After a few minutes, he caught my eye, doing a slight double take.
I tried to look away, but it would have been an obvious—and awkward—maneuver. I’d been very clearly staring at him.
I don’t know what was happening in my belly. I felt warm, nervous, curious—suddenly seeing the trip as the setup that it was.
Will and Hanna.
Niall and Ruby.
Jensen and . . . me.
Did I want to play this game?
Maybe. I mean, clearly I had a crush. Immediately, blindly, and—most likely—uselessly. Our start hadn’t been the smoothest.
But then the warmth inside me twisted when I remembered Mark the last time I’d seen him, a week ago. His face as he begged me not to end things, promised that he really didn’t want us to be over. The truth was, he didn’t want to be out of a flat, didn’t want to be out of a good source for wireless, didn’t want to lose the rooms he quite conveniently used as an office all day while I was at work. Unfortunately, I wanted to be valued a bit more highly than that.
But could I be valued as a fun shag for a week?
I looked at Jensen again.
Yes. Yes, I could.
Unfortunately for this plan, Jensen had an air about him that said: I’m comfortable in my skin, but I am not free with my affections.
After nodding to Hanna when she excused herself and Will to go greet someone who’d just arrived, Jensen looked back to me and then smiled. He patted the grass beside him, tilting his head just slightly and mouthing the words Come here.
So I stood, unable to refuse such a quietly sweet invitation. Swiping the dried grass from my skirt, I walked two paces to him, settling beside him on the lawn.
“Hallo,” I said, bumping his shoulder with mine.
“Hey.”
“I feel as if we are already old friends.” Tilting my head back toward the sweets table, I asked, “Did you manage to get a Cookie Monster cupcake before they were decimated?”
He shook his head, laughing. “Unfortunately, no.”
“I suppose I could have guessed that,” I said, smiling back. “Your lips have not yet taken on that semipermanent blue tin—”
“Pippa,” he cut in, holding my gaze, “I really am sorry. I wasn’t being very kind.”
I waved him off. How did I know this would come up again? I could see Jensen so transparently for the kindhearted, responsible person he was. “Trust me,” I told him, “I’m mortified about all of it.”
He started to shake his head, to interrupt, but I held up my hand to stop him. “Honestly. I’ve never spilled my life story to anyone like that before. I presumed I’d never see you again, and I could . . .” I shook my head. “I don’t know, perhaps just unload it all in the hopes that it would wipe my mind free of it.”
“And did it?”
“Not as such.” I smiled a little at him. “Instead it just made for a very unpleasant trip for both of us. Lesson learned. It would have been best for me as well if I’d never seen you again, but here we are.”
“Here we are.”
“Let’s start over?”
He nodded to the empty spot where Hanna’s map had just lain. “I think this trip will be fun.”
“You don’t mind being coupled off with me?”
He deflected this with a little laugh. “Happy to be your leaning post for the drunken stumble back to the van.”
I shook my head, marveling. “The? You think there will be only one drunken stumble? Did you already forget the number of wineries on that route?”
He opened his mouth to answer with a smile already curling his lips, but we both startled when his name was called from across the lawn. And my heart drooped a little, inexplicably disappointed to see it was Will, needing Jensen’s help hanging the piñata.
“Why would he ask me, and not Max or Niall?” Jensen playfully grumbled, pushing to stand.
The answer was very clear: Max was busy giving airplane rides to a line of squealing three-year-olds. Niall was busy snogging Ruby over in the shade of the porch.
But as Jensen left, Niall looked up, moving into action and following him.
Ruby scrambled over to me, tackling me with a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here!”
I fell back on an elbow under the sheer length of her slim torso, laughing. Once we were both upright again, I agreed. “I’m glad to be here.”
“It’s going to be so fun,” she whispered.
I nodded, looking at where Jensen and Will were stretching their arms over their heads, wrapping the piñata’s rope around the branch of a large elm tree. Will’s T-shirt slipped up, exposing a tiny stretch of inked skin.
