High Tea & Flip-Flops

by Linda Cassidy Lewis

“Because she wanted it to be so. She decided we were engaged. That’s all.”

  “Oh, stupid me. I understand now. She’s just some crazy, random woman who imagined—with absolutely no cause—that she had a serious relationship with you and flew all the way over here to surprise you with that fact.”

  He doesn’t need to speak, the truth is right there on his face. I walk back to my front door and open it. “You can leave now.”

  He walks toward me, but instead of leaving, he tries to close the door. As I’m pulling, and he’s pushing, my hand slips off and connects with his mouth.

  “Bloody hell!” With his fingers pressed against his bottom lip, Jeremy searches my face. Evidently not seeing what he hoped for, he turns away and opens the door wider.

  This is the end. And this is when I usually panic and say something that translates to Wait. Please don’t go. I didn’t really mean it.

  Not this time.

  But Jeremy doesn’t leave. He shuts the door, walks to the sofa, and sits. “I have lied to you from the beginning,” he says. “Mostly by omission.”

  That flame inside me wavers. “Still, that’s lying.”

  He nods. “But I was not lying when I said I’m not engaged to marry Alison.”

  “Then why did she—”

  “Because—” He touches the corner of his mouth and looks at the blood on his finger before wiping it on his jeans. “Because she expected us to marry.” He sighs and closes his eyes. “Our families expected it.”

  I go to the kitchen and wrap some ice in a dish towel—yes, I know that’s showing weakness. I hand the ice pack to him, but refuse to sit down.

  “So,” I say, crossing my arms and glaring at him. “What you’re saying is that the two of you have been hooking up for a long time.”

  He says nothing.

  “And when she showed up at your door last week, instead of setting her straight on the whole marriage thing, you went off with her for a hot and heavy reunion.”

  “It wasn’t—”

  “Don’t you dare say it wasn’t like that. Did you fuck her?” He sighs like he’s offended at my language. Hypocrite. “Did you?”

  “No. Absolutely not. I was furious with her. I told her our relationship—as tenuous as it was—had ended. Then I dropped her off at her hotel—at the entrance, mind you—and drove straight to the airport.”

  Hmm. Furious with her. I’ll bet that time I heard him on the phone it was Alison he said he wanted to “murder.” She’s one of the people he hates telling him who he should be. No wonder he freaked when I claimed he was my fiancé. Okay. That changes things, but still …

  “You walked right by my door and didn’t think to tell me you were flying off to London? And if you say that never occurred to you, I will strangle you where you sit.”

  Jeremy arches that damned right brow and gets that snooty glint in his eye. He withers when I give it right back to him.

  He lifts the towel and dabs his lip with a clean spot and checks it for blood. “I had no idea you’d already talked to Alison. I hoped to get her away from here before you saw her with me. I didn’t want to have to explain.” He lays the towel on the coffee table and looks at me. “That was cowardly, I admit. But I swear, if I had known what she told you, I would have confessed all. I would have cleared up her lie before I left.”

  “Well, okay … but then, if you’d already set her straight, why did you need to go to London?”

  “You don’t understand my situation,” he says quietly. “My family—”

  “We all have family problems. My mom tries to control—”

  He jumps to his feet. “Your mother interferes in your life because she loves you and wants you to be happy. My parents do it to maintain the status quo, to preserve their own interests, not mine. My happiness is the least of their concerns.”

  “That doesn’t give you the right to screw up my life.” He steps forward and reaches for me. I slap his hands away. “No. Oh, hell no. You don’t get to touch me and make me melt. You don’t get to tell your little sob story and get forgiven. Just quit your slumming and go back where you belong. This is not a plot point, Jeremy. There’s no sequel to this scene. It’s over. The. End.”

  “Chelsea, please—”

  “You left me, Jeremy. Without a word, you just left me, and I thought you … you …” I don’t even realize he’s moving again, but then I’m in his arms, boohooing like crazy, and the flame in my chest snuffs out.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I never meant to hurt you.” He says it over and over.

