by Sydney Logan
“It will be quite the story to tell your grandchildren someday.”
“You suck on so many levels.”
“Sorry, I’ll be good.” Juliana grins and lies down next to me. “All right, Lynch, spill your guts. I want to know every single detail.”
So I do. I tell her about meeting Skye at guitar class, our trip with her nephew to Burger Palace, and our amazing first date at The Boombox.
“That was the night you left on your trip.”
“The night you asked if I’d ever met someone who took my breath away.”
I nod.
“It was . . . intense, Jules. I’ve never felt so connected to another person. Someone who so totally gets me. I mean, you get me, but it’s different.”
“I understand, Caleb. I really, really do.”
She can’t. Not really. But I appreciate that she’s trying.
“I’m sorry, Jules. I tried to stay away from her. I really did. I had no idea she was the wedding planner, and she had no idea I was the groom. We met each other a few nights later at The Boombox—completely by accident—and then we had dinner at her place. We watched Dirty Dancing and made out on her couch and—”
“You watched Dirty Dancing?”
“The girl is obsessed with all things 80s. The movies, the music . . .”
“I can’t believe you watched Dirty—”
“Would you listen?”
She grins.
“It was amazing, Jules. Nothing happened. We just kissed a lot and fell asleep in each other’s arms and woke up together the next day. It was the most incredible morning of my life. That was last Thursday.”
“The day you visited Mom?”
“And the day of the tux fitting.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh . . . shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Skye was there. Lynsey had the flu.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that explains the call from Lynsey telling me that all questions about the wedding should be directed to her—and only her. She didn’t tell me why.”
“I don’t think she knew at the time. She knows now.”
“Wow,” she says softly. “How awkward was that tux fitting?”
I close my eyes as I recall the look on Skye’s face.
“I broke her heart, Jules.”
“I’m sure it was awful, but you know what that means, right? It means she loves you, too. It wouldn’t hurt otherwise.”
“It doesn’t matter. She won’t wait. She was very clear about that.”
“You keep saying she won’t wait. Wait for what?”
Is she serious? I point to the antique diamond on her finger. It was my grandmother’s ring, and because I’m the only grandchild, it was passed down to me. It won’t live on Juliana’s hand forever. For now, it’s just a prop. An expensive prop, but a prop nonetheless.
“I made you a promise, Jules. I fully intend to keep it.”
Juliana blinks rapidly.
“Caleb, you’re an idiot.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“No, you are an idiot. A complete and utter idiot. If our phony engagement is the only thing keeping the two of you apart, then there’s a very simple solution to this.”
“I made you a promise.”
“A promise that became null and void the moment you fell in love. Do you seriously think I would hold you to this? You’re my best friend. I want you to be happy. The only reason I agreed to this charade in the first place was because we were both single and had zero prospects of that changing in the future. It changed, Caleb. It changed and it’s wonderful.”
“Nothing’s changed.”
Juliana smiles and kisses me on the cheek before climbing out of bed. “Call her. Right now. Tell her there’s no need to wait.”
“What do you mean?”
“The wedding’s off.”
I bolt upright in bed. “What? No!”
Juliana nods. “Yes. Call her.”
“Jules, wait!”
She ignores me and walks out of the room, letting the door softly close behind her.
My life is purgatory.
There’s really no other word to describe it. I’m caught between heaven and hell, where every decision I make hurts someone I love. The only difference now is that my decisions are all being made for me. Every woman in my life is ignoring me and doing whatever the hell she wants.
“Pizza’s good,” Juliana says.
I toss my half-eaten slice of pepperoni aside and stare at the TV. We’re on the couch, watching a National Geographic documentary on the Australian outback. I have no idea why. I think she said she knew one of the photographers or something. I’m only half listening to anything she says because every fifteen minutes she asks me the same question.
“Called her yet?”
“Nope.”
Jules sighs and takes the pizza box to the kitchen. It’s literally ten steps. Our apartment’s ridiculously small. I didn’t realize how small until today.
“I don’t know what you’re waiting for, Caleb. I told you the wedding’s off.”
“And I told you it’s not. I can’t believe we’re still arguing about this.”
Jules walks back over the couch and sits down beside me.
“Caleb, I know you love me. And you love my family.”
“I do.”
“But you know I’ve never been comfortable with any of this. We’re lying, Caleb. Sure, our intentions are good, but that doesn’t make it right. My mother is dying, and I’m trying my best to deal with that. I was afraid to attend that conference. I wanted to go, but I was petrified something would happen to her while I was gone. She insisted, although she was concerned about all the wedding planning I’d be missing while I was away.”
I chuckle. That sounds like Luisa.
“All this has given Mom something to look forward to, but it will not make her live any longer. I was fine going along with it, but not anymore. Not if it’s going to keep you from being with someone you love. So, it’s over. I’ll tell my dad the truth, and we’ll figure out a way to break it to Mom. It will be fine. Call Skye.”
I’m so tired of arguing.
Needing a distraction, I leave her with her documentary and head to my room. I grab my guitar. I’m so blurry-eyed I can’t even focus on the sheet music, so I just close my eyes and make shit up as I go. Eventually, the chords start to complement each other, and the tune is haunting and soft. I have no idea how long I play, but suddenly, I feel Juliana’s hand on my shoulder.
