Anything But Love

by Abigail Strom

  She raised her eyebrows. “That’s nice, but not relevant. Unless you’re offering to come to Bermuda with me?”

  Her tone of voice made it obvious that she was joking—and that she thought he was, too.

  For one brief moment the sober, reasonable voices in his head shouted at him not to be a lunatic. But when he spoke, it wasn’t those voices that won the day.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I am.”

  Jessica stared at him. “What?”

  He had a sensation of having stepped over the edge of a cliff, but since it was too late to back up he might as well go with it.

  “Why not? As you pointed out, I’m a teacher—and the school year’s over.” Suddenly he grinned. “I mean, hell. It’s all paid for, right? I’d be getting a free trip to Bermuda.”

  She looked at him like he was crazy—or like she was waiting for him to say she was being punked. “You realize we’d be sharing a honeymoon suite for ten days?”

  “On a platonic basis, obviously. If I was looking for a date, there are easier ways to go about it.”

  “Where are you planning to sleep?”

  “It’s a suite, right? I’m sure there’ll be a couch for me. Maybe it’ll even fold out.”

  “You couldn’t use Tom’s plane ticket. It’s nontransferable.”

  Ben reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out his smartphone. “What airline are you going on?”

  She told him. “But I don’t remember the flight number.”

  “I’ll find it. What time does the plane leave?”

  “Eight fifteen.”

  His fingers moved quickly over the screen. After a minute he looked up. “The flight’s not sold out,” he said. “I can buy a ticket right now.”

  She stared at him, and he stared back.

  “You’re not serious,” she said finally.

  “Yeah? Let’s find out. Say the word, Jess, and I’m on that plane.”

  “You don’t really mean it. You’d back out if I said yes.”

  He put the phone on the table between them, his index finger poised over the screen. “There’s one sure way to find out. Say the word and I’ll do it.”

  She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. “Go ahead, then. Do it.”

  He held her gaze for a moment, a sudden grin lighting his face. Then his eyes flicked down to the phone as his fingers tapped busily.

  He slid the phone back into his pocket and then mirrored her position, sitting back in his chair with his arms folded.

  But while she was staring at him in dawning horror, he was still grinning.

  “It’s done,” he said. “Pink sand beaches, here I come.”

  The implications of what had just happened seemed to sweep over her. “Undo it!”

  He shook his head. “Nope. It’s been years since I’ve taken a real vacation. This will do me good.” He clasped his hands behind his head, gazing up at the ceiling. “It’ll be awesome. Lazing by the beach, drinking rum, watching you swim with dolphins—”

  “Shut up and call that damn airline. They’ll refund your money if you—”

  “No, they won’t. They have a very strict policy about—”

  “Then I’ll pay you back. How much was the ticket? I’ll write you a check as soon as I—”

  “Jessica.” His teasing tone turned serious, and he rested his hands on his knees as he leaned forward. “Life is short, and you’ve already spent too much of yours doing things other people thought you should do. For once, do something because you want to. Because you’ll enjoy it. I’ll be there in case you want company, but if you’d rather pretend I don’t exist, that’s fine with me.”

  She made a face without realizing it, and Ben burst out laughing. “Okay, maybe I’m not great at being invisible. But I swear to God, Jess—if you go on this trip, I’ll do my best not to piss you off too much. How’s that for an offer?”

  She got up from her chair, pacing slowly around the room. Ben sat back and waited for her decision. He’d made his best case, and it was up to her now.

  After a minute she came back and sat down again. Her eyes searched his face, and he wondered what she was looking for.

  Whatever it was, she must have found it. “Okay,” she said.

  Ben raised an eyebrow. “You mean it?”

  “Yes. But I was left at the altar today, and I have four shots of Jägermeister in my system. I’m probably not in my right mind.” She frowned at him. “How much have you had to drink?”

  He grinned at her. “A scotch or two.”

  “Are you in your right mind?”

  “It’s too soon to say.” He rose to his feet. “I guess I’d better go home and pack. I’ve got a plane to catch tomorrow morning.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  When the alarm went off the next morning, Ben resisted the urge to hurl his phone across the room. Instead, he silenced the beeping and closed his eyes again.

  He must have set the alarm by mistake. The school year was over, and this was his sleeping-in season.

  He wasn’t a morning person, which was one of the many ironies inherent in his chosen career. He usually guarded his weekend and summer mornings jealously, never scheduling anything before ten if he could help it.

  He’d just fallen back asleep when the phone started making noises again.

  This time it wasn’t the alarm, though. Someone was calling him.

  Who the hell was calling him at five in the morning?

  He grabbed his phone and stared at the screen.

  Jessica.

  In a rush it all came back. His offer to go with her to Bermuda, made in a fit of insanity. His impulsive purchase of an overpriced last-minute plane ticket, made with a credit card he’d designated “for emergencies only.” Their exchange of phone numbers before he left the hotel.

  Please, God, let her be calling to cancel this trip . . . or to tell him not to go.

  He hit Accept. “Hey.”

  “It’s Jessica,” she said briskly.

