CHAPTER NINE

Ghost of Boyfriend Past

IT’S FRIDAY. I’VE BEEN happily painting the new conceptual for the Carriage House at my desk all morning. Not with real paint, but with digital painting software, using a tablet and pen. I’m also chatting with Ellie and watching the clock.

My co-workers are throwing Bradley and me an engagement party at Ditty’s after work. And unlike my family’s, it’s not shared with anyone. Tonya was wrong. Ren didn’t need to start showing before my family would kiss my wedding plans goodbye.

They never even said hello.

I carefully planned my wardrobe to transition from work to the party. I’m wearing a gray sleeveless tank dress I bought with Ren a while back and to-die-for pumps. I have a cardigan on now for the office and my hair is tied back in a loose pony. But as soon as it’s time to go, the sweater and tail are history.

Tonya left a Starbucks on my desk this morning. She won’t really apologize, but at least she knows why I’m mad. Mom still doesn’t know why, but she apologized, twice, first in an e-mail, then in a voice message asking if I got her e-mail. Why e-mail if you’re going to call?

ELLIE-BELL: Did he actually call them Mary Kate and Mary Francis?

KENZI SHAW: Yes, and they were completely into the whole movie thing.

ELLIE-BELL: I’m dying. DYING! I want a Pretty Woman moment!

I haven’t talked with Shane since yesterday. I keep eyeing the chat window on Facebook to see if the green dot is lit up next to his name. I’m sure they have Internet at the farm. Maybe not. It’s gray. Or maybe he’s on his way back already? I don’t know. He’s not online, which is good because I don’t want him to know that I am. I could turn off my chat, but then how would I know if he were, or talk to Ellie about him? Very mature reasoning.

Using the movie images Shane provided as the background, I’m almost done blocking in the colors on another layer. I call it the mucky-muck layer. It’s my own made-up term for the loose foundation of a painting. The detail work comes in after to give it shape and perspective.

I couldn’t sleep, and we need to get the Carriage House conceptual done, so I came in a few hours early. Being lost in my process again is calming, almost therapeutic. Maybe needed.

Michelangelo is known for saying every block of stone has a statue inside. And it’s the artist’s job to release it. It’s the same with painting. The final work already exists. It just needs to be revealed. I’ve tried to explain how this works to Bradley, but he doesn’t really understand what I mean. I’m not sure I understand it. I just accept its truth.

Using my pen and tablet, I start to apply lines in thin strokes to define the main movie images. Right now, I’m working on the poster image of Love Actually.

I love the story line with Colin Firth and his housekeeper, who speaks only Portuguese. One of my favorite moments is when he marches through town with her entire family behind him. He proposes in her language only to hear the answer in his. Language doesn’t prove to be a barrier at all.

Biting my lip, I’m lost in the feeling of . . . of what? I’m completely getting carried away in all of this. Which was the point, right? Isn’t that what Shane wanted? For me to remember how much I loved these romantic comedies so it would transfer into my work. That’s the whole point of the Love Like the Movies list. I open the e-mail and look through them again.

1. Sleepless in Seattle

2. Pretty Woman

3. Bridget Jones’s Diary

4. 27 Dresses

5. Dirty Dancing

6. Sixteen Candles

7. Love Actually

8. Say Anything

9. You’ve Got Mail

10. My Best Friend’s Wedding

I stare at the screen, deflated.

It’s about his concept, not me. And these are movie moments, not real life. I almost wish Shane had never come back, because the comparison is a bit depressing.

Glancing up, I catch sight of Bradley walking over. I minimize the chat window and continue to mix colors, trying to get a rich russet, but since I’m painting with the digital color wheel of RGB, my primary mix is giving me a brown-gray sludge.

“Hi, hon.” Bradley glances at the monitor then leans on my desk, facing away from it.

He looks good. Clean cut and sophisticated in a fitted crisp white button down. Bradley eyes my bright pink cardigan with matching skinny belt and bunches his forehead. “You’re bright today.”

