I excuse myself and run after Marco as he storms out of the kitchen, and then out the front door. The man is going so fast he’s already cut halfway across the garden by the time I get on the doorstep. To keep up, I follow without putting on a coat; I’m still wearing slipper boots. But wet toes and potential frostbite are the least of my concerns right now.
“Marco,” I yell after him. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t flinch, and keeps marching toward the barn. I run and gain on him. “Marco, wait!”
He reaches the door, opens it, and slams it shut in my face. Undeterred, I reopen it and follow inside. Marco picks up his rucksack from beside the couch and gets busy stuffing the bag with his clothes.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Packing. Isn’t it obvious?”
“But why?”
He stares me down. “Because I figured you were about to explain to me how you can’t possibly tell your parents that I’m your boyfriend—and not that other spineless amoeba back in the house— now that the investors from Japan are coming. You find reason after reason to put it off, and I’m sick and tired being your dirty little secret.”
“Chuck’s not spineless,” I interrupt. “And neither am I. This is about protecting our family business, Marco. I thought you got that.”
“Oh, sure, it’s all about business. And it has nothing to do with you still having feelings for the guy you’re fake marrying in a couple of days?” He laughs bitterly, and my hackles are instantly raised.
“Chuck and I are over, Marco. How many times do I have to tell you that? We weren’t compatible anymore.”
“Really? Because Bluewater Springs has transformed you into this person I can’t recognize. You’ve let your training slack, you’ve been eating all kinds of junk food—”
“It’s the holidays, Marco. That’s what normal people do.”
“—and you’ve gone from being a confident woman to this little girl who’s too afraid to confront her parents and tell them the damn truth for once.”
“Wow. Just… wow! I’m not claiming to be perfect, but I don’t deserve for you to throw cheap judgments in my face. I’m perfectly capable of handling my life.”
He raises his eyebrows. “And yet, you still haven’t told your parents the truth. Fake wedding’s still on, fake baby’s still on the way. You’re doing a great job of handling your life, Kate. Really stellar.”
“I’m going to tell them,” I repeat stubbornly, well aware I sound like a broken record.
Marco shoves his running shoes into the sack. “When?”
“The investors will only be here today and tomorrow, so we’ll tell our parents tomorrow after the Japanese delegation has gone I pr—”
“You promise, Kate?” he says, throwing my words back at me with a skeptical pout.
“Marco, I’m not going to marry Chuck, okay? We’ll give the investors the tour, and then we’ll come clean with our families.”
“Unless something else comes up.”
“Nothing will. I mean, what else could happen at this point?”
“I don’t know. Maybe your parents will buy a second house for you and all your fake kids, or make a movie about you and Chuck to go along with the manga, or a reality show. The sky’s the limit, right?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You call me ridiculous when you plan to wait until two days before the wedding to call it off? That’s cutting it awfully close, Kate.”
“What difference does it make? Why can’t you give me another day?”
“Kate, I’ve been waiting for four months. I’m tired.” Marco zips up the bag in two angry pulls. “Let’s do it this way. I have a few friends down in Traverse City. I’m going to crash with them. Once you’ve called off the wedding—if you call off the wedding—give me a shout.” Rucksack slung over his shoulder, Marco pushes past me toward the barn door.
“But what am I supposed to say, we told everyone you came for the ceremony?”
“I’m sure you won’t have any problems coming up with a new lie,” he says, making a theatrical exit complete with a slammed door.
A minute later the BMW engine roars to life and tires screech on the iced gravel. He didn’t even say goodbye to my family, now everyone is going to hate him forever.
I sag on the barn’s couch about ready for a good cry when Pops Teddy plonks down next to me, saying, “I didn’t like him much, anyway.”
“Pops,” I say, while a rush of adrenaline freezes the tears in my eyes. “How long have you been listening?”
He sighs. “The whole time.”
“You’ve heard everything?”
“Yep!”
Great. Just great. Out of the frying pan, into the fire. “Are you mad at me?”
“I’m sorry I’m not going to be a great grandpa after all, but it takes a lot more than a fake wedding and a fake pregnancy to knock me off my game.” Pops boxes the air with a one-two punch, making me smile.