“That’s the prettiest song I’ve ever heard.”
“Thanks.”
“And the saddest.”
“Then it’s perfect.”
Jules takes the guitar out of my hand and places it on the bed. She then walks over, kneeling down on the floor and taking my hand in hers.
“I love you, Caleb. You are the best friend a girl could ever ask for. And the fact that you’re willing to sacrifice your own happiness, just to make my mother happy for a few more months, is something I will never, ever forget. But this is asking too much. It ends. Today.”
I shake my head.
“Caleb, for the love of—”
“I won’t give up on Skye. Maybe if I keep bugging the shit out of her, she’ll . . . I don’t know. Maybe she’ll listen. Aren’t we supposed to check out cake samples or something this week?”
“We have an appointment, yeah. Easily cancelled.”
“No. Keep the appointment.”
“No, Caleb.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not getting married. Not to you.”
“Damn it, Jules—”
She stands up. “You keep playing the martyr if it makes you feel better. But I meant what I said. This ends today. I’m not making one more decision about this farce of a wedding.”
I smirk. Like that’s a threat. We haven’t been making decisions anyway.
“No problem. I’ll just call Lynsey and tell her to pick whatever she w
ants. It’s worked so far. Or, hell, I like cake. Especially free cake. Maybe I’ll actually go to that appointment.”
“Knock yourself out, Lynch.”
Juliana’s almost to the door when she stops. Suddenly, her face brightens. I know that look. It’s the expression she usually reserves for whenever she’s just snapped the perfect picture, or found a high-quality lens on sale.
“You know what?” she says sweetly. “Let me call Lynsey for you.”
I snort. She’s such a control freak.
“I thought you were done?”
“I am. Right after I call Lynsey.”
“Knock yourself out, Martinez.”
She grins triumphantly.
Lynsey’s smiling like an idiot when I walk into the office. I must look as bad as I feel because her smile fades when she sees me.
“Still not sleeping?”
I say hello to Robyn and grab my messages.
“Not really.”
“That’s too bad. I’m really in a bind, and I’m hoping you can help me out.”
“Did you double book again?”
When it comes to the visual aspects of wedding planning, Lynsey’s the best. She has an eye for colors and textures that would put Vera Wang to shame. But when it comes to appointment scheduling, Lynsey’s hopeless, which is why I rarely let her touch the calendar.
Come to think of it, I didn’t let her touch the calendar.
“No, this was a last minute scheduling change. Couldn’t be avoided.” She follows me into my office and smiles when she sees the display on my desk. “More daisies, huh?”
I roll my eyes. While the deliveries haven’t completely stopped, at least he’s spreading them out a little. My office no longer resembles a flower shop, but there are two vases of wildflowers on my windowsill.
Sitting down at my desk, I grab my phone and check my schedule.
“Okay, when’s the appointment?”
“Both are at four. Do you want the cake testing or the bridesmaid fitting?”
My stomach drops. “Is the fitting with Antonio?”
“Yes.”
“Then cake testing it is.”
I’ll probably never be able to show my face in Antonio’s again. The thought makes me sad. Sadder. Which I didn’t think was possible.
“Thank you so much! It’s at Pierre’s.”
“Awesome. I love Pierre.”
“And it’s the groom only. Bride can’t make it.”
“The bride can’t make it for free cake?”
“I know, right?” She makes a note on her phone before scrutinizing my face. “So, still not sleeping?”
“A few hours here and there. It’s fine.”
“We could hit the gym. They say exercise helps.”
“I’m sure it does, but who has the energy when you’re an insomniac?”
“True.”
Sweet Robyn walks in with a cup of coffee. I thank her and offer to give her a raise if she promises to keep them coming.
“Umm . . . maybe that’s why you’re not sleeping,” Lynsey mutters.
“Could be. It’s a vicious cycle.”
Sighing tiredly, I check my emails. As always, I have two new messages from Caleb. He’s emailing me twice a day—once at night and another first thing in the morning. I know I should delete them, but I can’t, because I’m an addict. An email addict who can’t delete unwanted emails. I have to read them first.
“Anything interesting in that inbox?”
“I’m going to kick your ass for giving him my email address.”
“Are you replying?”
“No.”
“But you’re reading them, which means you care.”
“Caring’s not the problem.”
“It’s only a few months, Skye. Can’t you—”
“No, Lynsey. I can’t.”
She smiles sadly before heading to her office. Breathing a sigh of relief, I check my work-related messages, answering the ones I can and ignoring the rest for later. I just don’t have the mental clarity to deal with all of them right now. Maybe later, when the second cup of coffee kicks in.
I skip Caleb’s messages, too. I prefer to read them at home . . . when I’m by myself, surrounded by tons of tissues and a large bottle of wine.
It’s been one week, and I haven’t slept more than three hours a night since Caleb’s confession on the playground. Night after night, I stare at my ceiling and wonder if I did the right thing. Am I being selfish and cold hearted? What would be so terrible about waiting until he was free? In the wee hours of the morning, I consider the possibility that maybe I’m wrong, but then I think about Luisa Martinez, and I remind myself that my happiness shouldn’t rely on that sweet woman taking her dying breath.
