Carried Away

by P. Dangelico

  “They’re here!” Nan exclaims seeing the delivery truck pull up to the service entrance. Once the flowers are schlepped inside, we finish setting up.

  Two hours later the wedding party begins to trickle in. One by one, they take a seat in one of the white Chippendale chairs on the flagstone patio. The nondenominational ceremony will be held outside overlooking the lake, under an arch made of white birch branches adorned with white flowers.

  While the last of the guests arrive and take their seats, the minister takes her place on the alter.

  Meanwhile, I hang back, leaning against the side of the house to watch. The backyard slopes down all the way to the lake’s edge so it’s a bird’s eye view from this angle.

  The music starts and the groom comes down the aisle, shaking hands with guests, a goofy smile plastered on his boyish face. His expression when he finally steps on stage says it all. It’s the face of a man in love, more than happy to be getting married today.

  I can’t help but wonder if there’s a man out there, somewhere, that will look like that for me one day. Call me a hopeless romantic, but I sure hope so.

  The best man turns and a pang of recognition hits me. It takes me a moment to pin point why he looks familiar. His face is more angular. He’s shed about fifty pounds and added a lot of muscle, but the eyes are the same. It’s someone in my graduating class. Sean Gordon or something, I think.

  He seems to be having a good time, joking around with the groomsmen. Until the music starts. Then they all sober up and face the French doors, waiting for the bride to appear.

  When she finally emerges, led by three bridesmaids and two adorable flower girls, the guests turn in their seats to watch, faces lighting up as she comes down the aisle escorted by her very proud father. The crowd claps and cheers. A few even whistle, making me laugh. I’ve never seen such a rowdy wedding ceremony.

  Meanwhile, the bride is unconventionally beautiful. Willowy, ethereal, a woodland pixie with short dark hair and an easy smile. No veil, her hair is decorated with a wreathe of vines and white flowers, her dress is a flowing mass of white chiffon. And she’s obviously incandescently in love with her groom judging by the way she’s looking at him. Her father hands her over to the man she’s about to marry and the ceremony begins.

  I don’t know what it is about this wedding, but I am swept away by the raw emotion emanating from the crowd and the couple. This is the stuff of legends and fairytales. This is what my sister has, what I aspire to. Unchecked, a tear escaped down my cheek and I wipe it away. There’s no lonelier feeling than being around true love.

  The ceremony starts and soon enough it’s time for the vows, which the couple has written.

  “I never believed in love at first bite until your dog chased me down the street and took a chunk out of my calf. Dexter’s no longer with us, but I have to believe it was all part of his grand plan to bring us together,” the groom starts. “Thanks, Dex. I forgive you for the eight stitches.” The crowd laughs. “Since then, you’ve given me seven of the best years of my life, Amy…” Taking a deep breath, tears begin to fall down his face. The bride, tears in her eyes too, reaches out and wipes them away for him. And in turn, he kisses her palm.

  “Loving you has made me stronger, kinder, wiser, and more patient,” he continues, voice shaking. “You’ve taught me that love is bigger than time and space, more powerful than cancer, and more enduring than anything in this world. And whatever we face, whatever life has in store for us, I vow to make you laugh when you feel crappy. I vow never to hold it against you when you yell at me about leaving the wet towel on the carpet. And I vow to take every step of this journey with you as long as I live.”

  “Ladies room?” one of the wedding guests asks me.

  It snaps me out of spell. “Down the hall on your right,” I inform her with a smile.

  Physically and emotionally drained, I yawn again and lean against the wall at the edge of the room for support. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house after the bride finished her vows. Even Nan, hiding in the wings, looked on the verge of crying.

  From what I’ve been able to gather from eavesdropping on some private whisperings is that the bride has been battling cancer on and off for the last three years, and she’s in remission now. Here I am, feeling sorry for myself when other people are really suffering. It’s a stark reminder to be grateful and count my blessings.