“Any advice?”
He chuckles and wraps me in a warm hug. “Sometimes young people are too blind to see what’s standing right in front of them.”
I blink at him. “Huh?”
Pops pats me on the leg and stands up again. “Sorry, Honeybun, but you’ll have to figure this one out on your own. Now, can we go back to the house and see if the Japanese breakfast nightmare is over? I’d like some decent coffee, and they only keep that instant crap out here.”
“I’ll walk you,” I say, standing up as well. “You know, you’re not supposed to cross the garden on your own in winter. What if you fell?”
Pops gives me another long stare. “Then I’d get back up and keep walking.”
And with that last pearl of wisdom, we make our way back to the house.
The moment we step inside, my mom ambushes me. “Kate, where have you been? The seamstress has already arrived; she’s waiting for you in the studio.”
“Mom,” I say, wishing life had a pause button. “Where’s Chuck?”
“Oh, look at her, she can’t stay one minute away from her fiancé!” she gushes. “I think he’s still in the kitchen with his parents. You’ll see him later. Now, studio.”
Mom grabs me by the elbow and drags me into Dad’s studio. I don’t bother protesting. When has that ever helped anything?
For the next half an hour, I let myself be measured while absentmindedly agreeing to everything the seamstress proposes about design upgrades. I mean, I’m never going to wear this dress, or walk down the aisle in it, so who cares?
***
After the dress fitting, I corner Chuck before everyone gathers again for lunch, and drag him up the stairs to my bedroom.
“Marco left,” I say without preamble, closing the door behind me.
Chuck takes a minute to digest this news. “Left, as in he’s departed from Bluewater Springs, or left, as in he’s left you?”
“Unclear,” I say curtly. That is so not what I want to think about right now.
“Are you okay?”
No, I’m not. I haven’t been since coming home. And since leaving Pastor Grant’s office yesterday, things have only gotten worse. I’ve been feeling guilty toward Marco for lying to him, for going back on my word, and for all the unresolved feelings for Chuck that have been nagging me from the moment I laid eyes on him again. And I’ve also been feeling guilty toward Chuck, for forcing him to have to deal with Marco, for picking useless fights with him to keep my distance… and, since his admissions at couple’s counseling, for the possibility that I might’ve broken his heart.
I stare at his concerned face and feel even worse. I’ve barely talked to him since we left church yesterday, too afraid of what I might ask and what he might answer, and here he is ready to comfort me.
“Chuck, please, there’s no need to pretend you’re sorry to see him go. The fact that you’re not gloating is already enough.”
A storm brews in Chuck’s eyes, and he closes the distance between us, placing both his hands on my shoulders. “Kate, I am sorry. Before we were… err… together, you were my best friend. I’ll always care about you. Whatever upsets you upsets me.”
This day has been so horrible, and I’m so tired of feeling like crap all the time, that I’m ready to indulge in a little human contact. So I let myself go and hug Chuck. And, oh gosh, he smells so good, and his body pressed against mine feels so right. I hold him tighter.
He’s startled at first, but soon hugs me in return, his hands gently caressing my back.
Alarmingly fast, the scene turns into a replica of Dawson’s Creek’s most cathartic episode: season six, episode two. Dawson and Joey have a friendly hug in her dorm bedroom, and before long they’re making love for the first time.
I bury my face in the nook of Chuck’s collarbone and lose myself in the moment. My poor mind, expedited by Chuck’s hands moving on me, quickly plunges into a dangerous train of thought. If what Chuck said about the towel test is true, it means he wasn’t ignoring me—he really didn’t see me. Which means he never stopped wanting me.
And if Marco did dump me today, which I’m pretty sure is what happened, then I’m technically a free woman. And I don’t know, living in such proximity with Chuck has made me want to rip his clothes off since the first night we shared my bed. And right now, I can’t remember any of the super valid reasons why I broke up with him in the first place.
I raise my head and stare into his blue irises. Chuck looks back at me, eyes questioning.
And if my eyes could answer, they’d be shouting: take me, take me now!
