The Girl He Wants Page 8

  “You know how I am. I’m not going to get involved with him,” I say. She does know me best.

  “Aye-ya but that won’t stop you from pining. Fantasizing about him. You may think romance movies are mere fantasy but—”

  “Go away, Pip,” I say and move to warm up my tea. Stacy is cute, sweet, and underneath that nerdy dad cloak he wears is a hot, hot man who’s taller than me. Sex with someone where our parts line up is a luxury I’ve rarely had. But that won’t happen here. This is not a clean, get-in-and-get-out situation. He lives across the street, he works for my best friend’s soon-to-be husband, and he has a child.

  What I need is casual. I’m planning to expand my shop, develop more personal shopping clients, and tuck away more money for Mum and Dad’s retirement. There’s no space in my life for anything other than simple and easy.

  Stacy and Cordie are beyond that.

  They’re messy.

  Chapter 9

  It feels as if I’ve packed a solid week in these few short days, and I’m still going nonstop. My pre-meeting with the bank went well and I successfully found a building in Miami to buy that might actually increase my income faster than I expected. I’d crunched the numbers on my phone’s calculator several times, running different scenarios. I’m feeling on top of the world.

  Invincible.

  Exhausted.

  Having flown from Miami last night in time for the rehearsal, I fell, face down, onto the beautiful and downy coverlet of my well-appointed, I-could-get-used-to-this room in the hotel as soon as all the pre-wedding events were over. Only to be up early and going for the wedding.

  I watch Josie’s reflection in the mirror as I help her slip from her wedding gown. She’s uncharacteristically quiet and looks sadder than a newly married woman should. Expertly, I place the dress on a padded hanger and tuck it into the garment bag that her parents will assume responsibility for while she and Brinn honeymoon in Europe.

  Everything, last night and today’s wedding, has gone off without bump or bluster (I don’t count the tears shed by both bride and groom), and with the lively and surprisingly fun reception winding to a close, I admit I’m a wee bit sad to have it over. Things will be different now between Josie and me. Sure, she and Brinn have been together these last two years, but now married they’ll eventually have the should-we-or-shouldn’t-we-have-kids conversation. If they decide to add to the McRae clan, it will make two things we no longer have in common. Husband and child.

  I hand her a beautifully crafted navy slip dress that matches our bridesmaid gowns. The back drops low and exposes the amazing silver henna design Daanya crafted on Josie’s back.

  “The wedding was so incredibly beautiful, Josie. It couldn’t have been more perfect.” I help slip the sheath over her head.

  She nods slightly, and then sucks in a sob while bringing her fingertips to her eyes in an effort to hold back the tears.

  “Are you all right?” I ask. “What could possibly be wrong?”

  Josie shakes her head. “Nothing is wrong. Everything is better than I ever thought it could be. Will and I are as close as we used to be as children. I have you and the other girls; I have a home and place where I belong.” She takes the tissue I offer and dabs at her eyes. With a watery smile, she says, “And I have Brinn. I have the love and adoration of a man who I love and adore just as much. How did I get so lucky?”

  “Oh love. You’re supposed to have this. You worked hard—”

  “You should have this too. I want this for you.” She grips my arms with a seriousness that’s surprising enough I laugh.

  “It’s not meant for everyone.” If it were there would be no such thing as divorce or lawyers that benefit handsomely from them.

  Her eager expression gives way to worry. “I don’t believe that,” she says. “It can’t be true.”

  She is my best friend. This is her day. She’s come a long way. So I say what she needs to hear. “I’ll have it. When the time is right.”

  “But I’m afraid you’ll miss it. You’re like Brinn. So focused on business and your goals that life is passing you by.” She tugs me closer. “Promise me you won’t get too focused on your professional goals that you’ll forget about what Jayne needs personally.”

  Pippa comes into the room and gathers up the basket of birdseed to hand out to guests.

  “Of course, I always take care of my personal needs when the issues arise. I’ve yet to meet anyone that...you know....” Was interesting or worthy of more than the few weeks I gave them.