  Should I believe him?

  Long minutes later, Jeremy leads me to the sofa, where he holds me and tells me how much he loves me. And it might sound crazy, but the thing that convinces me his words are true is that thirty minutes later we’re still sitting on the sofa. He didn’t try to get me into bed for make-up sex right away like most guys I’ve known. We don’t even kiss. He just holds me. It’s perfect.

  He’s right, if I’d taken his calls, he could have cleared up this mess two days ago. I believe he did text me before he left, but like those other times, I didn’t get his message. I guess it will find its way to my phone someday. But the emails?

  “Jeremy, what address did you say you sent the emails to?”

  “The Penny James one.”

  “But you said Gmail.” I pull away and sit up so I can see his face. “That’s your personal account, not your author account.”

  It takes a second, and then he grimaces. “You don’t have access to that account.”

  “Nope.”

  “Sorry. I’ve become dependent on my personal assistant to keep those details straight.”

  “I thought I’d been promoted to co-author.”

  “PA, co-author, love of my life … all the same.”

  “Be still my heart.” I lay my head back on his chest.

  “You know,” he says, “a misunderstanding like this would make for a good plot point in our next—”

  I smack his stomach. He laughs.

  “I hate to ruin the fun,” I say, “but can I ask you a serious question?”

  His chest rises and falls with a deep breath. He doesn’t wait for me to ask. “I told my father that I won’t quit writing.”

  “And?”

  “He threw me out of his house.” I pull him a little closer. He kisses the top of my head. “And I’m sure, by now, he’s officially disowned me.”

  “I’m sorry, Jeremy.”

  “I’m not. I feel a hundred stone lighter.”

  I don’t believe him. “And your job?”

  “I called the firm and resigned while I was waiting for the flight to London.” He exhales sharply. “Do you have a passport?”

  “What?”

  “I need to return to London for a few days. If you have a passport, I’ll take you with me. We’ll have to fly coach, though. I have to rein in my spending now that my father has cut off the expense account he set up for my ‘experiment’.”

  I sit up again. “Your father was paying for you to live here and write?”

  “He gave me six months to, as he put it, ‘get this nonsense out of your system’. I knew writing wasn’t nonsense, but I took the offer because I felt he owed me that much.” He rubs at the blood stain on his jeans for a moment. “So, the passport?”

  “No, I don’t have one.”

  He sighs. “Well, I’ll take you there another time. But I have to return in a few days to wrap up things.”

  “What things?”

  “Getting my flat listed with an estate agent for one.”

  “You’re selling it?” How sad. No more Notting Hill.

  “As I said, I have a pressing need to liquidate some assets.”

  “What about your beloved car?”

  “That too, but I’ll definitely buy another here.”

  I point to the ceiling. “What about your apartment?”

  “I have a six-month lease, paid through December.”

  “You paid
it all at once?”

  “My father’s accountant did.”

  “And the furniture rental?”

  He nods.

  “So you need to economize now. Do you know how? Sorry. That was rude. None of my business.”

  “Actually—”

  “Oh!” He’s my employer, who needs to downsize, so damn, I’m fired anyway. And now there’s not even a business with Gabi in my future.

  “Oh what?” he says.

  “Nothing. I mean, don’t worry. I’ll find another job.”

  He starts laughing. “Your mother was right; you’re quite the conclusion jumper.”

  “I am not. And when did you talk to my mother?”

  “Three or four times in the last couple of days. I’m lucky she likes me. She allowed me to explain that I wasn’t the scoundrel her daughter thought I was.”

  “Okay. I admit it. I was—”

  “Hotheaded? Unreasonable? Prone to believe the worst of someone?”

  “Gee, thanks. Is there no end to your list of derogatives to describe my behavior in this?”

  “I don’t believe there is.” He smiles.

  “You talk too much.” I scoot away from him and stand.

  Jeremy pulls me down to sit on his lap. “There are ways to silence me.”