Jensen’s sweater shifted up as well but, sadly, did not show me anything. He had another shirt there, carefully tucked into his trousers.
“So he’s gorgeous,” Ruby said conversationally.
I agreed with a hum.
“And single,” she said. “And funny, and responsible . . .”
“I see what you’re doing.”
“And fit . . . and related to Hanna. Which means he’s awesome.”
Turning to her, I asked, “What’s that about? Why is he single?”
“I think he works a lot,” she said speculatively. “I mean, a lot, a lot.”
“Loads of people work a lot. Fuck, look at you and Niall. But you manage to shag daily—” I held up my hand when she opened her mouth to agree. “And I really don’t want to hear confirmation of that, I’m just being rhetorical.” She closed her mouth and pretended to button it shut. “But I don’t get it. Is he kinky?” I glanced at him again briefly, wondering if I preferred that possibility. He and Will were done, and laughing at the slightly skewed lean of the papier-mâché pony hanging from the tree. “Think he might be into blokes?”
“I doubt it.”
“I’m not so sure,” I murmured, looking at him. “He’s awfully well dressed.”
Ruby smacked me. “Okay, so here’s what I’ve heard.” She angled her body to face me, keeping her back to the rest of the party. I watched the thrill of gossip briefly light her eyes. “He was married in his twenties. Hanna told me it only lasted for a few months, though.”
I pulled a face. “That’s . . . interesting?”
I imagined this Jensen, in his blue cashmere sweater and neatly pressed black trousers at a child’s birthday party. I tried to imagine Jensen from before—perhaps he met this girl outside on a rainy day, when her groceries spilled from a torn sack. He bent to help her, and later they were a tangle of sweaty limbs, sheets on the floor. They had a shotgun wedding, something scandalous and wild . . .
“He was with her for nine years,” Ruby said. “From college until after they’d both finished law school.”
My fantasy wilted. “Oh.” So I was right: he wasn’t likely the type for a wild weekend, then.
“I guess pretty soon after the wedding she told him she didn’t think they were right for each other.”
“She couldn’t have done that before they exchanged vows?” I asked, pulling up a blade of grass. “That’s shite.”
“You’re not the first person to ask that.” All the color drained from Ruby’s face, and I immediately recognized Jensen’s voice.
“Oh, fuck,” I groaned, turning and looking up at him. “I’m sorry. We’ve been caught talking about you this time.”
He laughed, reaching for his wineglass, which sat, empty, beside us.
I winced, madly searching for the right thing to say. “I hardly think it’s fair for you to know my entire life story, and here I know nothing other than there is no London mistress and no wife in the brownstone.”
He smiled, nodding. “There is neither.”
“Well couldn’t you have been a bit less efficient with the piñata?” I asked, trying to cover my embarrassment with humor. “Honestly, you hardly gave me any time to get the dirt on you.”
He squinted up into the sun. “That’s about the only dirt there is.”
He looked
down at me and I couldn’t for the life of me read his expression. Was he furious? Indifferent? Relieved that the score was even now? Why did I feel as though we’d just met but already had so much baggage?
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
I opened my mouth for a few confused seconds before asking, “You mean, is it a good thing or a bad thing you only have one interesting story?”
He winced, but it was gone in a blink. “Let me know if you want some more wine.”
FOUR
Jensen
“I heard a rumor.”
I finished the last line of the email I’d been working on before looking over to the door.
“Greg. Hey.” I pushed back from my desk and waved him in. “What’s up?”
“I heard you’re taking a vacation,” he said. Greg Schiller was another business attorney, specializing in biotech mergers, and loved gossip more than anyone I’d met, aside from my aunt Mette and Max Stella. “And now I see you in here scrambling on a Saturday night, so I know it must be true.”
“Yeah,” I said, laughing. “Vacation. Just until the twenty-second.”
