just let me take you out to dinn
er. No strings, just a nice dinner with a nice bottle of wine. Please? It’s killing me, to think of you alone on our anniversary.”

  “I won’t be alone,” Cara said. “And as it happens, I already have plans tonight.”

  “Oh yeah. Right. Saturday, and it’s wedding season so you’re probably working. But what about after? A late dinner? I know the maître d’ at the new place on Orleans Square.…”

  Just then, Poppy trotted over to see what her owner was doing. She nudged the back of Cara’s knees with her head.

  Leo looked stunned. “A dog? You got a dog?”

  He knelt down and tugged at Poppy’s collar, until she was halfway out the door. “Hey, fella,” Leo crooned, scratching her nose, then her ears. “What a good fella. What a good dog!” He looked up at Cara. “I never saw a dog like this before. What kind is he?”

  “She is a golden doodle—a cross between an English golden retriever and a standard poodle.”

  “Beautiful animal,” Leo said. Poppy, the shameless little slut, fell hard for him, flopping onto the ground and rolling over so he could scratch her belly. If she’d had a telephone number, she would have given it to him.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Poppy,” Cara said.

  “Figures. A flower name for a flower girl’s dog.” He stood up. “I always thought we’d get a dog. Pick one out together. Take it for a run in the park.”

  He gave her that crooked little grin that always used to work, back in the day. “Another thing to add to my list of regrets. You went and got a dog without me.”

  Enough, she thought.

  “Look, Leo. I have to go. I actually do have a wedding tonight, and every second I stand here with you puts me that much further behind.”

  “I know, I know,” he said. “Tick tock, right? You’re quite the career girl these days, from what I hear.” He leaned in again, and before she could stop him, he was kissing her, a lingering brush on the lips.

  “Happy anniversary, Cara Mia mine. I’ll call you.”

  She was just about to close the door.

  “Cara?” Jack stood in the hallway entrance to the shop. He strode to her side and glared at Leo.

  “What the hell?”

  Leo glared right back, then pointed at Jack. “You. The guy in the towel. Last week.”

  “Yeah. That was me. And you were the guy in the truck, cruising down the lane.”

  Cara looked from Jack to Leo. “You two know each other?”

  Leo shook his head. “What? You’re sleeping with this guy?”

  Jack put an arm across her shoulder. “This is your ex? The dude is stalking you, Cara. He drove down the lane twice last week while you were gone. Hell, the way he stared at me, I thought he was getting ready to proposition me.”

  “In your dreams, towel boy,” Leo sneered.

  “That’s enough, kids,” Cara said. She gave her ex-husband a not-so-gentle backward shove. Then she closed and locked the door. And pulled down the shade.

  * * *

  “What was that he called you?” Jack asked.

  “Cara Mia. Mia is my middle name,” Cara said. “What’s your middle name?”

  “Joseph. John Joseph. But back to you. So, your name is Cara Mia, like the song?”

  “Yep. Jay and the Americans. My mom was a big fan.”

  “Mine too,” Jack said. He jerked his head in the direction of the front door. “What did he want? Besides to suck face with you?”

  “He seems to think it’s our anniversary.” She looked down and realized she was still holding the flowers and candy he’d thrust into her hands. Cara walked over to the trash can and dropped them in.

  “He’s a tool,” Jack said. “And the next time I catch him driving by here, I’m gonna take my pry bar and put a big ol’ dent in that pretty-boy Lexus of his.”

  “Ooh. Drama,” Cara said. But she was smiling when she said it.

  40

  It had taken Cara two weeks of calling, emailing, and texting, but she’d finally gotten Brooke and Harris to agree to meet for lunch and go over wedding plans.

  But when Brooke arrived in the lobby at Johnny Harris, the iconic barbecue restaurant on Victory Drive in midtown, she was alone. She was dressed in a black and white herringbone checked suit, with black pumps and a pink silk blouse, and to Cara’s shock, the bride’s long, lustrous dark hair had been chopped off at chin length.

  “Harris’s flight from New York didn’t come in,” Brooke said. “Anyway, he pretty much said he’s fine with whatever we decide.” She caught Cara staring at her hair, and she pushed a strand behind one ear.

  “You don’t like it, do you?”

  “It’s just … different,” Cara said. “Usually my brides are trying to grow their hair out before the wedding.”

  Brooke shrugged. “It’s been so hot. And long hair is such a pain. Blowing it dry and everything, I just don’t have the time.…”

  The bride looked pointedly down at her watch, and then at the vacant hostess stand. It was a Monday, and the restaurant was already crowded. “Should we have made a reservation? I only have an hour before I need to get back to the office.”

