On the bustling corner, Greer was riveted to the sidewalk. “I have to go,” she said to Miss Thing. “I’m getting another call.” She hung up the phone while Miss Thing was talking about winning an RV. It was her dearest hope, she was saying.
But Greer already knew that—Miss Thing said it every time she watched The Price Is Right, and she had about ten other dearest hopes, too, including owning a quilted pink Chanel bag and visiting the Great Wall of China. Meanwhile, something big and horrible was happening, and, and …
A woman with a camera around her neck glanced over at her. “Are you okay? Your face is really red. Maybe you need some water.”
“I’m fine, but thank you for telling me.”
“Charleston’s almost too much,” the woman said. “Everyone has window boxes. And dogs that look like they get regular baths. You notice that?”
“Yes.” Greer threw her a semblance of a smile. “And sun tea brewed in large mason jars in the garden.”
The camera lady gave her a quick once-over. “You live here?”
“Yep.”
“I’d guess you were from somewhere else.” The woman reached over her camera, into her purse, and pulled out her phone.
“Wait—” Greer said. “You mean my accent?”
Her talkative fellow pedestrian turned her back.
“Is it my accent?” Greer had to know.
The woman whipped around, the phone to her ear. “Just your vibe.” And she turned back to her phone call.
No, no, no. Not that being from Wisconsin wasn’t wonderful, and near and dear to Greer’s heart, but she had to be different since she saw Wesley last. Since she’d broken up with him, she’d tried her best to change in exciting, good ways just to prove she could to everyone back home. She hadn’t spiraled downhill after dumping the greatest guy in Waterloo. She’d blossomed!
Unless she’d been fooling herself.…
She decided to look down at her phone. She’d also keep an eye on the other pedestrians’ feet and follow them when the stop-n-go light turned green (she hadn’t called it that since she’d left Waterloo). She would walk right past her ex and his new woman, and the man in the plaid blazer.
It was time. Feet moved. Instinct made her look up—she was entering a busy intersection, after all. But as soon as she got her bearings—and saw that apparently the trio had not seen her—she looked down again. Charleston was one of the most romantic destinations in the world, but it was small enough that a chance meeting with an old love interest was not out of the question. Wesley had to have known that.
Why was he here anyway?
And why was he talking to the man in the plaid blazer? Had that guy known who she was at the auction? Had he followed her there?
Nothing made any sense.
“Hello,” the man in plaid said.
Greer thought of pub crawls, soccer matches, the Beatles, and a Downton Abbey–style chaise lounge upon which they both were entangled, his fingers pulling slowly at her laced-up bodice. She looked up from the asphalt and white painted crosswalk line.
The Englishman wore a pleasant, curious expression. “Fancy meeting you again,” he said, stopping. “So soon.”
She paused, too. “In the middle of a busy intersection this time.” She widened her eyes in an effort at a comic touch. Wesley and his fiancée were still crossing the street and talking to each other. Cars and trucks hovered mere feet away, engines growling.
“Bye,” she said, and took off.
There. She’d been nice enough. On to the rest of her life—which suddenly loomed like a barren desert with a lone tumbleweed skirting across the dunes.
But “Greer!” she heard next. It was Wesley’s voice. She had just stepped up onto the sidewalk, too. For a brief second, she shut her eyes. The desert was gone, but nothing came to replace it. Nothing. That was what she felt around Wesley.
She opened her eyes again. Turned slowly. Made eye contact with the lover and friend she’d ultimately rejected as a life partner. He was now walking toward her, his fiancée’s hand held firmly in his own. She was all silken black hair, cheekbones, and chic street style.
Greer felt instantly plain and uninteresting, which she never had before. In high school she’d been in a math class with a future Miss Jefferson County, who told Greer she should enter pageants because brainy beauty queens were trending, even if she was flat-chested and not great with makeup. And then in college, she’d won an award in Web site design for a Charleston-based fashionista who’d told her she looked just like Scarlett Johansson if Scarlett Johannson had glasses, a slightly different nose, and that squiggle perpetually on Greer’s forehead from thinking so much.
No. She’d never felt drab. But now she did.
The man in plaid came with the smiling couple.
“I can’t believe it!” Wesley said.
The sea breeze wafting down Calhoun Street from the harbor dwindled to nothing. Greer could feel the heat and humidity curl her hair on her neck. The last thing she wanted was for Wesley to see her sweat.
“Wesley,” she said. “Wow. What are you doing here?” She backed up a few steps so they could all get away from the corner. Across the street, some hotel dwellers peered down at the crowded sidewalk filled with tourists and locals getting where they had to go. Greer’s come-to-Jesus meeting with Wesley wasn’t going to be private in the least.
The man in the plaid blazer stuck his hands in his jeans pockets. “You know each other?” he asked, in a perfectly innocent voice.
