Page 23 of Love's a Script
“Can someone look up if snowfall on your wedding day is good or bad luck?” said Mary’s former client, and now bride, Vanessa. She sat by the window with three artists transforming her face and hair with different tools, and Mary inched closer until Vanessa spotted her and jumped to her feet, squealing.
“I love this woman,” Vanessa said, introducing Mary to the room. “She’s the whole reason Ian and I are here today.”
Mary smiled, lowering her head in gratitude. It never ceased to amaze her that she played a role in people’s happiness. “I wanted to give you a small gift on behalf of everyone at Hearts Collide,” Mary said, presenting the card and box covered in pretty paper. The bride and her bridesmaids gushed over the luxurious candle set and accessories.
“Have you eaten?” Vanessa asked as the stylists corralled her back to her seat. “We’re getting food delivered soon if you want to stay.”
“No, that’s all right. Enjoy this moment, and I’ll see you later.” Mary left the suite and headed straight to the main level for the breakfast buffet. She found the hotel’s restaurant packed mostly with guests excited to kick off a day of skiing and snowboarding. Once the hostess led Mary through the carpeted dining room to a table near some windows, she joined the buffet line and selected foods from the silver domes that would tide her over until cocktail hour. While taking in the spread at the fruit station, Mary happened to look across the pass and was shocked to see Ruben—handsome as ever in a tan cable-knit sweater—adding pineapple to his crowded plate.
She’d just committed to limiting her interactions with him that week, but here he was. It was lighting-striking-thrice type of odds.
What was he doing here? For a dreadful moment, she feared he was also a guest at the wedding, but the name tag attached to the branded lanyard about his neck suggested he was attending the business conference she’d seen signage for in the hotel lobby.
The man behind Mary cleared his throat in a way that signaled to her that she’d been standing in place too long. She quickly ladled chunks of melon she didn’t even want onto her plate and moved along, keeping her head down to avoid accidentally making eye contact with Ruben. He remained in her peripheral sight, however, so she knew when he left the buffet area.
When it was time for her to return to her table, she stopped shy of the exiting steps, realizing Ruben was seated somewhere in the dining room. He could very well be at the table next to hers, and she wasn’t prepared for an interaction with him right now.
“Can I help you with something, ma’am?” asked a uniformed staff member.
“Yes,” Mary said. “Is it possible for me to take this plate to go?”
“You’ve got something on your shirt,” Ruben said to Chesa when she plopped down on the seat across from him in the hotel restaurant.
“Hollandaise,” she said, sighing. “Where did you get the croissants?”
“At the very front, but you can have mine.” He pushed his plate toward her, and he watched her take the pastry and pull it apart before tentatively asking, “How’re you doing?”
They were on day two of a weekend-long media and communications conference—a gathering of the most extroverted chatterboxes—and Chesa had been having a rough go of things. It started with the organizers misprinting her name on her badge as “Cheese”; next, she discovered that her hotel room had poor Wi-Fi connection; then yesterday she’d accidentally missed the only panel she’d been looking forward to.
“The weekend is cursed,” she said, looking out of the windows where heavy winds were creating grooves and waves in the fallen snow. “I might head home after the talk at eleven. Sorry to abandon you.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll let you know if I learn something earth-shattering in the afternoon sessions.”
After breakfast, the cohosts left the restaurant for a conference hall marked on their schedules. When they found the event photographer already in the room, Chesa said, “I can’t with him today,” and used her notebook to shield her face. The photographer had stalked the halls all weekend, zipping down the aisles like a spinning top, taking pictures at angles that could not possibly be flattering. Ruben was sure he’d been caught mid-yawn.
During a break between sessions, Ruben parted from his cohost’s side to refill his bottle at a water fountain. He moved with the slow line while his attention wandered the open area on his left. People dressed in formal attire mingled near closed double doors decorated with a flower arch. Must be a wedding, Ruben thought. His eyes then landed on a woman partially turned away from him. Her rich skin tone and hair—a familiar hue of darkened honey, made him lean forward to get a better look at her profile.
Mary.
He smiled, amused by the coincidence. If it weren’t for the conversation she was engaged in, he’d have called out to her and shared in the absurdity. She looked incredible as always, but unlike the sensible work-appropriate outfits he’d always seen her in, this dress exposed her round shoulders and closely followed the shape of her wide hips and perfectly drawn-in waist. Her legs?—
“Dude, you’re up,” said the man behind Ruben in the line. He could’ve sworn there were people ahead of him moments ago. He quickly filled his water bottle and left the queue intending to approach Mary, but she was no longer where he’d last seen her. Disappointed, Ruben headed to his next meeting, and for the rest of the day, he would scan every room he entered for sign of her.
The wedding ceremony had gone over without a hitch, and now that the bouquet had been tossed, speeches made, and the tiered cake cut, the families and friends of the newlyweds were on the dance floor. Mary, however, was having no such fun.
The moment news spread among attendees that she was the matchmaker who’d brought Vanessa and Ian together, she’d been flocked by those who wanted to know details about the union and singles who were keen on repeating the success of their hosts. She spent close to an hour speaking over the bass of the DJ’s set list, so the moment she had a chance, she snuck away for a break. The break was only meant to last a few minutes, but in the quieter halls not tainted by the smoke machine and the sourness of booze, Mary decided to covertly call it a night. People were flailing more than dancing at that point, anyway, and she needed to be up early to catch the first shuttle back into the city.
While waiting for the elevator, she momentarily tensed when the doors opened on a man with Ruben’s complexion and build. The coincidences were making her paranoid, and the end of her working relationship with Ruben couldn’t come soon enough.
Once in bed, Mary fell asleep easily even with the thrashing wind outside her window. But where in reality she’d been able to evade Ruben, in sleep she dreamt she stood in a hallway of doors where on the other side of each one stood Ruben. Ruben in a mullet wig; Ruben with a fake moustache; Ruben dressed as a clown; Ruben, completely naked, but hiding his dick behind a bouquet. It was more confusing than erotic.
By 6 a.m., Mary was awake, back in a realm where she could control her thoughts. She prepared for the journey home and then left her room for the main level. The lobby was barren, except for the two front desk staff and a small group of seated travelers waiting for the outgoing shuttle. They all stared at the cloudy scene on the other side of the tall windows where the rough winds from the night persisted and threw the snow around, creating small funnels of white.
The roads would be a mess, Mary realized.
“Do you know if the seven o’clock shuttle is still scheduled to leave on time?” she asked the front desk clerk checking her out of her room.
“Do you have the RoadRunner app?” he asked dutifully.
