Page 3 of Finding Yesterday

And much more attractive too.

“Uh, thanks?” His eyes crinkle at the corners, but the hint of a smile falls away. “Claire…” The way he says my name is soft, kind. It warms my heart and makes me cringe at the same time—I must seem pathetic right now. “I can’t say I know a lot about pre-wedding jitters, but,”—he lets the smile break through—“you’ll be happy to know, my catering business is full service. So, what can I get you? A proper chair, water, an antihistamine?”

“An antihistamine?”

“You have a red splotchy thing going on”—he motions his hand around his neck, grimacing—“all around here.”

“Yeah.” I wave him away. “I get hive-ish when I’m stressed. It’ll go away.”

“Anything else, then? A helicopter? A rainbow? I’m not kidding, whatever you need.”

I study his face, realizing he has the same kind eyes and gentle smile he had as a boy before our lives got turned upside down. I know he probably feels obligated to make me feel better, but it’s still sweet. I open my mouth to say, “thank you,” but when I look at Jack, he’s glancing from me to the door, the color draining from his face.

I furrow my brows, and my caked-on foundation cracks around my eyes. “I might be splotchy, but you’ve gone ghost-ish.”

He inhales sharply. “I’ve got an issue with enclosed spaces, but it’s fine.” He exhales. “The door stays shut. The bride’s welfare is way more important than the caterer’s.”

What a fine pair we are. I manage a weak smile. “Thank you, but you should get your wine and go. I don’t want you to be eaten alive, online or otherwise.”

“Can I get someone for you?”

I slump, thinking. I couldn’t tell Emma, and Nate’s setting up to play the guitar for my wedding march, not that I’d tell him anyway. Idefinitelycan’t tell Daddy, who paid an obscene amount for this wedding. And my bridesmaids are all involved with Tangz in some way or another. “I don’t think so.”

“Maybe you could talk to me? I mean, given the circumstances. Try me on for size.” Jack pinches the bridge of his nose. “That didn’t come out right.”

That didn’t sound bad to me, but he seems so embarrassed, I can’t help but smile. I almost laugh, but then it falls away. “I can’t stand the thought of being the talk of the town.Again.”

Jack stares into nothing, as if weighing his words. “I understand.”

I nod and neither of us says anything.

We don’t have to. That’s the thing about the past—it’s always there. Even though we’ve lived different lives in different states, Blue Vine’s unsolved tragedy of a generation—the accident that killed my mother and his grandmother—binds us together forever.

I wonder what’s happened to him all these years—how he’s coped. Does that day haunt him like it does me?

Jack takes the wine bottle from my hands, his eyes bulging when he glances at the label. Then he pulls an opener out of his vest pocket.

I’m not sure if I should tell Jack all my personal business, but honestly, I have no one else to talk to. I rub my neck again. “Okay, here it goes. Hudson wants to play dung bingo on our honeymoon.”

“And…let me guess—you hate dung bingo?” He twists the opener and uncorks the wine. “Whatever that is?”

“It’s not about the bingo.” I pick at a piece of polish on my nail, and the whole thing chips off. “It’s about the lagoon.”

He hands me back the bottle, uncorked. “Sorry, I don’t have a glass with me.”

“That’s okay. Thank you.” I take a big swig, and I close my eyes. “Man, this is smooth.”

“Yeah, it is. It’ll be even more amazing after it’s had some time to breathe.” He sits on the crate kitty-corner from mine and fans me with his hand. “Your makeup’s kind of melting.”

I don’t even want to know how bad I look, and I burst into a laugh. Jack chuckles with me, and it feels good—sharing the ridiculousness of the moment. It’s a tiny reprieve from the muddle in my head.

He stops fanning me. “So, you…hate lagoons?”

“You’re a super cool human, Jack. But I can’t keep you here. I know you have stuff to do, wine zombies to fuel.”

“I’ve got time,” he says, and reaches a hand to steady my jackhammering leg. “I’m here for you as long as you need me.”

I haven’t heard those words from anyone in a long time, especially not Hudson, and the gesture makes my eyes mist. But I blink them clear as I pick up and stretch out the crumpled paper. “Hudson slid this under the door of my bridal room.” I clear my throat and read it aloud. “I just got the call, Claire! We finally landed an interview with the casino owner who grows coffee beans in Santa Barbara. We have to do it now, it’s our one shot to swing a deal. Imagine: Tangz, the only restaurant offering coffee made exclusively from US grown beans. We can’t pass this up.”

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