Page 18 of My Ex-Best Friend's Wedding

“All right. Be there as fast I can.”

I splash water on my face, brush my teeth, and twist my hair into a knot at my neck. Then I pull on the jeans lying on my bedroom chair, slip my arms through a long-sleeved T-shirt that’s soft and roomy enough to cook in and has the grease splatters to prove it, then shove my bare feet into a pair of mules.

In the kitchen I thumb through my favorite recipes and finally pull one for eggs Florentine—the dish itself is simple but can be presented elegantly. I pull everything in my refrigerator and freezer that might come in handy and stuff them into the go bag that I always keep at the ready. Then I make a quick list of the things I’ll need to stop for.

It’s early and the season hasn’t started yet so both the Beach Road and Highway 158 that parallels it are quiet. So is the Washington Baum Bridge that takes me to Roanoke Island. Even with my stop at the grocery store I’m at the Dogwood by seven fifteen. I pull into the grassy area between the Dogwood and Deanna’s house as quietly as I can then almost tiptoe up the porch steps and in through the kitchen door.

“Bless you.” Dee hands me a cup of freshly brewed coffee and takes my bag from me. “I’m going to finish setting the tables. Let me know what else I can do.”

“Aye, aye.” Halfway through the cup of coffee, I’ve got the spinach sautéing in the pan and am cracking eggs into a big bowl. The frozen muffins are thawing on the counter next to a melon, a pineapple, several bananas, and a bunch of grapes. Confident that everything is in place I pop in my earbuds and tuck my iPhone into my pocket. I like to cook to music because it enhances my focus and helps me get in a rhythm. Sometimes it’s Joni Mitchell, other days it’s Bette Midler, or maybe even Bob Marley. Today I go with Lynyrd Skynyrd because I’m still trying to wake all the way up. Deanna walks in and out of the kitchen while I chop, mix, and sauté to “Sweet Home Alabama.”

At exactly 8:29A.M.everything’s ready. The eggs Florentine, breakfast sausage, and roasted potatoes sit on a warming tray beside a cut glass bowl of fresh fruit ready to be plated. I place pitchers of juice, an open bottle of champagne, and champagne flutes on the sideboard in the dining room then carry a basket of warm muffins and flower-shaped pats of butter to both tables and smile at the guests who are making their way to their seats. I’m about to head back to the kitchen when Jake, wearing a pair of dress jeans and a white oxford button-down with the sleeves rolled up, walks into the dining room.

He hesitates briefly when he sees me, but he doesn’t look anywhere near as surprised to see me as I am to see him. I take a step back toward the kitchen as he takes a seat, but his eyes follow me as I back out of the room and past the butler’s pantry and half bath. I peek out from behind the kitchen doorframe and wish there were somewhere to hide. There are no doors between the living room/dining area and the galley kitchen.

“Dishy, isn’t he?” Dee asks from behind me.

“Who?” I try to sound nonchalant, but my heart is sprinting in alarm.

“Tall, dark, and good-looking,” she says. “His name’s Jake Warner. He’s the one I told you about. He owns WarnerHoldings.” She goes out to pour and pass mimosas while I garnish and prepare plates then carry them out to the guests, careful not to look Jake in the eye. It takes everything I have not to turn and race back to my car.

I knew that he hadn’t left town right after he came to see me when Bree told me about the man who’d bought Lauren’s books, but I had assumed he was long gone by now. I promised him that I’d tell Lauren the truth and make the introduction and I will, but I think we were both too shaken at the time to negotiate an exact time frame. And I sure as hell haven’t thought out the details. All I know is that I need a chance to try to explain everything to her before they meet. I know I’ll have to do it while she and Spencer are here. But I’m so afraid. She’s had trouble dealing with an unexpected proposal. There’s no way I can introduce her to her up-till-now deceased father without sufficient warning. Somehow I’m going to have to make her understand that I kept him from her only for her own good. And, I tell myself yet again, for his.

Dee flits in and out while I try to look busy even though I’m cowering at the farthest end of the kitchen. I’m so shaken by Jake’s presence that I don’t even ask Dee whether she’s serious about selling. I prepare a fresh pot of coffee then make a round of the tables, refilling coffee cups then muffin baskets, smiling somewhat inanely without making eye contact. When people finally begin to leave the dining room, I do washup at double speed and begin shoving things in my bag like a burglar making a quick getaway.

“I heard Lauren is engaged to her playwright,” Deanna says on her way in with the empty champagne bottles. “You must be so excited.”

I don’t ask who told her. The Outer Banks may stretch for hundreds of miles but the number of full-time residents is small and people are connected in surprising ways. News travels fast. “Yes.” I hear Jake’s voice in conversation with someone out in thedining room, but I lower my voice anyway. “He surprised her by proposing on her birthday.”

“Wow. Are they going to get married here?” She’s known Lauren since she was a baby and is genuinely excited about the news.

At the moment all I want is to get out of here. “I don’t know. They’re planning a visit down. I’m hoping we’ll look at places while they’re here.” I grab my things and turn, intending to tiptoe out the kitchen door. But when I glance over my shoulder I see Jake standing inside the kitchen. I can tell from his face that he’s overheard at least part of our conversation.

“Jake Warner,” Dee says, stepping toward him with a smile. “I’d like to introduce you to the person who cooked your breakfast. This is my good friend...”

“Kendra Jameson.”

“Why, yes.” She looks to me and I see the question in her eyes.

It’s Jake who answers. “Kendra and I go way back.”

“You do?” Puzzled, she glances between us trying to figure out why neither of us seems surprised to see the other. And why I hadn’t already mentioned knowing him.

“Yes.” I swallow and search for something that will resemble a smile. “We knew each other growing up in Richmond.”

Dee is watching my face closely. She’s a good friend, but I’ve never even hinted at the truth about Lauren’s father. I hope like hell that Jake’s not going to blurt anything out.

“Our families were good friends.” He’s staring at me and although his tone is matter-of-fact, I can see the question—make that the suspicion—in his eyes. Although I promised him that I’d tell Lauren the truth, I wasn’t necessarily planning to do it immediately. And I certainly didn’t expect him to hang around waiting to meet her. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but did I hear you say that your daughter’s coming to town?”

“Yes,” I bite out, though I’m pretty sure I’m still smiling. “I didn’t realize you were still in town.”

We stare at each other. One dark eyebrow sketches upward. He’s seized the upper hand and he knows it.

“How long do you plan to be here?”

Dee is watching us, her eyes moving back and forth, as if we’re a match at Wimbledon.

“I have to be in South Carolina and Georgia most of the week, but I’ve decided to keep my room here to use as a base. Ms. Sanborne does a great job. The Dogwood’s a fine property.”

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