  No one should sound that brisk this early in the morning.

  “I know.”

  “I wanted to be sure you were up, and to remind you not to forget your passport. We should be there in twenty minutes.”

  “We?”

  “The driver and I. I told you last night we’d pick you up at five thirty. Don’t you remember?”

  Barely.

  “Yeah, of course.”

  He closed his eyes. So this was really happening. He and Jessica were going to Bermuda together. For ten days.

  There was a pause, and he wondered if his network had dropped the call. Then:

  “Unless you’ve changed your mind,” she said.

  He opened his eyes again, frowning up at the ceiling. Was she hoping he’d changed his mind?

  Well, why not? He’d been hoping she’d changed her mind.

  “Why are you asking me that?” he asked cautiously.

  “Well.” She cleared her throat. “I had some time to think last night, and you were right. Definitely. You were definitely right, about this trip being good for me and something I should, you know, definitely do. For myself.” Pause. “But there’s no need for you to come with me,” she went on. “I mean, I know you offered to make sure I would go, and mission accomplished. I’m going. But there’s certainly no reason for you to throw your life into disarray. I know school is out, but I’m sure you’ve got other obligations and commitments. And let’s be honest. We’re not really friends, and we haven’t seen each other in years. So . . .” She paused again. “So, you can say bon voyage to me and go back to your life. I’d like to pay you back for the ticket, but of course I can’t force you to take the money. I could send a check to your favorite charity if you’d prefer. If you don’t want to go, that is. Which you probably don’t. Of course you’re still welcome to go, if . . .” She trailed off. “If you still want to,” she finished.

  Silence.

  All during her little speech, Ben had been thinking that this was t
he perfect out. He’d convinced her to take the trip, which really had been his goal. But she was right: they weren’t friends anymore, and they hadn’t seen each other in years, and there was no guarantee they’d even be able to carry on a conversation. Now that she was prepared to go to Bermuda by herself, was there any need for him to go, too?

  No, there wasn’t.

  No need at all.

  But as he thought that, an image flashed into his mind—Jessica sitting slumped in that empty function room, with tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. She’d been raw and vulnerable in a way he hadn’t seen in a long time.

  He couldn’t see her right now, but of course she would have erased all traces of yesterday’s emotion. He could visualize her sitting straight in the backseat of her limo, clothes and makeup flawless and every hair in place.

  Her mask was back in place, too. He could hear it in her voice.

  How would she react if he decided not to go? She might be relieved; she might be disappointed. Maybe she’d be a little of both. Now that she’d reverted to perfectly-in-control Jessica, it would be hard to tell what she was feeling.

  But he’d made the offer last night because she was hurting and he wanted to help. Maybe they weren’t friends now, maybe they hadn’t been in years, but seeing Jessica in pain had torn at something inside him.

  For better or worse, he was going to follow that instinct. He wouldn’t let her go on this trip alone.

  “No way,” he said. “I’ve never been to Bermuda, and I’m not missing this chance.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”

  There was a short silence. “Well . . . all right. Don’t forget your passport.”

  He smiled at the ceiling. “I won’t.”

  Jessica glanced at her watch. There was an hour to go before they landed.

  Ben had bought a coach ticket, but when Jessica had explained their situation to the crew—the first and last time, she decided, that she would play the jilted fiancée card—a sympathetic flight attendant had let Ben use Tom’s seat.

  The first-class section was only half full, and the seats nearest theirs were empty. There was plenty of privacy for conversation, but so far they hadn’t taken advantage of it.

  Ben was in the aisle seat perusing the New York Times. She had a magazine open on her lap, but she wasn’t reading it.

  She wanted to fidget, but she controlled herself. She’d spent years disciplining her behavior in public, and it was so automatic now that she suppressed the urge to shift in her seat almost before she noticed it was there.

  She used to have all kinds of bad habits—twisting her hair, biting her nails, emotional eating. But she’d managed to eliminate them all.

  Ben Taggart hadn’t been a bad habit. He’d been a friend—maybe her best friend. But once she’d begun her relentless pursuit of perfection and popularity, Ben was an uncomfortable reminder of the life she’d wanted to put behind her. The good and the bad were tangled up together and she’d made a cold-blooded decision to cut it all away.

  She hadn’t been able to think of a way to explain that, so she hadn’t even tried. She’d just turned her back on him and trusted that he would get the hint.

  He had, of course. But that hadn’t stopped him from voicing his opinion on the new-and-improved Jessica every so often.

  Every time he’d accused her of being superficial, she’d resented it. Not because he was wrong—she’d be the first to admit that she focused on superficial things in high school—but because he didn’t understand that she was just doing her best to survive in a difficult world.

  He didn’t understand that because of who he was. Ben Taggart had never been afraid of difficulty or struggle or pain . . . or anything else.

  While she tried hard to fit in, he boldly stood out. When she agreed with a prevailing opinion, he went out of his way to be the voice of dissent. While she took the smooth path whenever she could, he marched cheerfully into the jungle with a machete, clearing away obstacles with the force of his personality.