  “That’s because you purposefully pick men that can’t go the distance. Most girls have an ideal guy they want to end up with. But not you—”

  I drop my voice to a whisper. “Josie,” I caution. I know where she’s going. She’s brought this up before.

  Instantly Josie’s melancholy turns into irritation.

  “That stupid list. Had I made a list and stuck to it, Brinn and I would never have gotten together. Your list is so blah and unimaginative, well frankly, it’s like you settle every time.”

  “Shush.” I look over my shoulder for my cousin. I don’t want to have this conversation with her and especially with Pippa in the room. One bleeding night of too much booze and I tell her about my list. And she faults me for it? This is not the time to point out that she did make a list...of sorts. Only hers was mental. Because what girl doesn’t have a wish list? Who says, “Oh any man will do?” No one, that’s who. And though I’ve never pictured myself marrying for mad passionate love (which burns out quickly to be sure), I do have some idea of whom I’d like to spend time with, or rather not spent time with. I’m not completely addle-brained. Eventually, I’d like to have a partner to travel with and share life’s events with and I don’t expect it to be any of my friends or my cousin. If I do bring a man in the fold, I have my list to ensure I make a good decision.

  “Oh please.” Josie rolls her eyes. She calls across the room. “Hey, Pip. Know anything about Jayne’s man list?”

  “Josie!” I punch her in the shoulder with the heel of my palm. The last thing I want is Pippa knowing about my list and telling Mum...and anyone else who’ll listen.

  “Oh yeah. The Watch-out-for-Wickhams List, I think she called it. Though it was more a Do-it-like-Darcy list. Read it in her journal years ago. That’s where she logs all those creative man fantasies she has.” Pippa comes around the corner; her arms laden with baskets of cutely decorated bags of birdseed. “It’s amazing really how you took one of the greatest love stories and reduce it to a cautionary tale.” She shakes her head.

  “Because it is.” I sigh with annoyance. My list is a measure to ensure I not get conned by the Wickhams of the world. Made sense then when I crafted it and makes sense now, ten years later. Besides, Elizabeth took one look at Pemberley and suddenly she was in love. Not blooming likely. She saw security and a man who took care of what he was responsible for. She was reminded that she could have easily been snared by Wickham had she been a less cautious person.

  “Yet, I don’t think you’re hopeless,” Josie says.

  I ignore the bride and focus on the intruder. “This journal-reading intrusion. Does it happen often?” I cross my arms and try to level Pip with a stare but she’s clueless. I should know better than to waste my energy.

  She shrugs. “All the time. When you leave it out like you do, how is one supposed to know it’s not a novel or something? Reads well, by the way. So insightful.”

  If I had something to throw, I’d aim for her head. “Pippa, I am going to murder you. How dare you—”

  “Save it for after. And, if you’re so protective of it then don’t leave it on your dresser or night table.” She rolls her eyes with such exaggeration I hope they get stuck and she’s forced to be cross eyed the rest of her life. Imagine how complicated tree pose would be when one’s eyes are looking inward. It would serve her right.

  Clearly, she thinks she’s done nothing wrong. Going into my b
edroom and helping herself to more than my clothes and shoes. I make a mental note to lock my bedroom door or, better yet, lock her out of my home.

  “Jayne.” Josie takes my elbow, turning me toward her. “I love you. You’re my best friend. Please don’t wait to be happy.”

  “I am happy.” It’s the honest truth. Lonely, perhaps. But happy, yes.

  “Happier,” she says, a wry twist of her lips. Her lip piercing winks in the light. “I think you catching the bouquet is a sign.”

  “I think you aimed for me.” I hand her the heels we paired with the dress a few weeks ago in my shop. Feels like ages ago.

  “Not true. I was aiming for Paisley. I was hoping to hit her in the head and knock some sense into her.” Her smile alights with mischief. “Perhaps I knocked some into you instead?” Her expression is hopeful, her brows raised.

  “Sorry. No. Because I don’t need it.”

