by Sydney Logan
“That’s all I need to know.”
“That’s not all you need to know! I know this looks bad. God knows this looks bad, but I swear there’s an explanation.”
We’re causing a scene, but I don’t care. Maybe they’ll call the cops so that they can drag me out of here and put me out of my misery.
“I don’t need your explanation. I understand perfectly. You’re a cheater and a liar and I never want to see you again. Lynsey and Macy will handle your account.”
“Please don’t do this!”
He’s begging now, and I have to admit it’s a little satisfying. Too bad my embarrassment’s making it hard to find joy in his misery.
“You need to go change. Antonio’s going to be worried about his suit.”
A crowd’s started to gather. Macy’s surrounded by Antonio and the groomsmen, watching the train wreck that’s suddenly become my life.
“This isn’t over, Skye.”
“It’s absolutely over. Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Don’t email me. Don’t come to my apartment. Don’t think about me. And don’t touch me. You don’t get to touch me ever again.”
The groomsmen suddenly appear by our side.
“Sorry,” Jesse says quietly, “but umm . . . the guy needs your shoe size.”
“And I need your phone number,” Dane says.
Caleb’s steely gaze lands on his groomsman. Because I’m a bitch, I reach into my bag and pull out a business card. I turn to Dane and offer it to him with a smile.
“Call me anytime.”
I don’t have to look at Caleb’s face. I can feel the rage radiating from his body as I turn on my heel and walk out the door.
I’m proud of myself. I drive a very confused Macy back to the office and make it all the way home before my emotions finally consume me. Collapsing on my couch, I bury my face in the blanket that still smells like him and bawl uncontrollably. My cell rings constantly, and at one point I hear someone beating down my door, but I ignore it all.
Stupid. That’s the only word that adequately describes it. I should’ve known something wasn’t right. Caleb was too perfect. Too wonderful. Too good to be true. I’d fallen fast, and now I’m paying for it.
As my apartment begins to darken and my tears start to subside, I allow myself to accept some of the blame. I let myself get carried away, and in doing so, I hadn’t taken the time to even ask him his last name. Would I have even made the connection? Who knows. But something as basic as his last name might have saved me from the overwhelming grief I’m feeling right now.
Caleb Lynch was exciting and intense and, in the end, completely devastating.
Stupid. I’m a stupid, stupid girl.
I grab my cell, knowing I need to send a quick text to Lynsey to let her know I’m alive. A quick glance at the screen tells me I have over fifty missed calls and just as many voice mails.
Holding my breath, I listen to the messages as they echo in my ear.
I’m sorry.
Please answer your phone.
Please answer your door.
Please talk to me.
The anguish in Caleb’s voice intensifies with each message, but it’s his final confession that completely tears my heart in two.
I think I love you.
With a shuddering sigh, I bury my face in my blanket, breathing him in until I finally fall into a deep, dark sleep.
“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!”
Some evil person opens the window blinds, flooding my bedroom with horrible, blinding sunshine. I groan and bury my face in my pillow.
“I’m really regretting giving you a key to my apartment.”
“It’s a good thing you did. Otherwise, I would’ve huffed and puffed and blown your door down. Or, you know, called the super.”
“Your charms wouldn’t work on him. He’s been married to the same woman for nearly fifty years. Because he’s a real man. A real man who doesn’t cheat or lie.”
Lynsey sits down on the side of the bed. “Is that what this five-day vacation’s all about?”
Five days?
I roll over. “What’s today? And don’t you have the flu?”
“Today is Tuesday. And I had the flu. Five days ago.” She pulls me by my arms and forces me to sit up in bed. “I didn’t think much about it when I didn’t hear from you all weekend, but then you called in sick and wouldn’t answer your phone. You never call in sick, and you always answer your phone. I just assumed I gave you my germs, but then I talked to Macy.”
That reminds me. “I want her fired. She runs her mouth too much.”
“We can discuss that later, but first, you need a shower. And food. And maybe a lot of wine. Although if this bedroom is any indication, that’s probably the last thing you need.”
With a shameful groan, I glance at the empty bottles on the nightstand. I rarely drink, and when I do, it’s never more than a glass with dinner.
“I drank a lot.”
“I can see that. What’s going on, Skye?”
“I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“But you have to. You haven’t left the house in days, you want me to fire one of our best girls, and there’s some conflict with the Martinez-Lynch account—a conflict so massive that the two of you made an epic scene in Antonio’s store. I’m sorry, Skye, but we have to talk about it.”
“The account’s all yours. I’m out.”
“I understand. What I want to know is why.”
I close my eyes and try to find the words.
“Caleb’s the groom.”
She frowns. “Yes. Caleb Lynch is the groom. So?”
“So, Caleb Lynch is Eli’s guitar teacher. Caleb Lynch is 80s guy.”
Lynsey’s rarely quiet, but this time, I’ve stunned her speechless. Her eyes grow wider and wider as I tell her the whole story, and by the end, I’m bawling like a baby.
“No wonder you’re such a mess. What an asshole.”
“That’s the thing, Lyns. I don’t think he is. I mean, except for the being engaged and totally lying about it, I actually think he’s a good guy.”