  “The hostess will be back in a minute. A party of twelve came in right before you did,” Cara assured her. She couldn’t get over Brooke’s hair. It was not a flattering cut, emphasizing the sharp planes of her hollow cheeks.

  “What does Harris think of it?”

  “He says he loves it, but I’m not so sure. Mom would never say anything critical—at least to my face. And of course, Patricia and my dad are appalled. Which kind of makes it fun.”

  “Brooke? Brooke Trapnell?”

  A tall slender man with sun-streaked shoulder-length brown hair broke away from the group of men with whom he’d just entered the lobby. He wore a forest-green golf shirt with an embroidered logo, khaki cargo shorts, and Topsider deck shoes.

  Brooke turned to see who was addressing her. For a moment, she looked puzzled, but then her face lit up. “Petey!” She flung her arms around the newcomer’s neck. They hugged tightly.

  Brooke pulled back a little, beaming up at his face. “Oh my God, Pete. I can’t believe it’s really you. Where have you been? What are you doing here?”

  “Well, you know, I’ve been out west, Montana and Colorado, working for the Park Service. And I’ve just transferred here a couple months ago.”

  “Here? You’re back in Savannah? That’s awesome.”

  “Actually, no. I’m working on Cumberland Island. I’m just up here today for some meetings with our regional director.” He gestured toward the group of men who were drifting toward the dining room. “What about you? Are you still living here in town? I heard you graduated from law school, so what, you’re a lady lawyer now?”

  Brooke’s laugh was almost giddy. “I don’t know about the lady part, but yeah, I’m a second-year associate. I do mostly corporate law.”

  “Cool.” He snapped his fingers. “Hey. Didn’t your folks used to have a place down on Cumberland?”

  “My mom’s family does. Loblolly. I can’t believe you remember that after all these years.”

  “Do you ever go down there?”

  “Hey, Pete.” One of the park-service men was standing at the hostess stand, gesturing toward him. “Our table’s ready.”

  “Coming.”

  Pete turned back to Brooke. “Gotta go. But we need to catch up. Wait. Let me give you my card.”

  He dug in the pocket of his cargo shorts, but came out empty-handed. “Damn. Wouldn’t you know? I didn’t bring any with me.”

  Brooke reached into her pocketbook and brought out a sterling silver case. She withdrew a thick vellum square and handed it to him. “Here’s mine.”

  “Pete!”

  “Coming!”

  * * *

  When they were seated and the waitress had taken their orders, Cara brought out her iPad, and they got down to business.

  “So. Here’s the reception menu we came up with after y
ou had to leave the other day.…”

  “You mean after Patricia took over the whole thing?” Brooke scanned the screen, nodding. “Sure. This looks okay. But it seems like a lot of food to me.”

  “We’re doing a seated dinner,” Cara reminded her. With her fingertip, she scrolled over to the next page. “These are the appetizers that will be passed during cocktail hour.…”

  Brooke wrinkled her nose. “Fried calamari? Gross. Let me guess. Patricia’s idea?”

  “Layne’s version is really lightly battered. If you want, I can set it up for you and Harris to taste that, and the rest of the appetizers.”

  “Never mind.” Brooke took a bite of her salad and looked around the big, dome-ceilinged dining room, her eyes lingering on the men taking up a table at the far end of the room.

  “Pete? Was that his name? An old friend?” Cara asked.

  “Hmm?” Brooke’s face flushed. “Yeah. Pete Haynes. We uh, I guess we sort of had a thing, the summer before I left for college. But then I went away, to University of Virginia, and he was already a sophomore at Georgia. You know how that goes.”

  “And this was the first time you’ve seen him since then?”

  Brooke stabbed a piece of chicken with her fork. “Um. Not really.” She looked away, then down at her plate, then leaned forward across the table. “My parents totally don’t know anything about this. Okay? In fact, none of my friends know it.”

  Cara waited.

  “Summer after I graduated from UVA, my dad got me this big-deal internship with our congressman. In Washington.” Brooke rolled her eyes. “What a blowhard that guy was. Typical, right? Anyway, Pete was living there too that summer, he’d graduated with a degree in marine biology, and he’d gotten a desk job working for some government agency. Something to do with endangered species? And we kind of, you know. Got together.”

  “Dated?” Cara laughed. “Brooke, you’re almost thirty. Why does that have to be a secret from your parents? Or your friends?”