  “Do I know those ways?”

  “Oh yes.” He slips his hand under my shirt, but I stop him.

  “Hold on, Mr. High Tea. Have you told me all the secrets you’ve been keeping from me?”

  He hangs his head. “No. There’s another.”

  I was only joking, but now he sounds so serious I’m afraid to hear this last secret.

  He clears his throat but still doesn’t speak.

  “Just tell me, Jeremy.”

  “You know that day in the laundry room, when you accidentally put your knickers into my dryer?”

  “Yeah …”

  “I saw you do it.”

  I jump to my feet. “Why, Jeremy Windsor Pearce, you are a scoundrel.”

  With a grin, he throws me over his shoulder and carries me to bed.

  Afterward, when I come out of the bathroom, Jeremy is getting dressed. “Leaving so soon?” I say, joking.

  “Not soon enough,” he says. The look he gives me is so cold, my mouth goes dry.

  “Jeremy?”

  “Your phone rang,” he says. “Dusty was the name displayed on the screen. I doubt you’ll neglect to ring him back.” He picks up my phone and holds it out to me.

  Standing in the doorway, suddenly conscious of my nakedness, I’m too stunned to move.

  He utters a bitter half laugh. “Oh, of course, you’ll want to talk to him in private.”

  “It’s not what you think—”

  “Really? Are you saying you have no idea why he rang you? It came completely out of the blue?”

  I shake my head. “He just … .we just … you’re not being fair.”

  “I’m not? All right, I’ll leave now and give you full rein to continue what you started with your surfer soulmate. Fair enough?”

  He takes two steps forward. When I stay put, he grasps me by the shoulders and moves me out of his way.

  Ten minutes later, I knock on Jeremy’s door. I wait a minute and knock again. It takes another full minute for him to open it. He’s back to the six-inch rule. He won’t look directly at me, but he doesn’t need to for me to see that his eyelashes are wet. “Go away,” he says thickly.

  “No.”

  He closes his eyes, but doesn’t move otherwise. I lay a palm against his door and push. It swings open.

  “I didn’t think you were coming back, Jeremy.”

  His eyes fly open. “I told you—”

  “But I didn’t know you were coming back to me. I thought it was just business.”

  “How could you think that?” he asks. “It’s never been just business between us.”

  Never?

  At the sound of someone coming up the stairs, Jeremy steps away from the door and motions me in, closing it behind me. We stand several feet apart, silent, as if neither of us knows what to say because both of us know how crucial those words could be.

  “Was I so easily replaceable?” he asks. “And so quickly?”

  “Of course not. I—”

  “So why did you run to him?”

  “I didn’t. We met by accident … at the beach.” Yes, I know that’s not true on Dusty’s part, but Jeremy doesn’t need to know. “We had dinner together.” I could stop with that, but I’m not going to lie anymore. “The next day—yesterday—I went with him to a personal appearance down by San Diego. We had dinner on the way back, and then I—”

  “Slept with him?”

  The waver in his voice causes my eyes to sting. I blink back the tears and shake my head. “We kissed. It got kind of intense, but I stopped it. I wanted you, Jeremy, not him.”

  “Did you tell him that?”

  I bite my lip, wishing I could say yes. “He left.”

  “But he called today, which means he has no idea you want me.”

  “I’m going to tell him.”

  “Should you?”

  His question stuns me for a moment. “Of course I should.”

  “Why? Have you really thought about it? Or did you make this monumental decision in the last ten minutes?”

  “Jeremy, I—”

  “It’s only three lives you’re playing with here, Chelsea. No serious consideration required.”

  This time, I can’t stop the tears from spilling over. “I want you. That’s not something I just decided in the last ten minutes.”

  “But you and Dusty have so much more in common. Think of the life you’d have with him. All those beaches.” He takes my arm and pulls me back to the door. He opens it. “I think you should go home and weigh the pros and cons of your choices, Chelsea. At the very least, wait until after you talk to him before you make your decision.”