  “Says you.” She grabs my shoulders and gives me a slight shake. “Don’t be like me. Where you have to lose everything just to figure it all out. It’s way easier if you just go willingly, now.”

  I laugh, wrapping her in a hug. “Eat a crepe for me in Switzerland and bowls of pasta in Italy.”

  “You and food,” she says with such dryness.

  “All right, dear. It’s time,” Josie’s mother says, coming into the room and clapping her hands together twice briskly. “Chop, chop.”

  Josie whispers, “Yeah, chop, chop, Jayne. You better get out of here before she puts you to work. Think about it, okay?”

  “Okay,” I whisper and hold onto her for a second longer than her mother probably wanted to spare. “I’ll see you in two weeks when you get back.”

  We separate and are both wiping away the moisture that’s collected on our lower lids when she says, “You have to text me and tell me what happens with Paisley and Hank. Don’t hold back anything.” She wags a knowing finger at me. If Paisley’s about to get her heart broken, that’s the last thing Josie needs to be thinking about on her honeymoon.

  “If you’re sure.” I hold my hands up in deference to her wishes.

  “I’m sure about loads of things now,” she says mimicking my accent.

  “You’ve come a long way, baby,” I say, mimicking hers and doing the finger-gun point.

  * * * *

  Outside of the bridal room, I wait with my friends. Paisley hands me a bag of seed and proceeds to chew her thumbnail.

  “She’s almost ready,” I tell her.

  “I’m a terrible friend. Wanting to leave is so selfish,” she says, taking her nail from between her teeth for only as long as it takes to make her statement.

  “Josie understands. Besides, it’s over when they’re gone.” I pull her into a side hug. “It’ll work out.” She may think I mean between her and Hank but I mean in general. Everything always works out. Even if, at the moment, it’s not what we want.

  “What if it doesn’t? What if I had the chance to have it all and I let it go because I was too afraid...and stupid. Mostly too stupid.”

  “Oh, Paisley.” Before I can continue, the double doors from the reception hall open and out step Josie and Brinn to a loud, excited cheer from the crowd. When they step onto the oversized patio, birdseed fills the air.

  They hustle through the crowd, Josie stopping long enough to hug her brother before they get into the waiting limo. She looks at us, Paisley and I, and I assume makes eye contact with Paisley as she motions to the car park and mouths “go” before slamming the door.

  Paisley’s off at a run and the cheering from our small group continues.

  “Go get him, Paisley,” someone yells. Paisley’s friend Gigi maybe? Who, ironically, is Hank’s sister.

  I erupt with laughter and watch the cars fade into the evening. One friend firmly wrapped in the arms of love experiencing (I hope) the sort of bliss that inspires love songs, bestsellers, and poetry that spans centuries. The other friend running toward that same happiness and the man she believes holds the key.

  Chapter 10

  Love.

  Like chasing a high, people do the unimaginable for a taste of love. For the chance to hold it forever. Online dating sites, personal ads, and singles mixers abound. Is there any greater product we crave?

  I’m struck wondering, not for the first time but certainly more often recently, what my life would look like if I were made more like my friends. If I believed the love they have, or seek to have, can be had by anyone and will be reciprocated and pain free.

  Unfortunately, I know better.

  Mum’s experience of blissful love and subsequent devastation, her parting gift, me, is all the education and fair warning I needed. When an eight-year-old watches her mother fall apart and only the firm hand of her own mother, my nana, was able to put her back together, it sticks. Forever.

  Even if my stepdad is a peach of a man who has loved me and cared for me as his own. Who caters to and greatly loves Mum. But what’s the point if love’s end result is losing a wee bit of oneself like Mum? I’d rather skip all that, if that’s all right.

  But wouldn’t a taste, if such a safe sample existed, be a lovely, wondrous thing?

  After the cars have long faded from sight, I scan the crowd for Pippa. Maybe she’ll be up for a drink at the hotel bar.

  “Care to join some of us for drinks?” a man says close to my ear. A large hand cups my elbow, gently turning me toward him.