“Did he have any kind of explanation?”
“He tried. He chased me through Antonio’s store—”
“That’s what Macy said. She also said that, after you stormed out, Caleb punched one of his groomsmen in the face and knocked him to the floor. No idea what that was about.”
I do, and I can’t deny I take some sick satisfaction in the fact that Caleb punched Dane just because I gave him my business card.
“Caleb’s called me about a thousand times. I think he came to my door, too. I just didn’t want to hear it. I still don’t want to hear it. Nothing he says can justify what he’s done, Lyns. He’s engaged, and I can’t even hate the girl because I know how sweet she is. They’re engaged. End of story.”
“Engagements are broken all the time, Skye.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“I’m just saying engagements are broken all the time. Maybe he got cold feet. Or, maybe he was looking for one last fling before tying the knot.”
“I don’t think that’s it. He had his chance.”
“What do you mean?”
“He . . . slept over.”
Lynsey’s eyes become saucers.
“Nothing happened. But something could have. So easily. If that’s all he wanted, he could have had it. He didn’t even try. He was the perfect gentleman. That was Wednesday night. We cuddled and kissed and watched Dirty Dancing, and then we fell asleep on my couch.”
“He watched Dirty Dancing? Willingly?”
“About as willingly as your husband does it, but yeah, he watched it.”
“My husband watches it because he loves me.”
“Yeah. That’s another thing.”
I grab my phone off the nightstand and listen to my voice mail. Caleb’s agonized voice streams through the speaker. It’s sweet torture, hearing the desperation in his pleas while he begs me to talk to him. Tears trickl
e down my cheeks as we listen to each and every message. There are some new ones . . . each of them ending with a whispered I think I love you that breaks what little is left of my heart.
“Holy crap,” Lynsey whispers when it’s all over.
We sit in stunned silence a few minutes more until my best friend stands up and offers me her hand.
“Get up. Go take a bubble bath. I’m calling my husband for food and wine. Lots and lots of wine.”
“Oh, Lyns, I don’t want Toby to see me like this. Besides, shouldn’t one of us be at work? We can’t both be slackers.”
“I won’t let Toby in the apartment. And Robyn knows how to reach me. Let’s go.”
My muscles protest as I slowly climb out of bed. While Lynsey calls her husband, I find some clothes and head to the bathroom. The bubble bath is heaven, even if the lavender scent reminds of my favorite blanket that I’ll now have to burn.
Caleb’s really ruined everything.
I close my eyes, willing the warm bath to work its magic. Thank goodness Nick cashed in some vacation days, because I would have been a terrible aunt this weekend.
I have to get my shit together.
This isn’t me. I don’t wallow over a guy, especially one that I’ve known for such a short period of time. Still, the connection was intense. We both felt it. Caleb might be a liar and a cheat, but I don’t think he faked every minute of our time together. The sweet kisses. The hot kisses. His powerful but gentle embrace while we slept on the couch. The way his eyes lit up every single time I walked in the room.
Guys can’t fake that.
Can they?
Could it be cold feet, like Lynsey suggested? Maybe he doesn’t want to get married. Is that why he’s been so uninvolved with the wedding planning?
Come to think of it, Juliana hasn’t been too interested, either. Unlike most brides, she’s been more than happy to give Lynsey a platinum card with instructions to go wild. Besides the date and location, we’ve pretty much been given free rein about everything from the bridal bouquet to the reception menu. That never happens.
Nothing makes sense.
I want answers, but at the same time, I don’t. Caleb is engaged to another woman, and the wedding is two months away. If Caleb and Juliana want to break off their engagement, that’s up to them, but I will not be the catalyst.
I will not be the other woman.
Ever.
After drying my hair, I head to the living room to find Lynsey on my couch with a large pizza and a bottle of wine.
“No Toby?”
“I told him this was a girls-only breakup party. He was more than happy to leave the booze and run for the hills.”
With a laugh, I curl up on the couch and grab the remote. Lynsey starts to throw the blanket over us, but I reach for it and hurl it across the room.
She arches an eyebrow.
“We’re burning that.”
“Okay . . . so, I was thinking Can’t Buy Me Love on Netflix,” Lynsey says, pointing to the TV. “I thought it might be gratifying to watch Patrick Dempsey get the shit slapped out of him.”
“Good call.”
While I find the movie, Lynsey pours two glasses of wine and passes me a paper plate with a huge slice of pepperoni and sausage. It smells great, and my stomach doesn’t somersault, so I take a bite.
“Can I just say one more thing about the Caleb situation?” she asks in between bites.
“Just one more.”
“I’m happy to kill the account if you want.”
I shake my head. “No. Let Macy help.”
“I thought you wanted her fired.”
“I wanted a lot of things before my bubble bath. I’m a little saner now.”
Lynsey grins.
“Seriously, Lyns, it’s a huge account with zero budget. There’s no reason our business should suffer just because I made a stupid, unprofessional decision.”
“You mean like falling for the groom?”
I chug my wine.
“That’s another thing,” Lynsey says, frowning. “Why no budget? Have we ever planned a wedding without a budget?”
“Nope.”