“Oh, yeah. Guess I am.” I hadn’t thought about it. This morning I just felt like wearing something colorful.

Bradley leans close and lowers his voice even though no one’s around. “Look, I’ve been thinking about what you said, about the wedding, and if you want spring, then it’s spring. I don’t care. I just want you.”

I stop mixing my sludge and look at him. Bright blue eyes stare back. He just wants me.

“But will you at least consider moving things up? Please?” His lips curl in a soft smile as he hands me a Post-it. “Yeah, I had an early lunch with Grayson and we got to talking, and he said Ren knew someone. Anyway, he just called back with her number.”

I look at the note. Bethany Chesawit. Wedding planner. The phone number and address are scribbled below her name. I’m shaking my head. “Bradley, we didn’t even pick a date.”

“I know, but look . . .” He points to the Post-it. “She’s supposed to be the best and she owes Ren a favor, so she fit you in on Monday. This way you can get an idea of the needed time frame to schedule everything.”

“Wait, I can get an idea? You’re not coming?”

“No. Remember, I’m leaving after the party and won’t be back until Monday night, so maybe ask your mom? Or even Ren?”

ELLIE-BELL: Okay, I’m back.

He turns at the chirp, but disregards it. “Listen, we’ll do it whenever you want, but the sooner we’re married, the sooner we can start trying.” He gives a sheepish grin. “I don’t know. I’m just ready, I guess. I’ve really been thinking about it lately.”

My heart skips. He’s been thinking about it. I can almost hear the baby clock ticking. I’m going to be thirty. Looking at Bradley and his blond-hair, blue-eye combo, I can’t help but think of the little girl I saw at the mall. Are the dad’s traits responsible for hair and eye color?

I shrug with a smile. “Okay, I’ll at least get an idea of the time frame needed. But . . .” I hold up a finger. “I’m not promising anything. And definitely not six weeks.” This is everything I’ve wanted. Marriage, a family . . . and he’s ready.

Bradley pushes a stray strand of hair from my cheek, leans over and sneaks a chaste kiss, then eyes the screen. “Is that for Bennett?”

“Yeah . . .” I’m actually pleased with how well it’s turning out. I’m kind of proud of it. I angle the screen so he can take a better look.

He doesn’t. “Sooner it’s finished, sooner he’s outta here.”

“Hey, I was looking for you.” Clive’s leaning out of his office and pointing at Bradley.

“I’ll see ya later.” He winks before leaving.

I watch him walk away. Broad shoulders, clean cut, and golden. That’s Bradley. I do love him. We have a great foundation to build on and he’s ready.

Maybe it won’t be a movie life, but it still can be a good one.

WHEN ELLIE AND I GOT back from our late lunch, the conference room door was closed. Not a big incident in its own right. I mean, doors do open and close. But Shane’s supposed to be back and meeting with Clive and Bradley, and I’m almost positive he’s in there.

A day without Shane around has cleared my head a little. I’ve dissected the situation from every angle and perspective, and have come to a conclusion.

He’s a ghost, a boyfriend from the past whose sudden reappearance has conjured up old, lingering feelings. And those are getting mixed up with the movie moments. It’s stress from the wedding, my job, Ren’s pregnancy announcement, and Tonya. It’s a lot to take in.

Ellie said I should put it to a challenge. She’s calling it the TFT. Tummy Flip Test.

After not seeing Shane for a day, and no new movie moments to obscure things, it shouldn’t be confusing at all when I do. It should be a nonevent, really. No fireworks or firecrackers, maybe just a tiny sparkler to signify an old flame. That’s all. And that’s perfectly acceptable.

I’m anxious to put myself to the TFT, so I can put all this SBN, Shane Bennett Nonsense, behind me. Marriage is about stability and family with someone you can trust. Not some haunting attraction with someone you can’t. The TFT will prove I’m capable of keeping the past, and its ghosts, deeply buried.