Sometimes Chuck is rubbish at reading my mind. But right now he receives the unspoken message loud and clear. He pushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear, leans down, and kisses me.
The kiss is the most tender, yet most passionate, kiss I’ve ever experienced. The way his lips move against mine encompasses a lifetime of friendship, a ten-year relationship, and the longing of four months spent apart. It all becomes wrapped up in a whirlwind of emotions, unspoken feelings, and regrets.
I don’t care if kissing Chuck is wrong. Messy. Unwise. Dangerous. It feels too good to stop.
I want Chuck. I want him now. And I need to get rid of all these layers separating us.
I yank his sweater off, so that our lips only have to be separated for a few seconds. I’m getting started on his belt when the door bangs open and my mom screeches. “Oh, sorry, guys, so sorry. I see you’re… err… busy. But lunch is ready, so whenever you want to come downstairs… I mean, I’ll go now.”
The door clicks shut, and Chuck and I are left staring at each other in an embarrassing, horny, disappointed silence.
The moment is gone. We both know it.
Chuck pulls his gingerbread man sweater back on and, with a cheeky smile, says, “We’d better go downstairs before they start thinking we’re trying to add another fake baby to the family.”
And that’s one of the great things about Chuck. He can make uncomfortable situations not so awkward, take the edge off any crap life throws at us. He’s always been able to make me laugh.
In the past four months without him, I might’ve become a morning person, made a ton of spontaneous trips, attended many mundane events, and discovered plenty of new restaurants, but I haven’t laughed as much as I used to. I’ve missed it.
I’ve missed him.
***
The rest of the day is a blur. At lunch, I feed my parents a lie about Marco having to go help a friend with a family emergency. Nobody seems too grief-stricken by his premature departure; all they care about is making sure we’re ready to receive our prospective Japanese partners.
The delegation lands in Detroit mid-morning and arrives in Bluewater Springs mid-afternoon. And after a quick stop at the hotel for our guests to freshen up, the dads go pick them up and escort them to the restaurant.
Throughout the meal, I pay little attention to what’s being said. I’m too busy eye-flirting with Chuck from across the table. The fake engagement has brought us closer, retransforming us into that boy and girl that used to do everything together. And we have unfinished business from this afternoon. I can’t wait for dinner to be over, and to ship Mr. Tagawa Yoshiaki & Co back to their hotel so Chuck and I can pick up where we left off.
Soon, we’re going to be alone in my bedroom and nothing and no one will keep my hands off Chuck tonight.
But, like everything else on this holiday break so far, things never go according to plan.
The hotel the Japanese are staying at is a block away from the restaurant, so even total newbies can’t get lost. In fact, they opt to walk back while the rest of us head toward the parking lot.
Chuck and I rush to my parents’ car, both eager to get home and—I’m hoping—under the sheets. But then Abigail calls out, “Chuck, you’re with us tonight.”
“What do you mean, Mom?”
Abigail smiles embarrassedly. “I know it’s a little old-fashioned, but we thought it best if you didn’t sleep with your bride-to-be so close to the wedding.”
He looks like she knocked the floor out from under his feet. “Why?”
“Tradition. The groom shouldn’t see the bride the night before the wedding.”
“The wedding isn’t for another two days,” Chuck protests.
“Nonetheless, you should abstain from, uh, certain things before the ceremony.”
Ah. So my mom must’ve told everyone Chuck and I were about to screw each other’s brain senseless in my room earlier—which we were totally about to, to be fair—and the parental conclave must’ve established that hot, premarital sex is not appropriate all of a sudden.
This is medieval tyranny, plain and simple, and with the worst possible timing. And the most frustrating thing is that, a week ago, I wouldn’t have had a problem with it at all. I probably would have welcomed it. But now…
I stare at Chuck and read the same frustration in his eyes.
Yep, tonight would’ve been the mother of all sexy nights. But maybe it wasn’t in the cards. Better this way. We don’t need any more confusion in our lives, and a night of hot, steamy sex wouldn’t have helped to keep our heads straight.
I walk up to Chuck and give him a soft kiss on the cheek. “Good night, Chuck.”
“Night, Kate.”