  The band is playing a horrible cover of Celebrate! Somewhere Kool and the Gang is cringing. The bride and groom don’t seem to mind though. They slow dance while chaos reigns around them.

  “Where can I get a drain snake?”

  I look over my shoulder and find Jake standing close enough touch. Seeing him makes my breath catch. This is not a good sign. I am way too into him already for this to end anyway other than badly for me.

  He’s in his painting clothes. An old Henley shirt streaked with color, his gray sweatpants, and Timberlands. The only addition is a beat-up Bears ball cap with the rim pulled low.

  He looks me over, his open gaze roaming down my bare legs to my high heeled booties and back up to my face.

  “You look nice.”

  My face nearly splints in two by the sheer force of the smile that compliment elicits. “What do you need a drain snake for?”

  “Shower.”

  “I can send one of the guys––”

  He shakes his head while his gaze remains on my mouth. “No. I’ll do it.”

  I’ve learned not to waste my energy arguing with this man and motion him out of the room and into the hallway.

  We get only a few feet when I spot Sean coming from the opposite direction. His eyes narrow on me, rake up and down my body. Surprise grows on his face.

  “Pizza Face?” he nearly shouts, grinning widely.

  My heart stops. For a single solitary suspended moment, it stops beating in shock and shame. Then it races ahead. I honestly never anticipated hearing that name ever again.

  My feet follow suit, abruptly halting in the middle of the hallway. Jake almost runs me over. He comes just short of it by bracing onto my shoulders. Then he back’s off. Way off, it feels like. Because a cold chill runs up my spine, the absence of his body heat noticeable.

  This is it. This is what I’ve been dreading all along and it’s happening in front of the one person I want to impress, the one who thinks I look nice, the one man that thinks we have chemistry.

  I’m finally close to getting the boy I want. I can’t be Pizza Face in front of Jake.

  While Sean walks up to us, I am paralyzed with fear. I can’t even look over my shoulder to gauge what’s going on with him. I’m not strong enough for that right now.

  “It’s really you––holy shit,” the insensitive asshole keeps repeating. “Sean? Gorman?” Like I should be excited to see him. We were strangers. Sean was just someone in my class that ignored me ninety-nine percent of the time unless someone was making fun of me.

  “I know, I know. I look different too. Lost a few pounds…” he continues, mistaking my silence. He looks around. “You work here?”

  Years of self-discipline kick in. I force the words out, taking care to deliver them in a steady and measured way. “My family owns it…yes, I work here.”

  I hear myself sound indifferent and cool when in reality I’m falling apart inside.

  “You look great. Damn, I barely recognized you, girl.”

  I want to puke.

  While Sean slow nods and undresses me with his eyes, a low growl comes from somewhere behind me. Unfortunately for me, Jake didn’t cut and run. He heard everything.

  Sean’s attention darts over my shoulder. I know the moment he recognizes Jake by the look of surprise. “Aren’t you Jake Turner?”

  Jake makes a humming noise. He steps closer, his body brushing up against my arm and hip. Even under layers of clothes, everywhere we touch a prickle of awareness fans out.

  “What are you doing here, dude?” Sean examines Jake’s clothes. “You’re not h
ere for the wedding obviously. Hey man, can I get an autograph?”

  “Fuck, no,” Jake fires back. “And stop looking at my girl like she’s a snack or I’ll break you in two.”

  Ummm…

  Sean takes a step back, hands raised. He chuckles darkly. “No disrespect, bro. She and I go way back.”

  “No, we don’t,” I blurt out, angry at his insinuation.

  Sean gives me a dirty half-cocked grin. “Whatever…”

  He doesn’t remember my name. I can see it in his eyes.

  Sean back peddles out of the hallway and disappears into the dining room from the doorway on the other side.

  And all I can think as I watch him go is…my one true test and I failed.

  There’s something to be said for pride. I’ve been told it’s a sin. That it cometh before the falleth or some such nonsense. But I disagree. Right now the only thing holding me together is the last bit of pride I possess. If it weren’t for pride, I would be falling to pieces right now.