“Hey, Kenzi, are you excited for the engagement party? It’s almost time,” says Maggie, our receptionist, as she walks back to the front desk to grab the phone.

I smile brightly. “I can’t wait. Thanks.”

My smile drops with the click of the conference room door. This is it. Operation TFT is now in motion.

KENZI SHAW: It’s a go. Stand by.

I close out my chat and online windows with one hand and chew on the thumbnail of the other. Immediately, I’m busy, staring at my work in progress on the screen. Through my lashes, over the screen’s top, I can still see the legs of whoever comes out.

The door swings open. Dark denim. It’s him. He’s always in jeans. He’s not moving. Nothing is. The office seems silent, still. The only sound is my thumping heart.

I lift my eyes cautiously and see him standing in the doorway, talking with Clive. He’s wearing a fitted V-neck sweater over a tee, and there’s scruff on his jaw. I don’t remember if it’s rough, or if it softens by day’s end. I do remember shaving it once for him, though. I foamed up his face and slowly, carefully started to run the razor, when he jumped as if I’d nicked him. I didn’t, and we ended up in a shaving cream fight.

Clive’s leaving. I quickly dart my eyes back to my screen, so I can only see Shane’s feet again. He isn’t moving. What is he doing? I can feel his eyes on me. My heart drums louder.

Slowly, I glance up.

My stomach jumps.

He’s looking right at me.

It’s just like the first time I saw him at school. I looked across the lecture hall, and there he was, disheveled hair, wrinkled shirt, and copper-brown eyes. Staring at me. An entire conversation passed between us, unspoken but understood.

Now it’s the same conversation, only this time it’s forbidden.

The corners of his lips turn slightly as he holds my gaze. I should look away but I can’t. There’s an emotional swell in my chest. I chew on my nail and feel a smile wanting to escape behind my hand. My face contorts trying to hold it in.

Don’t do it. Do not smile. Keep it back . . . he smiles . . . and oh my God, it’s a great one.

Major tummy flip. It’s a double.

“There’s a smile I don’t often see,” Bradley calls out from behind Shane.

My stomach drops like a stone.

Of course, Bradley thinks the smile’s because of him, because he’s heading in my direction, and he’s my fiancé. The smile should be for him.

Oh, God. I’ve failed.

I was supposed to be able to control it.

Keep the past from muddling up my future.

I’m not smiling anymore.

“Hi,” I say with forced enthusiasm as Bradley nears. I bet I look guilty. I feel guilty. It’s percolating under the surface.

He sits on the edge of my desk the way Clive usually does. I dart my eyes back toward the conference room, but Shane’s turned and walked back in.

“I was thinking again, that you should call Ren about meeting with the wedding planner on Monday. It might be something you guys can connect on. It could be really good for you two.”

He’s solving. Helping.

I’m failing.

“Yeah, okay, she might like it. I’ll call right away,” I add, digging for my phone. Whatever he wants. I’m the worst fiancée. The worst human being.

“Good. All right, I need to finish up a few things before we head out.” He slaps his hands on his thighs and rocks up. “So, I’ll catch ya in about thirty?” He smiles and heads toward his office.

Looking around, I’m half convinced everyone witnessed the exchange and can see right through me to all my unsupervised thoughts.

ELLIE-BELL: Anything?

KENZI SHAW: What’s the line in My Best Friend’s Wedding? After she says, “I’m pond scum”?

ELLIE-BELL: What are you talking about?

KENZI SHAW: It’s “You’re lower.” And I’m lower. I’m the fungus that feeds on pond scum. The gunk that cruds up the stuff, that sits under the slime.

ELLIE-BELL: That’s a line in a movie?

Not exactly. My back is tensing. The muscles that run along the neck and shoulders are starting to spasm. I glance again at the conference room door. Forget fireworks, our TFT produced TNT. It’s an epic fail. And I’m the one who’s going to blow up. All my plans. Everything I want. One big kaboom, kerplowey, kersplat, and for what?