Wesley smiled the same way he had when he was sixteen and they’d go to the skating rink and skate holding hands. “Serena, Ford, I’d like you to meet an old friend, Greer Jones. Greer, this is my fiancée, Serena. And Ford’s a friend.”
Greer’s hands and feet buzzed with mortification. “Hello,” she said, looking back and forth between Serena and the man she could now give a name.
“We’ve met,” Ford said slowly, “in a way.”
“Oh?” said Wesley.
“At an auction,” Greer said. “A few minutes ago, actually.”
“We almost won a dress together,” Ford said.
“We didn’t stand a chance,” said Greer. “Someone else was determined to get it.” She wouldn’t bother explaining more than that.
“Oh my gosh, what an adventure!” Serena sounded genuinely excited.
Greer hadn’t expected her to be so friendly. Or to sound like a Valley Girl from Clueless. It wasn’t a bad thing. Just took her off guard. She never imagined serious Wesley being with someone like that.
“It’s nice to meet you, Serena,” she said, and felt a little more herself. “In fact, congratulations. I saw on Facebook—” And then realized she might look like a stalker. She wasn’t friends with Wesley. But friends had posted pictures of an engagement party.
“Of course, you’d have seen,” Wesley finished for her. “Helen gave us a party.” Helen was a mutual friend in Waterloo. They’d all graduated high school together. “Serena and I are getting married this summer.”
Serena held out her left hand. A sparkling diamond surrounded by sapphires sat there.
No freaking way.
It was the engagement ring Wesley had picked out for Greer. She would never forget the day he’d offered it to her in its pretty little velvet box. She instantly felt sorry for Serena. And it was the first time she could justifiably criticize Wesley—how selfish of him. How utterly insensitive. She shot him a look. She couldn’t help herself.
His pupils widened.
“I know it was originally meant for you, Greer,” Serena said, her voice full of concern. “I hope you won’t mind.”
She knew?
“I loved it so much,” Serena continued over the sound of cars and trucks streaming by, “I told Wesley not to get a different one. Believe me, he tried. He’s not the type of guy to pawn a used ring off on the woman he’s going to marry.”
“She’s into re-purposing.” Wesley shrugged. His ears were slightly pink. But he exchanged a loving look with Serena. She was obviously the Girl Who Made Everything Easy. “I just had to get it resized down a notch.”
Of course. Serena was model slender.
“Are you okay about it?” Serena asked. “I just love it so much.” She got little tears in her eyes.
Wesley hugged her shoulder.
“No, no—please, don’t cry—it’s fine!” Greer said. And though this encounter was getting weirder by the second, she wasn’t lying. “I-I hope you enjoy it.” She smiled and nodded a few times. Adjusted her purse.
“Oh, I will,” Serena said, and beamed.
Wesley beamed, too.
Let them beam. The truth was, that ring had never been Greer’s style.
“It was great to see you, Wesley,” said Greer. “And to meet you, Serena.” She looked at Ford. “Nice to run into you again.”
“Likewise,” he said, a gleam in his eye.
She could tell he was reading her BS meter, and yes, it was off the charts. She was doing her best to be civilized, and sometimes you simply had to play a part.
“Ford’s an artist,” Serena said in her charmingly persuasive manner, which made it impossible for Greer to take off. “We met when he painted my portrait.”
“Oh.” She should have known Ford was an artist. He was very much alive, humming with awareness. Sensual. She didn’t know how she knew that last part. She was mad she hadn’t guessed he was a creative type when she’d done her Two Love Lane scope-out at the auction.
“I’d just graduated from a boarding school in London,” Serena continued, “and my mother insisted on the portrait. I told her I’d do it if I could choose the painter.”
She loved to talk, it seemed. But she was so warm and friendly, who wouldn’t listen?
“I honestly thought the whole experience of posing for a portrait would be awful,” Serena went on, “but Ford kept me entertained.”
“She’d never met a true English curmudgeon,” Ford said, “or stood still that long.”
“You’re not a curmudgeon,” Serena insisted. “Look how well you’ve handled yourself lately.”
Lately?
“That’s her way of saying she’s shocked I’m out of bed, dressed, and sober.” Ford’s dry delivery made Wesley laugh. Greer, too. She couldn’t help it.
“Stop it, Wesley and Ford,” said Serena. “Greer’s going to think we’re badly behaved.”
“It’s fine,” Greer murmured. “Charleston has a way of making people want to party until the wee hours and sleep late.” There. That was a polite way to skirt the awkwardness.
“Yes, but—” Serena winced like she wanted to say something really badly but knew she shouldn’t. “But we have extenuating circumstances.”
“We?” Ford asked.
“Well, you,” Serena said.
“Serena…” Wesley chided her.
“I suppose I’ve no choice now but to mention I was left at the altar by my bride,” Ford told Greer.