  “Who was that?”

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, I ignore Jake’s question and take off down the hallway at a brisk pace.

  “Carrie,” comes from right behind me.

  “Stay here and I’ll bring it to you.”

  “The hell I will. Who was he?”

  It figures that the one time I don’t want to talk, he’s feeling chatty.

  “No one. Leave me alone, Turner.”

  Bursting through the double-doors of the kitchen––the kitchen on the family side of the building; not the hotel kitchen––I head straight for the walk-in pantry. Even though it’s dark, I don’t turn on the light. Right now I need a dark hole to get lost in and catch my breath. My hands are shaking and my legs feel like jelly from the aftermath of the adrenaline rush.

  Unfortunately for me, Turner is still in hot pursuit. “Carrie?”

  Chalk it up to being tired and drained from the beautiful wedding I just witnessed, but I’m beginning to crack. No matter how hard I try to keep a lid on it, my chin starts to shake. Mostly because I’m mad at myself. I thought I’d come so far only to be reminded that one word had the power to wipe away a decade of hard work.

  “Carrie…” Jake’s outline takes up the entire doorway. Backlit, he looks more ominous than usual.

  I shrink even further into the pantry and don’t stop until my back hits the shelves and the mason jars ring, press my tips of my fingers into the corners of my eyes to stave off the tears. “I don’t wanna talk,” I say sharply and pray he gets the message.

  For a moment it looks like he’s about to leave, but then he stops. “You’re upset. Who was that guy?”

  If I was thinking straight, I would be the one asking questions. Like…what possessed him to tell Sean I was his girl. That––I would be interested in hearing more about. As it stands however, I’m barely capable of not crying.

  “Just a guy from high school…a nobody.” Then I recall and the humiliation hits me all over again. I was the nobody. Not Sean. I was the one.

  “Did you date him?” He almost sounds upset.

  “He didn’t even know my name, Jake. No, we did not date. We never even spoke once before today.”

  One slow step at a time, Jake comes closer. Close enough that we’re both in the shadows. I can barely see the outline of his features at this point.

  Taking his ball cap off, he rakes his fingers through his hair and sighs, then he stuffs the hat in the waistband of his sweatpants. “Why did he call you that name?”

  His voice is quiet and gentle, but it only makes me feel worse because it sounds like pity to me. It’s more than I can handle and the pressure cooker explodes. My eyes fill with water and empty, tears pouring down my face.

  I purposely didn’t Google search any of his past girlfriends because it would’ve completely intimidated me. And now he expects me to expose the most painful aspects of my life, the ones I have tried so desperately to put behind me.

  “You can tell me.”

  That catapults me into rage and frustration. “What the hell do you want me to say, Jake? That he called me Pizza Face because I had really bad acne for most of my life? Do you really want to hear about that? Does it satisfy your curiosity to hear that I was unpopular and unattractive. That nobody could ever remember my name because they were so used to calling me Pizza Face? That all I did throughout high school is dream about getting out of this fucking dog year town only to come back broke and unemployed. There, I said it. You win! I’m a loser. Happy now?”

  I am crying so hard at this point that I swallow a hiccup.

  “Fucking hell,” he mutters, and suddenly reaches out, cupping his warm hands around my face.

  Operating on instinct more than anything else, I automatically I reach up and take hold of his wrists. All my senses sharpen. I can feel his pulse under my thumb, the rhythm of his breath against my chest as he draws me closer. The scent of soap and shampoo and turpentine.

  He wraps me up in his arms and holds on so tightly I can hardly breathe. And still, I can’t stop crying, my body shaking from all the emotion pouring out of me. It’s been pent up for so long, now that it’s been set loose it doesn’t want to abate.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers in my ear and plants a kiss on the side of my face. That’s all it takes. Just that one simple soft kiss is enough to make my legs weak. “I didn’t mean to push. I take it back. I’ll do anything for you to stop crying…”

  In my heels, our bodies line up perfectly. Pelvises kissing, my curves buffering the hard planes of his muscles. I’m surrounded by heat and comfort the likes of which I’ve never felt before. But what sucks the most is that now that I know how wonderful it feels, I’m afraid of how I will ever do without it.