“It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Is it because they have money to burn? Or do they really just not give a shit?”
“No clue. Can we watch the movie now?”
She nods and I push play. For the next two hours, I get lost in the movie, the pizza, the wine, and my best friend. We laugh and cry and laugh some more, and when it’s time for her to leave, she gives me a bone-crushing hug.
“This is going to work out. I know it.”
“There’s nothing to work out, Lyns. It’s done.”
She nods. “See you tomorrow?”
“I’ll be there.”
It’s late, so I toss the pizza box and empty bottle in the trash and head to my bedroom. The place reeks, so I strip the sheet and quilt and toss them in the hamper before finding fresh linens in the closet. After clearing the nightstand of the reminders of my weekend booze binge, I climb into bed and bury myself under the clean blanket.
Wallowing is over.
Tomorrow is a new day.
And I’m going to be okay.
Five days.
I’ve tried to reach her for five days. I’ve left a million voice mails and texts. I’ve called her work—now that I know where she works—so much that now the receptionist recognizes my voice when I say hello. Her name’s Robyn, and, while Robyn’s courteous and professional, I can tell she’s not too happy with me. I’m not stupid. I know girls talk. So I can only assume the entire place knows what a scumbag I am. During our last call, however, Robyn did slip and say that Skye had taken a few sick days, but I know better. She’s not sick. She’s avoiding the real world. She’s avoiding me.
After an entire weekend of zero contact, I headed to her apartment Sunday night and basically camped outside her door, thinking she’d eventually have to go to the store or something. But one of the neighbors threatened to call the police, so I decided stalking probably wasn’t the best option. Instead, I headed home and buried myself in my room with my guitar. After writing a bunch of cheesy love songs that would make Michael Bolton cringe, I punished myself by listening to death metal, which had my neighbors beating on the door and threatening to call the cops. Since that was my second near-miss with local law enforcement, I decided it was probably in my best interest to lay low, so that’s what I did. After cashing in some of my own sick days, I cancelled guitar class, took a sleeping pill, and rendered myself unconscious.
But today’s a new day.
Time to face the real world.
Or as much of it as I can stand.
School’s rough—that happens when you have a blinding headache and teach a class with musical instruments—but my students must sense I’m close to a nervous breakdown, because they leave me alone for most of the morning. When lunch time finally arrives, I barricade myself in my office and start to peel a banana when I get a text from Juliana.
Just got a weird message from Lynsey. Call me.
In my stupor, it takes me a minute to remember that Lynsey is the wedding planner.
Or one of them, it seems.
If I wasn’t completely sick to my stomach, I’d probably laugh at the insane predicament I’ve found myself in. I’m engaged to a woman I don’t want to marry—which wasn’t a problem until I met Skye. Now, I’ve found someone I’m absolutely crazy about, and she just happens to be my wedding planner.
Seriously, what are the odds?
I have no idea what to say to Juliana—and I don’t know how much Lynsey’s told her—so I send her a quick text, promising that I’ll explain everything when she gets home. And I will. I’ll tell her everything. Knowing Juliana, she’ll want to cancel the wedding, but I won’t let her. Her family means too much to me. We’ll get married, and then we’ll get an annulment, just like we planned.
Just as soon as her mom passes away.
It sounds terrible, and maybe we�
��re terrible people, but our intentions were always good. When the oncologist told the family that Luisa had maybe six to eight months to live, she told us that her only regret was that she wouldn’t be around to see her only daughter walk down the aisle.
It was a no-brainer.
We just wanted to give Luisa something to look forward to, something to make her smile during a time when she had very little to smile about, and we have. I’ll never forget the look on Luisa’s face when we told her we were engaged. Her smile is seared into my memory, and that’s how I’ll always remember her.
So, yes, I’m keeping my promise.
Even if it kills me.
At the end of the day, I’m walking to the faculty parking lot when my phone rings. My heart soars, hoping it’s Skye, but then it plummets when I don’t recognize the number on the screen. I climb into my car and slam the door before saying hello.
“Mr. Lynch?”
“Yes?”
“This is Lynsey Evans. Your wedding planner.”
My mouth goes dry.
“Umm, hello, Ms. Ev—”
“You can skip the formalities. Trust me, I’m going to.”
She’s pissed. “Okay . . .”
“I believe you and I need to have a conversation. A very long conversation about how you’re going to fix the colossal shit storm that you’ve brought to my business and into my best friend’s life.”
I rake my hand through my hair. “How is she? Is she there? She won’t let me explain—”
“Oh, but I will. You’re going to explain it to me. Every single detail. And if you don’t, I will not hesitate to refund every dime of Juliana’s parents’ money and tell them to find a new wedding planner. When can you be here?”
I swallow nervously and glance at the time. “Thirty minutes?”
“Good answer. And if you don’t show up, I’ll make sure your new caterer serves peanuts at your reception.”
“But I’m allergic to pea—”
“I know this! Thirty minutes, Lynch.”
The line goes dead.
When I walk into Wedding Belles, I’m greeted by an ebony-skinned beauty at reception.
“Good afternoon. May I help you?”
“Hello, Robyn. It’s nice to finally meet you in person.”