Vacation. My mind tripped on the word and how unfamiliar it felt in the context of I, Jensen Bergstrom, am going on vacation.
I was the guy who stayed late and worked weekends when something had to be done, the one you called in an emergency. I didn’t rush through emails to get out of the office, and I definitely didn’t have my assistant clear my schedule for the next two weeks so I could third-wheel it across the East Coast.
Except a couple of hours ago, I’d done just that.
I’d cleared my schedule to go on a road trip to wineries with my sister and brother-in-law and their friends and a drunken woman I’d met on the plane.
What in the world was I thinking?
Uncertainty clutched me. There were still a few loose ends to clean up on the London side of this HealthCo and FitWest merge. What if I was out of cell range at some point and—
As if sensing my hesitation, Greg leaned across my desk. “Don’t do that.”
I blinked up at him. “Do what?”
“That thing where you imagine any and every catastrophic scenario and talk yourself out of going.”
I groaned; he was right. It was so much more than missing work. It was a gnawing sense that I was at a fork in the road in my life. Again. It would be eminently easier to stay home, get some rest tomorrow instead of hopping into a van with my sister and her friends, and then dive back into the familiar routine of work on Monday.
But to do that would be to stay exactly where I’d been for the past six years.
Shaking my head, I spun a stapler on the top of my desk. “I never thought I’d be this guy, you know? I mean, you’re right, it’s Saturday. Natalie could handle all of this.”
“She could.” He sat in the chair opposite me.
“Well, what are you doing here?” I asked, looking up at him.
“I left my wallet in my office yesterday.” He laughed. “I’m not Jensen Bergstrom level of dedicated yet.”
I groaned.
“But we all know there are two paths in this firm. Sacrifice everything and become partner, or remain an associate for a decade. A lot of us envy you, you know.”
I ran a hand through my hair. “Yeah, but you have three kids and a wife who brews beer. Some of us envy you.”
Greg laughed. “But I’ll probably never make partner. You’re almost there.”
God, what a strange finish line. And to be thirty-four and nearly there. Then what? Two decades of more of the same?
He leaned in. “You spend way too much time here, though. You’re headed straight to midlife crisis and yellow Ferrari in less than three years.”
This made me laugh. “Don’t say that. You sound like my sister.”
“She sounds pretty smart. Where are you going, anyway?”
“A winery tour with a group of friends.”
His brows lifted in surprise. But the unspoken hung in the air—the question of whether there was someone else coming, someone else in my life. Red flags waved in my peripheral vision.
“Well,” I corrected, “mostly with my sister’s friends.”
He grinned, and I realized I’d made the right call. Better to have Greg know I was tagging along than think there was some interesting gossip to be found.
“Booze and time off,” he said. “Well done.”
The Sunday-morning air carried a damp chill. My car was silent in the driveway, already bombarded with leaves falling from the sugar maple in the front yard, and I wondered how much dust it would accumulate out here. Ziggy had offered to come pick me up in the van, but in an impulsive burst I’d said I’d meet them at her house. My car hadn’t been out of the garage in three months. I either took the bus to the office or caught a taxi to the airport. My life felt small enough to fit into a thimble.
I climbed the stairs to Will and Ziggy’s, kicking a few leaves off the porch as I went. The birthday balloons were gone, and two fat pumpkins and an urn of mums now stood in their place.
I thought back to my own house—no pumpkins, no wreath on the door—and pushed down the wiggly, hollow feeling in my chest.
I wasn’t denying that I wanted more for my life.
I just wasn’t thrilled that my little sister had pointed it all out to me so glaringly. Having always had a knee-jerk response to criticism, I tended to shut down and need to think for a bit. Last night’s thinking still lived as an exhausted yawn, echoing in my head.
I pressed the doorbell and heard Will’s shout of “It’s open!” from inside.
The knob turned easily and I stepped in, dropping my bag near the others by the door, toeing off my shoes, and following the scent of fresh coffee down the hall.