  “I didn’t mean to make you feel worse. I…I didn’t know…I…”

  “It’s okay,” I murmur into his chest. The tears have stopped, leaving me more drained than ever. “I’m just really mad at myself. I thought I was over this place and all baggage that comes with it.”

  “I swore to myself that I would never make you cry again.”

  It takes me a minute to press rewind and search our history. Then I recall the press badge.

  “The farmhouse?”

  “Yeah.”

  A warm hand brushes up and down my back and every nerve ending on my body comes alive. “It feels like a million years ago…”

  He makes a humming sound and the vibration travels from his chest to mine, my nipples hardening. If I was halfway to being turned on before, I’m all the way there now.

  “I thought you saved me so you could make beef jerky out of me.”

  One…two…three seconds of silence.

  “What?” Then he starts chuckling. No actual sound comes out of him. It’s the soft shaking of his chest that tips me off. Squeezing me tighter, he says, “That explains a lot.”

  He exhales sharply, his hands moving up my back and over my shoulders. They brush along my neck, and I shiver in pleasure. I could die from pleasure right now and he hasn’t even touched the good parts yet.

  Holding my face, guided by nothing other than touch, he brushes by cheeks with his thumbs. His breath fans my face, and I hear him murmur, “Carebear…”

  His lips brush over mine and pull back. It’s basically a tease. And nowhere near enough. This thing between us has been stoked to a fever pitch and one small chaste kiss is not going to cut it.

  Standing on my toes, I abandon any doubts or sense of inadequacy and kiss him back. I dig my fingers in his henley and tug him closer, and he doesn’t need any more help after that. He slams me into the shelves, pins my hips down with his, and makes me feel how hard he is. Those sweatpants don’t leave anything to the imagination. I moan into his mouth and he takes it, kissing me with everything he’s been holding back.

  Holy hell, Jake was right. If we ever do sleep together we will burn the house down. Better make sure it’s not on a holiday when the fire department is on a skeleton crew.

>   “Elvis. Elvis…where the hell is that cat. Elvis!”

  Both of us freeze. Hot breaths mingling. I reach up and cover his mouth with my hand. He pressed the head of his erection into me and I cover my mouth with it instead.

  “Is somebody here?”

  “No,” I answer automatically.

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Good. The wedding guests are leaving,” Nan answers. “And bring Jake with you.”

  Chapter 12

  “Musing of a High School Loser,” Hal reads the title of my column out loud, grinning from ear to ear. “Terrific. I loved it.”

  Seeing his genuine reaction, I finally take a deep breath. We’re meeting in his office today to discuss the article, and I’ve been in a cold sweat until his very minute.

  “Even better than I expected,” he says staring down at a printed copy.

  “Really? You’re not just saying that, right? Because I wrote this at 4 a.m. high on Monster drinks and peanuts.”

  “It’s funny, sweet, irreverent. This Kyle kid is really something special…” Glancing up, he takes his glasses off and laces his fingers together on the desk. “I think if you and Gray put your heads together and promote it on social media you’re going to earn quite a local following.”

  Now it’s my turn to grin from ear to ear.

  “I’m prepared to offer you a regular spot, your own column, if you think you can sustain the quality.”

  There’s no question I can––but how can the paper afford it?

  “What about the paper’s finances?”

  “You write the articles. Let me worry about the money. Been doing it all my life. I’ll come up with something.”

  Everything goes so well with Hal, on my way out, I invite Gray for coffee. I’ve been away from the Lakes for so long, he’s more likely to know what’s new and hot on the fringe, what’s on the come-up, than I would. Maybe he can point me in the right direction on where to look.