I can’t be mad at him. I can’t be mad anyone. There’s no villain in this scenario. I’m just trying to protect myself and my heart.
No matter how much it hurts.
Pierre makes the best wedding cakes in town. He’s also a shameless flirt. This doesn’t usually bother me because he always sends me home with extra samples, but today, my heart’s just not in it. Still, when he meets me at the door and hugs me tight, I try. I really try. But I don’t fool him for a second.
“You look tired, my sweet Skye. And pale.” He takes me by the hand and leads me to one of the tables in the back of the shop. “I know what you need. Come eat. Your groom awaits. And he looks just as miserable as you do.”
As we approach the table, the groom raises his head, and his tired blue eyes light up when they lock with mine.
I know I’ve said it before, but I really mean it this time.
Lynsey Evans is dead.
Pierre must sense the tension. Probably because I refuse to sit down. Or formulate sentences.
“He’s your groom, yes?”
“He’s not my . . . I mean, yes. He’s the groom. Not my groom, but . . .” Get it together, Skye. “Yes. Thank you, Pierre. We’ll let you know if we need anything.”
He walks back to the kitchen, leaving the two of us alone with the dessert samples. Always the gentleman, Caleb stands as I slowly walk toward the table. His eyes don’t leave mine as I sit down next to him. I reach for one of the forks, and I hear him mutter something under his breath.
“What was that?”
“I said I’m going to kill Jules,” he says, sighing. “Skye, I had nothing to do with this.”
“Let’s just eat.”
“I didn’t, I swear. Juliana told me to meet Lynsey after school at the fancy bakery on Willow. So, here I am.”
My first instinct is to call him a liar, but then I think about Lynsey’s double-booked afternoon. I don’t believe that now. Not for a second. Without a doubt, my best friend set me up. I don’t know if Caleb’s best friend did the same.
But if she did . . . why?
I place one of the tiny cakes in front of him and offer him a fork.
“Please just eat,” I whisper, sliding a plate between us. Caleb takes the fork and stabs at the first sample, a gorgeous carrot cake with cheesecake filling.
“What are you thinking?” he asks in between bites.
“I’m thinking this needs more frosting.”
“What else are you thinking?”
“Thinking we need new best friends.”
“Yeah. They set us up.”
I nod. Caleb continues taking small bites, but I can’t. It smells great. I just don’t trust myself not to throw up in Pierre’s shop.
“You look so tired, Skye.”
“So do you.”
Suddenly, my stomach growls. It knows I’m depriving it of Pierre’s cakes. Plus, I haven’t eaten much today. A banana for breakfast and a granola bar at lunch.
Caleb chuckles. “Was that you?”
“Yeah.”
I laugh, and then we’re both laughing. It feels good.
He waves his fork over the cakes. “Well, since we’ve been set up . . . and we’re both hungry . . . and Pierre’s gone to al
l this trouble . . .”
“Yeah. We wouldn’t want to disappoint Pierre.”
“No, we wouldn’t want to do that.”
His blue eyes—a little brighter now—linger on my lips. Shaking my head, I look away, focusing my attention on the red velvet cake.
For the next half hour, we sample all the choices. Each one is delicious. Or maybe I’m just starving. Hard to tell.
“Don’t try that one.” I point toward the chocolate layer cake that I know for a fact is delicious. I may even take that one home with me.
“Why?”
“It’s layered with peanut butter.”
“Ah. Good call. Thanks.”
“I guess, in the midst of her scheming, Lynsey forgot to tell Pierre you’re allergic. He never would have offered it as a sample if he’d known. He’s very conscientious about such things.”
“Plus, he doesn’t want to get sued.”
“Right. But please, feel free to sue Lynsey. I mean, she could have sent you into anaphylactic shock today.”
Caleb laughs. He knows I’m kidding. Still, she needs to be punished for putting me through this.
I take a bite of pineapple cake and moan with pleasure. “You have to try this one. It has cream cheese icing.”
Without thinking, I offer him my fork, and without hesitation, he wraps his mouth around it. Realization dawns on us at the same time, and our eyes lock as he slowly swallows the bite.
“I miss you,” he says softly. “I keep hoping to see you when you pick up Eli from class.”
I haven’t been picking him up. Luckily, Nick hasn’t needed me much lately. I miss my nephew, but it’s been a blessing to have one less person to worry about when my own life is such a hot mess.
I quickly reach for the next slice. “Here. Try the strawberry. It can be topped with cream cheese, but I prefer buttercream.”
“Skye . . .”
“Or maybe the raspberry?” I nervously push another plate in his direction, desperate to make him focus on anything besides me. “It’s my favorite. Pierre pours a raspberry liqueur over the cake just as it comes out of the oven and then frosts it with cream cheese.”
He sighs heavily and grabs his fork. “Raspberry’s your favorite?”
I nod.
Caleb slowly lifts his fork, but instead of taking the bite himself, he offers it to me. I don’t even think twice. The raspberry sauce is warm and delicious, and I moan appreciatively.