Now or never . . .
Two.
Fight or flight . . .
One.
Sink or swim . . .
Their gazes locked, and there was nowhere to hide.
Not that she felt particularly interested in getting away. No. Wait. What was she thinking? She opened her mouth, then closed it, then wished she’d worn a different dress. Any other dress, one that showed off the twelve pounds she’d recently shed, or one that showcased her eyes a little more or one that—
Oh no, he was coming toward her.
She fought the urge to wipe her palms on her dress and schooled her features into a casual expression as she zipped her necklace charm around its chain. Not that there was anything remotely casual about seeing your ex face-to-face for the first time in four months. At a wedding party—a family wedding party—they should have been attending together, rather than staring awkwardly at each other from six feet away like they’d never met. Like they’d never slow-danced under a starlight sky, never shared their deepest secrets, never kissed like the other held their very last breath of oxygen.
Nope. Not awkward at all.
She steeled herself for his first words. A stiff and formal hello? A brief nod as he passed by without speaking? Or worse, an obligatory “You look good”?
And more importantly, did she?
She drew a deep breath and braced her heart as he opened his mouth.
“So I hear there’s an elephant lurking around lately.”
Didn’t see that one coming. She raised her eyebrows, unable to commit to a full-sentence response.
He shoved his hands into his pants pockets and shrugged, a borderline shy move reminiscent of his early college days when she knew him only as her best friend’s brother. Yet despite the hint of shyness, confidence filled his demeanor, sort of like his muscles filled the space under his dress shirt.
But that line of thinking wasn’t productive.
“Hannah says his name is Steve.”
Ah. That elephant. Allie licked her dry lips. “Right. Steve.” Aka you. “Yeah, he’s been around.” They were going to have to talk about it, weren’t they? Her face heated. What could she say? Sorry for running out on you four months ago? Sorry for embarrassing you in front of everyone in the entire town?
Sorry for spilling Yoo-hoo on the floor mats when I stole your car?
“Can I bring you a soda?”
Always the gentleman, even when he had every right to throw said soda in her face. She almost wished he would. Then she could get mad in return, and her heart would be safe.
And more importantly, so would his.
Her gut clenched, and she found herself nodding, going through the motions, because really, what choice was there? The only reason she was here right now, facing Marcus’s potential wrath, was for Hannah. All for Hannah. Her heart could hang in there a little bit longer. If it hadn’t completely shattered by now.
“Sure, that’d be nice. Thanks.”
He started toward the bar, then stopped and turned. “Diet?”
Something flickered in his eyes, and she wondered if he was remembering all the times he’d tried to convince her to give up her one vice—diet soft drinks—and failed miserably. Or the times she tried to convince him to convert to scrambled eggs instead of preferring over-easy. Or the times he teased her for painting everything within reach of a paint-brush turquoise. All were laughable attempts—because they were all the things that made the other person who they were, part of those unique differences between two people who loved to debate and eventually be completely satisfied with exactly the way the other was.
She forced a smile she didn’t feel. “Diet is great.”
Some things never changed.
And maybe some things never should.
Marcus felt a little like a stalker as he watched Allie from his position half hidden behind the DJ table. The long-haired guy was busy packing up his equipment, but so far, the podium-style speakers still on their mounts allowed him a moment to watch as she unzipped her boots and flexed her toes against the hardwood floor. Her feet had to be killing her if the heels on those boots were any indication.
The party was long over, and around them the reception hall’s cleanup crew were stacking chairs and rolling tables away to be stored. However, Allie’s aching feet had to be nothing compared to the torture it’d been just being around her this evening. Watching that slightly crooked smile of hers that always made him want to smile back. Watching her pretend like she wasn’t watching him as he’d spun his young cousin around the dance floor and let her stand on his shoes. Watching her nibble the top off a cupcake over the course of about twenty minutes.