  “But, Jeremy—”

  “Go.”

  He pushes me out the door and closes it behind me.

  I barely remember walking down the stairs and into my apartment, but here I am lying on my bed. My pillow is soaked. My emotions have swung to such extremes today I feel insane. I reach for my phone and call Gabi.

  “Please talk to me,” I say.

  “Hold on, Matt’s got the TV blaring. Let me go to the bedroom.”

  While I’m waiting, I pull a tissue from my nightstand drawer and blow my nose.

  “Okay,” she says. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve really screwed up.”

  “I’m almost afraid to ask, is this about Jeremy?”

  “Yes. And Dusty.”

  “Dusty? How did he get back in the picture?”

  “I saw him on the beach Monday.” Sniff. “And then we spent yesterday together.”

  “Did you sleep—”

  “No. I couldn’t.”

  “And Jeremy?”

  “He’s back. He’s not engaged—”

  “Duh. You would have known that two days—”

  “I know. I know. I told you I screwed up, Gabi.” I’m crying again, making her wait. Dusty wouldn’t even be in the picture if I’d let Jeremy explain the “massive misunderstanding.”

  “Chels, do you need me to come over?”

  “No.” I take a deep breath and blow my nose again. “It was all sweet and wonderful with Jeremy, and then Dusty called, and Jeremy saw his name on my phone and freaked. He was crying, Gabi. I made him cry.”

  “Well … honestly, he deserved that. You haven’t exactly been dry-eyed since he flew off to London.”

  I sit up. She’s right, isn’t she? “Okay, but now Jeremy doesn’t believe I really want him.”

  “Do you?”

  “Gabi. Of course I do.”

  “So you told Dusty that, right?”

  “I haven’t had time to.”

  “I’m hanging up, Chelsea. Call Dusty now.”

  But I can’t. What if Jeremy was trying
to tell me I’d be better off with Dusty? What if he realized he’s not as serious about our relationship as he thought, and he doesn’t want me to pass up a sure thing for an iffy one? And how do I know Dusty would be a sure thing?

  What the hell are you thinking, Chelsea?

  I. Love. Jeremy.

  Dusty answers on the second ring.

  “Hey, girl. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

  “Oh, um … that’s nice.”

  “Nice?” He makes it sound like I’ve insulted him.

  We’re both silent for a moment.

  “So,” he says. “This is that call. Is it me or is it you?”

  “It’s me. I’m sorry.”

  Dusty blows out a long breath. “Let me guess. Sir Jeremy is back.”

  “Yes.”

  “And what about his fiancée?”

  “That was a misunderstanding.” He doesn’t respond. The silence drags on so long that I’m not sure he’s still there. “Dusty?”

  “Yeah. So you’re sure this time?”

  “I’m sure. I love him.”

  “You know you’re breaking my heart.”

  “Oh, Dusty, I’m—”

  “No,” he says with a sigh. “I’ll live, just not with the woman who completes me by my side.”

  “Oh, God.” I’m such a jerk. Crap. Here come the tears again.

  Dusty laughs. “I’m yanking your chain, girl. We take what happiness we can in this life. If he’s yours, grab hold and don’t let go. I just hope he realizes what he’s got.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But just so you know, you’ll always be my number one dream girl.”

  I wipe my eyes and smile. “I wish you the best, Dusty, or second best, I guess that would be.”

  He laughs again. “That’s my girl. I wish the same for you. But if it doesn’t work out …”

  “I know how to find you.”

  “Malama pono, Chelsea.”

  “You take care too, Dusty.”

  I’m just about to knock on Jeremy’s door when he opens it. We look at each other long enough for me to know that he’s wrestling with the same two emotions I am—hope and fear. Hope that love is what the other one feels and fear that it’s not.

  “Chelsea?”

  “I called him back. I told him I love you. Do you love me?”

  Seconds pass like they’re slogging through mud. Finally, he reaches for me.

  “With all my heart,” he says.