  I face Stacy, who motions over his shoulder toward the hotel’s outdoor bar that wraps around the side of the building and faces the beach. “The others will meet us there.”

  I nod, not ready to end the night. Mum and Dad are around here somewhere enjoying their much-deserved downtime and I intend to do the same. I’m not going to worry whether shifts were covered or about this loan. I’m going to enjoy the moments I have right now. We walk in silence the short distance and when we come around the corner, a tray of shots is being delivered to a table of my friends, including Brinn and Josie’s siblings.

  “To my brother and his wife.” Vann holds up a tricolored shot known as a jellybean.

  I suppose the colorful concoction is more celebratory than biting a lemon and licking one’s hand.

  We each take a glass and raise them in the air.

  “It was the luckiest day of his life when we picked her up on the side of the road,” Vann continues.

  We all laugh and I’m reminded of the Josie who blew into town searching for her brother and found love, too. I glance at Will, who’s holding a carbonated drink, his eyes glassy with moisture, and I’m willing to wager he’s thinking back the couple years when Josie, stranded by a broken-down car, hitchhiked to Florida in search of him.

  “To Josie and Brinn. May they love each other for eternity. Cheers,” I finish and everyone echoes me.

  Except Heather who says, “Pfft,” before tossing her shot back. After a wince and a shudder, she meets my gaze. “What? I’m jaded? Are you really surprised by that?”

  I shake my head. “Would you prefer to make the next toast?” I ask when a second tray is delivered. One glance at Vann’s sheepish grin tells me he’s the culprit of this round.

  “Absolutely.” She snatches a glass off the tray, spilling a wee bit on her thumb. She licks it off before continuing. “To Brinn and Josie. Let’s hope they can beat the odds.” She raises her glass in the air.

  There’s a long pause. Someone, Pippa maybe, clears their throat.

  “To my sister and her husband. May they learn to hold tight to each other when the road gets rocky and may they always find their way back to each other if they lose their way.” Will clinks his Coke to Heather’s shot glass.

  “Yeah, that’s what I said.” She tosses back her drink.

  The piped-in music is cut off as a band steps onto the stage at the far end of a dance floor. “Let’s celebrate,” the lead singer yells into the microphone and not a second later they launch into a loud cover of a popu
lar eighties dance song.

  “Oh, I love this song,” Pippa says.

  “Me, too.” Heather grabs her and says, “Let’s dance,” before pulling her to the dance floor.

  Others peel away and I’m left with Will, Daanya, and Stacy.

  Stacy and I order a red wine, and though the band is loud, we manage a conversation.

  Wasn’t Josie lovely? Do you think they’ll go sightseeing in Europe or stay in the room? The standard pleasantries made following a wedding.

  Everyone is feeling lighter and free.

  The ambience is dreamy. It’s cliché, I know, but that’s the best word to describe the ocean stretching out to the horizon before me. The dunes and gently swaying sea grass between the water and us. Besides the band and dance floor, which is a squared-off area devoid of tables, a large fire pit sits off to the side and is surrounded by cushioned stone bench seating.

  There’s a slight autumn crispness to the air and I pull my shawl in tighter, covering the goose bumps that texturize my skin.

  “Hey,” Will says leaning toward us, closing in our group. “Want to join us by the fire? Daanya’s chilled.”

  “Sure,” Stacy answers for me and places his hand on my lower back, guiding me to the fire pit. Every nerve ending in my body comes alive.

  I scan the crowd of my friends and realize nearly everyone is paired off, aside from Heather and Pippa. Well, and Stacy and myself. Though the ambience and all this talk about true love makes me wish—somewhat—that I had someone to share this night with, I make no move on anyone. I scan the crowd and don’t see anyone even remotely interesting to chat up.

  Not that I’ve been able to see past Stacy. I’ve noticed Heather watching him, too. If the atmosphere is working me over, has already done a number on Paisley, then it’s likely she’s feeling the effects. To what end? Hard to say at this point.