From her spot at the table, Allie reached up and pushed her fingers against her temples, a sure sign she had a headache. Because of him? His stomach knotted with regret and a twisted kind of hope.
No, not hope. Hadn’t he railed against that very thing with his sister the other day?
Allie wasn’t stressed over him—she’d been the one to leave, after all. If her headache did have anything to do with him, it was probably because she was counting the minutes until she could escape the awkwardness of his presence. They’d attempted small talk over their sodas earlier in the evening, before his family dragged him away for brother-of-the-bride duties—small talk that was more like epic failure.
Probably a good thing they’d been interrupted, though. With the way he’d felt looking into her eyes again at that close distance, he’d have made a fool of himself for sure. Like by blurting out how her gaze still had the power to burn a near tangible hole in his heart, or how he still knew all of her idiosyncrasies and preferences, far beyond that of Diet Coke. They were permanently seared in his brain.
Sort of like turquoise paint that wouldn’t wash off.
“Can you give me a hand?” The DJ motioned to the speaker mount, and Marcus snapped out of his miserable reverie.
“Sure thing, man.” He helped the guy dismantle the speaker to pack on his rolling cart, then turned for one more glimpse of Allie.
Gone.
He really didn’t know why his heart sank like that. Disappearing was sort of her specialty.
Still, he’d hoped she’d have bothered to tell him goodbye before she left the boardwalk. If they didn’t pretend that everything wasn’t awkward, then it would never stop being awkward. Fake it until you meant it, or something like that.
Games had never worked between him and Allie, though, which oddly enough had been one reason he’d been so certain they would make it to their golden anniversary one day. They never did the hard-to-get thing or the “push you away so you’ll come close” thing. They always told the truth, even if it stung a bit.
Yet he still didn’t know the real reason why she had run away.
He shot one more glance at her empty chair, then jerked at a tap on his shoulder. “You hiding out over here?”
Allie.
He turned slowly, ignoring the “busted” smirk the DJ shot his direction as he edged away, rolling cables around his arm.
“Just helping with the takedown.” He casually shoved his hands into his pockets, hoping the joy he felt didn’t show on his face.
Allie hitched her purse strap higher on her shoulder and held up her car keys. “Your truck is blocking me in.”
It was almost midnight, yet Allie had the feeling there would be no glass slipper tonight.
Marcus had quickly moved his truck, which his dad had apparently pulled around to load up the party decorations, not realizing he had blocked Allie’s car by a telephone pole. But her royal carriage had already gone back into pumpkin mode, complete with a flat tire. She stared at her listless vehicle.
She hated being a damsel in distress. But that tire wasn’t going to fix itself, and while she knew how to do it, she’d never changed one alone in the cold and in the dark. Her mother had always made sure she’d known how to change tires and check the oil in her vehicles. But unless she wanted to sacrifice her sweaterdress
and tights on the altar of frozen January ground, she needed help this time.
And help was slowly driving across the nearly deserted parking lot away from her.
“Hey! Wait!” Ditching pride—was there any left at this point?—she ran after Marcus’s truck, waving her arms.
Brake lights flashed, and he rolled down his window as she breathlessly approached the driver’s side. “You need something?”
He almost looked as if he hoped she might. But that was ridiculous. She’d broken his heart, so why would he want anything to do with her? It was the manners speaking again, as they had earlier when he got her a Diet Coke. His mama raised him well, that was all. She’d be ignorant to try to read more into it than that.
Guilt pricked her back like a thousand tiny needles. He shouldn’t be the one doing this—wasn’t fair on so many levels.
She gestured behind her in the general vicinity of her car. “Flat tire.”
His expression morphed into neutral, the glimmer she’d mistakenly defined as hope fading, and began edging the truck away from her. “I’ll handle it.”
Of course he would. He handled everything. That was Marcus, always ready, always prepared, always willing.
It was one of the things that had attracted her to him—his confidence and ability to take charge in a situation made her feel safe and protected. It was the perfect balance—she could take care of herself, but with Marcus, she never had to.