It’s about the movie concept, that’s why Shane’s here. So he doesn’t see me with Bradley, that doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like Julia Roberts’s character, Julianne, in My Best Friend’s Wedding when she pleaded with Michael, Choose me. Pick me. Let me make you happy.

No, Shane said, It’d be fun to work together, who else would pull off this concept, and he apologized for the past.

Okay, so old feelings still exist for me. So what. Relationships aren’t all about fireworks. Those fade over time, right? I straighten, pen suspended in air. My heart sinks.

It’s been seven years.

He’s like Connor Mead . . . and I’m like Jennifer Garner’s character, Jenny Perotti. What was his line? I quickly Google Ghosts of Girlfriends Past to find it. Here, yes . . . The power in all relationships lies with whoever cares less. It’s true. If I’m still muddled up in old feelings, Shane still holds this power over me.

He always did. And not just over me. Over all the girls. It wasn’t that I didn’t care that every female in college thought they had this special connection with him, I just got used to it. Although at Fossie’s, the flirty Mary didn’t seem to get his normal attention. His attention was solely on me.

Either way, I need a ghost buster.

Oh, I need to call Ren! Dialing quickly, my eyes keep darting to the conference room.

“Hello?”

“Ren, hi. It’s Kenz.” Oh my God, I’m my mother. “Well, of course you know it’s me—”

“Hi.”

“Well, I’m calling to ask if you’d like to maybe meet me Monday, at the wedding planner’s? Bradley said she was a friend, so—”

“Oh, I planned on it. I can only be there to get you started. But at least that way someone will be around to steer you in the right direction.”

Yes, because I couldn’t be trusted on my own. Well, maybe I can’t. Her registry pops to mind—yeah, not the time to get into that. “Okay, well, I’ll meet you there on Monday, then?”

She reminds me to dress appropriately before she hurries off to meet my mom and her decorator. They’re planning the nursery. Can’t plan my wedding, can’t save my paintings, can’t understand why I’m upset, but . . .

Eloping is sounding better and better. Maybe we should just get it over with before I do something stupid and Bradley leaves me, too. Kneading my neck, I roll my shoulders to loosen the tension. I need to be working, not thinking.

“Kenzi, how are things moving along with Bennett’s new concept?” It’s Clive, he’s walked around my desk and is leaning over my shoulder to see the screen. I didn’t even hear him walk up. Everyone’s in ghost mode.

I zoom out so he can see the entire collage of the movie stills Shane provided. All ten from our list can easily be identified, plus a few extras like When Harry Met Sally and Pretty in Pink. It’s one wide and narrow piece, which can then be spliced where needed for individual marketing pieces.

“Has Shane seen this yet?” Clive asks, still over my shoulder. He chews his gum loudly. It smells of spearmint.

“No, not yet. I wanted to get a little further alo—”

“No, this works, he’ll be thrilled. I’d save it off and make sure he knows it’s almost completed.”

“But it’s not.”

“Well, I’d like to bill him for stage two and that looks far enough along.” He stands, folds his arms, and chews, while regarding my screen with his head tilted.

Since we bill in thirds we received payment with the contract sign-on. The second will be upon conceptual approval, and third is with completion. I’ve never seen him so anxious to bill a client before. And it’s not done. I’m not ready.

Before I can argue, Clive has turned and is starting to leave.

“Oh.” He spins and backtracks a few steps. “I invited them to the after-work thing. I’d be taking them out anyway since they made the trip.”

Wait . . . “Who?” My heart’s beating faster.

Clive pops his eyes. “Peterson. Bennett. The clients.”

My I-can-handle-this bubble bursts. It’s splattered all over my engagement party outfit, and there’s no time to change.

Clive waves a hand dismissively. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

He invited Shane to my engagement party.

Yeah, I think that might be a problem.