Thunk. More awkwardness. Greer felt instantly guilty. And horrified.
“Sorry,” said Serena, then looked at Greer. “It was awful.”
“It happened a month ago,” Ford said, ignoring Serena, whose expression registered deep concern for him. “One tends to sleep and drink too much bourbon when that happens. Go to faraway places with lots of humidity and heat. Put shirts on backwards.”
Greer wished she could be swallowed up by the sidewalk. The universe was messing with her. Big-time. Wesley was standing right there, stoic and square-headed, like a character on a Sesame Street skit. Made of buttons, yarn, and felt. Oblivious. Everything bouncing off him and not getting through. Hello? she wanted to say. You were dumped in a similar manner! Don’t you feel awkward hearing this with me here?
At least she hadn’t left Wesley at the altar. He hadn’t stood in front of a crowd of friends and family, a preacher at his back, and been abandoned on his wedding day.
But this guy.…
“I-I’m so sorry. I truly am.” Greer felt Serena’s eyes on her. Was Wesley’s fiancée putting her in the same category as Ford’s ex? And what would that category be? Vile? Selfish? Immature?
“Nothing to be sorry about,” Ford said.
But he had to be angry still. Or heartbroken. Or both. Greer couldn’t tell. She couldn’t tell anything from his tone or his expression. But he wasn’t indifferent. He wasn’t an automaton. He’d stuck his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, his thumbs hung over the pocket edges. His back was straight. He had small laugh lines around his eyes. He had the air of being distinctly human. The plaid blazer was maybe a middle finger to the world.
And then there was the auction, where he’d told her “Love stinks,” out of the blue. That she’d never forget. And he’d had a very warm, welcoming thigh. He hadn’t flinched in the slightest when she’d landed on it. He’d also said something a little delicious or raunchy, depending on how she chose to recall it.
A dose of intuition flooded her being, against her better judgment. Greer sensed he was her cup of tea. It was the exact right phrase: cup of tea. Cheery Disney character Mrs. Potts might as well be whispering the phrase in her ear. Greer had never known what her cup of tea was until just now. She’d only known Wesley wasn’t it.
And now, this jilted painter whom she didn’t know was in fact her cup of tea. What did it mean? She was a coffee drinker. People who drank tea weren’t very exciting. She would never in a million years have called anyone her cup of tea until right this very minute.
Maybe she felt drawn to him because of the wedding horror story. Could be a sympathy thing.
“When I heard Ford was here,” Serena said, “I told Wesley it’s yet another reason Charleston is the perfect place.”
Perfect place … for what? Greer knew the city was awesome, but what was Serena saying?
Wesley sighed. “Greer, I didn’t want to have to tell you like this—”
Her heart started to race. “What?”
He shook his head. “I wanted to call you first, but we ran out of time.”
“Wesley, tell her.” Serena kept smiling. And then she bounced, just once.
“Yes, tell me.” Greer braced herself. Something was about to go seriously wrong.
“We’re getting married here. In Charleston.” Wesley had never looked more serious. And scared.
Greer’s stomach dropped to her feet. “Oh,” she said, and tried to keep breathing. It helped that Ford gave her his calm, steady stare, the one he’d used at the auction. She nodded to give herself time to think. “That’s … that’s nice. A lot of people do that.”
Wesley scratched his head. “That’s not all.”
Good Lord! What could come next?
“We’re moving here,” Serena said. “We’ll be working at the Medical University for a year on a big research project.” And she squealed.
It wasn’t the worst squeal in the world. She was obviously overjoyed, and Greer couldn’t hate her for being excited about moving to a great city.
But out of all the medical jobs in the world, Wesley had to choose one here in Charleston? “That’s—that’s—” She didn’t know what to say. She had to get away from these people. Now.
“We’re lucky,” said Serena, lacing the fingers of her right hand with Wesley’s. “It’s such a romantic city.”
“It’s very beautiful,” Greer said on autopilot, her brain synapses firing like mad.
“But the cherry on the sundae is having Ford here, at least for a few months,” Serena said, never missing a beat in her earnest cheerleader voice that made one want to sit down and listen if you had a heart.
“Why are you here?” Greer asked the Englishman.
“I’m working on a particular project I can’t seem to tie down yet,” he said. “But I need to. Soon. It’s to go to a gallery in Manchester for a big show.”
“Wow.” Greer was impressed.
“I want Ford to paint my wedding portrait.” Serena held up crossed fingers, her eyebrows arched up and outward, the way extra cute comic-strip characters do when they’re pleading.
“First I’ve heard about painting a wedding portrait,” Ford said with a shrug. “Sorry, Serena. No time.”
There was a shocked silence between Wesley and his future bride.
“You didn’t ask him already?” Wesley asked her.