To think she’d thrown that away for a lifetime of Triple A and tow trucks.
Had she made a mistake?
No. That line of thinking was pointless and painful.
She’d saved him. Saved them both from misery. No custody battles over who got the toaster, no worries of greedy lawyers pushing for alimony. She wouldn’t be her mother after all.
But if she tried to win him back now, she’d be an Andrews all the way. Putting herself first. Getting what she wanted and discarding the rest. Ignoring the trail of broken hearts in her wake.
Only to end up bitter and alone.
If she was going to end up a spinster anyway, at least it’d be for nobler reasons. She’d break the curse once and for all.
Even if it meant sacrificing her own heart.
She stepped back and waited for Marcus to park, then led the way to her car, pointing needlessly to the offending tire. He didn’t say a word, just popped the trunk and dug out the jack and the small bag of tools she kept on hand. He set it all on the ground before hefting out the full-size spare.
“Anything I can do to help?” She crossed her arms over her dress, partially to block the late night January wind and partially to hide her heart.
Marcus shrugged. “Unless you’re really good at removing lug nuts, no.”
Then no it is.
He began applying the jack to the flat, then stopped, stood, and unbuttoned his dress shirt. “Just in case.” He tossed it to her.
Allie caught it automatically, and resisted the urge to lift it to her face just in time. Those days had long since passed. A whiff of his familiar spicy cologne—that tangy citrus blend always made her mouth water—would only serve as a brutal twist of the knife.
How had she even gotten herself into this mess?
Oh yeah. By agreeing to be Hannah’s maid of honor.
She calmly draped it over her arm and kept her voice brisk. “No problem.”
Just as she began to assume he was as irritated as she feared, he shot her a quick wink over his shoulder. “A song and dance might help, though. See you take another turn in those boots.”
Warmth crept up her face and heated her neck, while butterflies invaded her stomach. Had he really been as aware of her as she’d been of him all night? Every time she’d glanced his way, he’d been involved in conversation with someone else.
Maybe not as involved as she’d assumed.
But assuming never helped anything.
Even more important than the question of whether he was flirting, however, was the unavoidable question of why the thought of it made her feel equal parts elated and numb . . .
Not to mention what the view of his muscles flexing beneath his thin white T-shirt was doing to her heart rate.
Allie forced her eyes away from his form as he finished up her tire. Talk about shameful. One lousy wink and her knees turned to Jell-O. How, after all these months, was just being within a few feet of him capable of making her feel so alive?
Alive. That feeling was probably the worst.
Marcus was over her. Moving on was the only way he’d ever find the lifelong happiness he deserved.
Well, she took that back. Clearly, feeling alive wasn’t the worst. Visions of Marcus with someone else irked way worse. She dug her fingernails into the shirt she held, lips chattering in the wind, feeling two parts frustrated and one part nostalgic—the dangerous mixture bubbling in her throat like poison. “I would never sing karaoke with you before, and trust me, nothing’s changed.”
Marcus hopped up, grabbed the wrench, and knelt back by the tire. “I don’t know about that, Allie. I’m starting to think maybe it has.”
Well, if that wasn’t the most cryptic thing he’d ever said.
Marcus’s words from the night of the engagement party a week ago replayed in Allie’s mind as she walked up the flagstone path through the Halls’ perfectly manicured lawn. Every blade of grass saluted at the same height, while bushes and trees trimmed in high-dollar symmetrical design dotted the yard. Glossy wooden double doors graced the front of their home, complete with embellished wrought iron hinges that complemented the deep red of the brick.
Every element of Marcus’s family resembled a Norman Rockwell painting. Annoyingly perfect but too charming to despise. Rather than be jealous, it just made one ache for the same.
His declaration still rang in her memory with the same clarity in which he’d spoken the words—then promptly refused to elaborate.