Niall sat at the breakfast bar, mug in hand, while Will stood at the stove.
“Scrambled, please,” I said, earning a piece of mushroom lobbed at me in lieu of a reply. Reaching into the cupboard for a mug of my own, I looked around the room and out into the backyard. “Where is everyone?”
“We’ve only just arrived,” Niall said. “Pippa and Ruby went to help Hanna finish packing.”
Nodding, I sipped my coffee and looked around the kitchen.
Whereas my house was—even I could admit it—a bit uptight in its tidiness, Will and Ziggy’s house looked . . . lived-in. A small pot of flowers sat on the windowsill near the kitchen sink. The refrigerator door was covered in drawings from Annabel’s party, and even though they didn’t have any kids of their own yet, anyone could see it was only a matter of time.
Elsewhere, I knew what I would find: Books and scientific journals on every flat surface—the pages marked with whatever scrap of paper my sister could find at the time. An upstairs hallway lined with photos of family gatherings, weddings, trips they’d taken together, and framed comics.
Will’s phone was vibrating somewhere behind him.
“Can you grab that for me?” he said, nodding toward the counter. “It’s been going off all morning.”
I reached for it, seeing a new group message flash across the screen. “You’re in a group text? How adorable.”
“It’s how we all stay up-to-date with what’s happening, but it’s taken on a whole new life since Chloe got pregnant. Bennett will either have a heart attack before this baby comes or need to be sent away somewhere. Read it to me, will you?”
“It says the airline lost Chloe’s luggage,” I started. “ ‘Her favorite shoes were in there, a clutch I got her for our anniversary, and a present she picked up for George.’ Max then asks if her head has spun around, or whether she’s started speaking in tongues. Bennett’s answer is ‘If only.’ ”
Will laughed as he turned over a few sizzling pieces of bacon. “Tell him I read an article in the Post that said only six or seven priests in the US actually know how to perform exorcisms. He might want to start making some calls.” Shaking his head with a wistful sigh, he added, “God, I miss New York
.”
I typed out his message before setting his phone back on the counter. “Need me to do anything?”
He shut off the stove and began scooping eggs onto six brightly colored plates. “Nah. The van is here and fueled up, the bags are mostly packed. Should be ready to go as soon as breakfast is done.”
I’d gone over the itinerary my sister had provided, and knew the drive to Jamesport, on Long Island, was around four hours—give or take, with traffic and the ferry.
Wouldn’t be too bad.
I felt a rebellious pull in my thoughts, knowing this trip was good for me but wanting, somehow, to prove them all wrong. To prove, maybe, that I didn’t need more than what I already had to have a happy life. Otherwise, how could I find pride in all that I’d accomplished?
I heard Ziggy’s voice upstairs, followed by Pippa shrieking something dramatically and Ruby and Ziggy bursting into hysterical laughter.
Will met my eyes, brows raised.
I didn’t have to ask to know what he was thinking, and if it wasn’t glaringly obvious to all of us, we were a group of idiots.
This trip was a lot of things—vacation, bonding time—but now it was also a setup.
I already anticipated the knowing looks, the insinuations, and—especially after a glass or two of wine—the outright understanding that this was a group of couples on a trip together.
Pippa was sexy; that wasn’t the issue. She was beautiful; that wasn’t the issue. At issue was her type of beauty, her type of sensuality—flamboyant, loud, bright—and how I knew, in my bones, that she wasn’t right for me. At issue was also my ambivalence about relationships, and the odd, instinctive recoil I had developed as a response to them.
But this was just a vacation. It didn’t have to be more.
“You’re freaking out about something,” Will said, handing me a large cup and gesturing to the silverware drawer.
I put a handful of forks inside it, turning my back to him. “No. Just doing the math.”
He grinned. “Took you a while.”
“I’m good at avoidance.”
Will burst out laughing in the easy way of a man about to have two weeks of vacation with his best friend and wife. “Now, that’s a lie. We’ll talk later.”
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