“No,” Serena said. “I thought—”
“But you said—” Wesley began.
Serena’s lips tightened. Wesley shut his mouth.
Ford rocked back on his heels. “Come by for a cigar later, Wesley, on my studio balcony?”
“Sure,” Wesley said. “Got some good scotch?”
“The best,” Ford said.
Serena was subdued enough that she adjusted her purse. “Well,” she said, “That’s men for you. Everything cured by alcohol and cigars.”
“Or world war,” said Greer. “Very little in between.”
She was proud of herself. She sounded perfectly at ease. This Wesley and Serena calamity—because that was what it was—was going to be easier to handle than she thought it would be.
Everything in life could be easy, really. She always forgot that. Since moving from home at age eighteen, she tended to get wrapped up in the minutiae of things and work herself into a lather of nerves. But her farming parents had taught her to carry on, stay polite, and hope that no one noticed that things weren’t always fixed or right or acceptable to you. And now here in Charleston, she saw a similar attitude, only dressed up in Southern culture. You persevered. You even brought pie and poured sweet tea until the worst had passed, and then you took a broom, swept up the mess, and went and sat on the porch and waved at your neighbors.
“Now I know your name,” Ford said to Greer.
“And I yours,” Greer replied. Somehow the words, to her ears, sounded formal and English, like something from an old novel, and she was reminded of how he’d nodded at her at the auction, and vintage-film feelings flooded her body as she thought of heroes and the amazing, colorful women they loved. The heat, too, might have had something to do with it. She was getting dehydrated.
“Charleston’s an interesting town,” said Ford, and looked over all their heads. “I’d say it rivals London for drama.”
Exactly which drama did he mean? The bidding war at the auction? Serena and Wesley’s tension over her wedding portrait? The obvious stress Greer was feeling about her ex moving to Charleston and getting married there? Or something to do with Ford himself and Greer? Although why she imagined he might be thinking along those lines, she had no idea. Maybe she was ready for drama. Maybe she was ready for drama with him. Sitting on his thigh had been quite the pleasurable experience. She’d rather think about that than Wesley.…
“Cheers,” Ford concluded, and took off—
Without getting her number, so she’d obviously imagined the drama between them. She was really only dehydrated and desperate.
A horse-and-carriage that had been rolling slowly down the street stopped to turn left at the intersection. Ford was right. Charleston was full of drama, but on the outside it could be slow and predictable, like any town.
Even more awkwardness descended now that Ford was gone.
“I can’t believe he said no,” said Serena, looking after him.
“Oh, well,” said Wesley. “We’ll find another artist. Maybe Greer knows—” he began, and thought better of it.
Greer would take the high road. “I’ll be glad to ask around,” she said.
“Thanks,” said Wesley.
She stuck out her hand—way out—to Serena, who was still watching Ford. He had a cool, understated stride, like an extreme sports skateboarder. Or a guy packing heat. Take your pick. “Good to meet you,” she said.
Serena abruptly turned around at the sight of Greer’s open palm. “Oh, likewise,” she said with a bright smile, and shook it. Her grip was firm, her fingers long and skinny.
Greer thought surgeon’s hands, and she remembered to like Serena no matter how perfect she was because she saved people’s lives. This wasn’t the day she expected, but she was better off having seen Wesley finally happy, even if it meant he had to be happy in the same town. At least her guilt about dumping him was gone. Karma was now set to bite at her heels in a big way. Every day she’d be afraid of bumping into him or Serena.
She prayed they wouldn’t live downtown or buy groceries at the Harris-Teeter on East Bay Street, the number-one social hot spot on the peninsula.
“I’m glad we ran into each other,” Wesley said.
“Me, too,” Serena said, and put her arm through his. “And Greer, thank you for breaking up with him.” She laughed.
At least it wasn’t a giggle. Greer didn’t do well with gigglers. When Macy had been crushing on Deacon, she’d giggled a lot, and it had really gotten on Greer’s nerves. Since she’d married, Macy had settled down and was back to her old regular laugh, thank goodness.
“No problem,” Greer said. “It had nothing to do with Wesley. He’s a prince.”
“Serena’s not shy,” Wesley said, his ears pink, and dragged her away.
Smart of him.
Walking home, Greer realized she’d just been through a living hell that wasn’t going to end anytime soon, but it would be endurable if she went to work and stayed home at night and on the weekends for the next year so she wouldn’t run into Wesley and Serena.
Or maybe she should move.
Her life now officially sucked.
She decided then and there to binge-watch her favorite series, Breaking Bad, every day after work without going out until she was done. She would order her groceries online from Harris Teeter and drive to pick them up, already bagged. She would live like a hermit before and after work and on weekends until she figured out what to do.
Things she would not do: (1) make brownies, (2) call her mother, and (3) Google Ford. She didn’t even know his last name.