  She remembered the drama around Ben’s college education, when her parents and everyone in their circle had been abuzz with the Taggarts’ situation. Seth and Amelia had told their son that if he insisted on becoming a public school teacher, they wouldn’t pay his tuition. He’d be on his own.

  He’d accepted that challenge without hesitation, taking out student loans and holding down three jobs to pay his way at a community college. After a year his parents had backed down, declaring they were proud that Ben had stuck to his guns and supporting his transfer to a four-year university with a renowned education department.

  But not everyone could be like Ben and survive. Not everyone could—

  “What are you thinking about?”

  She turned her head, startled. “What?”

  Ben had put down his newspaper and was leaning back in his seat, a quizzical look on his face.

  “You were frowning just now, like you were arguing with someone in your head. I wondered what you were thinking about.”

  He looked relaxed and comfortable in jeans and a Mets T-shirt, while she was dressed in an ivory linen pantsuit that would wrinkle if you looked at it wrong. Luckily her unique set of life skills included not wrinkling her clothes.

  “I wasn’t thinking about anything in particular,” she said.

  “That’s too bad.”

  He was smiling at her, which made his brown eyes look warm and full of life. She resisted the urge to smile back.

  “Why is that too bad?”

  “Because if you were arguing with someone in your head, you could tell me about it, and then we could have a conversation. As opposed to, you know, sitting here in silence.”

  She frowned. “I’m perfectly willing to have a conversation. We were sitting in silence because you were reading the newspaper.”

  “I was reading the newspaper because you pulled out a magazine the minute we sat down.”

  Okay, that was true.

  “Well, I’m not reading now,” she said. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “We can talk about anything.”

  “All right, then. Were there any interesting articles in the Times?”

  He shook his head. “When I said we could talk about anything, I didn’t mean current events. I meant anything about our actual lives.”

  That didn’t sound appealing. “I don’t want to talk about my life. I’m going to Bermuda to get away from my life.”

  “You don’t have to talk about Tom or the wedding or any of that. But you and I haven’t had a real conversation in a long time. I don’t know who you are now, and I’d like to. Especially since we’re going on a ten-day vacation together.”

  She supposed that was reasonable. The only problem was, she wasn’t sure who she was anymore. But she couldn’t say that to Ben, who wouldn’t understand. He’d always known exactly who he was.

  “I don’t know where to start,” she said. “I mean . . . what do you want to know?”

  “Do you still like the Backstreet Boys?”

  That made her smile. “Of course not.”

  “Well, that was the last solid piece of information I had on your musical taste. What do you listen to these days?”

  She shrugged. “Tom likes jazz, so I’ve been listening to a lot of that.”

  “Jazz, huh? Who are your favorite artists?”

  She started to name some of Tom’s favorites—Chet Baker and Miles Davis and Charlie Parker. But then she stopped.

  “What is it?” Ben asked.

  For some reason, she was remembering what he had said yesterday.

  Life is short, and you’ve already spent too much of yours doing things other people thought you should do. For once, do something because you want to. Because you’ll enjoy it.

  “Nothing. I mean . . . if you’re really interested in the music I like . . . the truth is, I don’t really enjoy jazz. I only listened to it because Tom likes it.” />
  She braced herself for Ben to say something critical. Something like, Why did you waste your time listening to music you don’t enjoy because your fake fiancé liked it?

  But he didn’t. He just said, “Well, then, there’s a perk to not marrying the guy. You’ll never have to play another jazz song if you don’t want to.”

  She smiled a little. “I guess that’s true.” She paused. “You know something else? I’ll never have to watch another episode of Murder, She Wrote.”

  “Tom’s a fan?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. It’s his comfort show. Do you know it ran for twelve seasons? Two hundred and sixty-four episodes.”

  “That’s a lot of murder.”

  She nodded. “Yes, it is. Jessica Fletcher is a menace to society. You know she lives in a tiny village in Maine? I don’t know how anyone’s left in that town. Everyone she knows has either been murdered, or is in jail for murder, or has been falsely accused of murder.”

  Ben laughed. “Okay, so you don’t like Murder, She Wrote. What shows do you like?”

  She thought about it. In high school and college, she’d watched whatever the cool kids were watching. Back home after that, her parents had mostly controlled the remote. Once she and Tom were living together, she let him choose whatever they were going to watch in the evenings. That usually meant a crime drama or a cable news show—neither of which she enjoyed.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’m not a big TV fan.”

  “What if you were on a desert island and had to pick one thing to watch?”

  “Animal Planet, I guess. Or the National Geographic channel.” Did that sound weird or boring? Probably both. “What about you?” she asked, wanting to change the subject. “What shows do you like?”

  “Sports and sci-fi.”

  That made her smile. “So that hasn’t changed, huh?”

  “Nope. Do you remember when I made you watch that Star Trek marathon?”

  “Please don’t remind me.”

  “But you got me back. You made me sit through those old episodes of The Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau.”

  She covered her face with her hands. “Oh my God. Did I really?”

  “Yep. But don’t feel bad. I actually enjoyed it.”