He thought things had changed? In what way? And from her side or his?
Did he mean it in a positive way or a negative?
Had he forgiven her?
So many unanswered questions.
Not that it mattered. Because when it came to who they were to one another, nothing had changed at all. The vast differences between Marcus’s and her heritage remained as insurmountable as ever.
Thankfully, tonight was a bridal shower, which meant Zach, his groomsmen, and the rest of the guys wouldn’t be around. Allie could cram in all the finger food she wanted without worrying about her nerves, visit freely with the other bridesmaids, and write down gift items as Hannah opened lingerie and dish towels and bath soaps. Though she could have done without the theme.
She glanced down at her sweater, which still made her want to cringe and giggle at the same time. Hannah had insisted this particular shower be “Über-Valentine’s” themed—everything from tacky clothes to gaudy accessories to over-the-top decorations.
Allie had dressed the part, for sure—plastic heart clips in her hair and an oversized, late-eighties-era sweater with pink hearts and lightning bolts she’d found at a thrift shop. She quickly checked to make sure she’d remembered her camera—Hannah would definitely want a record of this night—then knocked.
Muffled voices echoed from the other side. Hannah opened the door and burst out laughing. “Oh, that is priceless.” She spun in a quick circle, showing off her own tacky sweater, leggings, and red and pink bangle bracelets. “How do I look?”
“Über-Valentine’s, for sure.” Allie pointed to the headband Hannah wore with heart antennae attached. “I don’t even want to know where you found those.”
“Actually, Marcus bought them from the dollar store. Grab one.” She motioned Allie inside and pointed to a basket full of headgear on the glass-topped entry table.
Allie tried to ignore the way her stomach flipped at the mere mention of him as she followed Hannah through the house.
Talk about memory lane. The last time she’d been there was for the impromptu eng
agement party in her honor. The floral arrangement on the wall sconce hadn’t changed, nor had the striped carpeted aisle runner stretching the length of the polished wooden hallway. The low table by the foot of the stairs still held the same framed photo montage of the Hall kids growing up, and Allie realized with a start that her and Marcus’s engagement photo hadn’t been removed. Rather, it’d been pushed to the back of the table, halfway hidden behind a more recent picture of Hannah.
Odd.
She followed Hannah past the guest bathroom to the bigger of the two living rooms, where a trail of laughter drifted from the gaudily dressed guests sitting on the wraparound sofa.
Coed guests.
Allie grabbed Hannah’s arm, tugging her halfway back out of the room. She nearly bumped into a giant heart balloon display, and sidestepped around it. “Hannah. I thought this was a girls-only party.” Panic swelled in her stomach as she took in her ensemble once more and felt the sway of the heart antennae on her head. She looked like a complete idiot. “You said Über-Valentine’s, and—”
“Don’t worry, the guys are totally wearing tacky sweaters too.” Hannah bounced on her toes as she pointed at Zach, lounging in the leather recliner and looking like a “which of these does not belong?” game in his psychedelic sweater and khaki pants. “Doesn’t he look adorable?”
Maybe, but the guy sitting at the end of the couch wearing jeans with the knees ripped out definitely did.
Marcus. Looking sharp as always, even with a big, glittery heart sticker stuck on the pocket of his long-sleeved black tee.
While she resembled some sort of lovesick alien.
Allie sucked in her breath.
Allie looked like some sort of cute lovesick alien. Too bad the lovesick part was clearly not the truth. At least not toward him, anyway.
Marcus couldn’t bear to think of her with anyone else. Made him want to rip that glittery sticker his sister had slapped on his chest right off of his shirt and tear it to shreds.
Nothing symbolic there or anything.
He took a deep breath and swirled his too-sweet red punch around in his plastic cup. So what if the woman of his dreams-turned-nightmare would be sitting across from him for the next umpteen hours. It was just a party, he could handle it. It was just Allie.
A February Bride Page 3