Page 35 of Holiday Wedding
I fail. He’s too tall. “That doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets. “I wanted some coffee.”
“Coffee? At the same restaurant where I’m having lunch?” I ask doubtfully.
He shrugs. “You mentioned an Italian place. They always have the best cappuccinos.” He holds up the to-go coffee cup in his hand. He did, indeed, order a cappuccino.
Still, his story has more holes than a slice of Swiss cheese.
I tap my finger to my chin, regarding him. “So, you walked two blocks in the snow—”
“It wasn’t snowing—”
“Just for a caffeine fix?”
“I was tired. We all got up early—”
“And ended up in the same restaurant where I was having lunch with my boss?”
“Your ex,” he corrects me.
I tilt my head to the side. “Why’d you come over to my table then? If all you wanted was coffee?”
Dean takes a long sip of his drink, not meeting my gaze. A delaying tactic, I’m sure. Finally, he says, “I overheard what Eddie was saying to you and…”
“And?” I urge him on.
“I didn’t like it,” Dean says, a muscle ticking in his jaw. A quiet rage grows in his eyes. He looks scary. Dangerous. “Why do you put up with him? When he started up with that ‘bridesmaid, never a bride’ BS, you should have gotten up and walked away. Poured your drink over his head before you left.”
“I can’t do that!” My hand comes to my chest. Shocked, I say, “Eddie’s my boss.”
Dean takes a menacing step closer, his face reddening. “Of a department you want nothing to do with. You don’t like being an entertainment reporter.”
I bristle. “It’s better than no reporting.” I tell him the same thing I tell myself when I’m feeling disheartened about how I’ve stagnated in my career. How I’ve settled for less.
“It’s a stepping stone,” I say like a mantra. “A way to get to know the investigative team, so they’ll consider me the next time a spot opens.” I don’t mention how I interviewed for a job with them months ago, only to lose the position to a more experienced reporter from Florida. The night I found out was the one when I finally allowed Eddie to take me out to dinner.
Dean’s not buying it. He shakes his head at me with his lips curled.
His disgust ignites my fury. “Who are you to judge me, anyway?” I half-shout at him, drawing looks from strangers passing by on the sidewalk. “It’s none of your business!”
He draws in a sharp breath at that, his expression blanking. All the rage, the indignation, that was there a minute before is erased. He’s reverted to robot mode.
“You’re right.” His voice is flat. “I have no say in anything you do. I should have stayed out of it.” Like he’s some imperial prince in a grand ballroom,Dean gives me a small bow, bending at the waist and saying a formal, “My apologies.” He turns and walks away, without a single glance back.
I watch open-mouthed until he disappears, lost in a sea of strangers. My shoulders slump, and a hollow ache spreads through my chest. I replay the past two hours and see a million mistakes. Things I handled wrong withbothEddie and Dean. Things I should or shouldn’t have said. Ways I could have done better. Regret is heavy, the tightening of a noose around my neck.
When I return to my hotel, that uneasy feeling stays with me. I think of all the people I’ve failed recently—Caleb, Gwen, Dean.
Myself.
No wonder no one wants me.
In an effort to shake that thought off, I open up my laptop. It’s been a while since I did any hard-core coding, but the commands come back easily. I had an idea when I was with Dean in the flower shop earlier today. A way to track down Caleb’s stalker. I realize it’s too big a job for just me alone. Too big even for Dean. But not too big for my computer, which can work 24/7 without a break. I may be a failure in my career and love life, but I won’t fail Gwen. I’ll find the stalker and save her wedding.
12
Saturday,December 14
