Page 52 of Holiday Wedding
Dean doesn’t do that. Instead, he moves a big step away, so far that he bumps into the closed door. Reaching behind, he fumbles for the doorknob and opens it, practically falling out of the room.
“Everything’s fine now. You can manage the rest,” he mumbles before he turns around, running straight into the tailor. She loses her balance and trips, but he catches her. She gasps, her accusing gaze bouncing between the two of us. I’m sure we look guilty as heck, with him all flustered and my dress hanging off my shoulders. Dean reaches out and swings the door shut, cutting off my view. He leaves me there.
Alone.
18
Friday, December 20
4 days until the wedding
Jenny
It’s been a rough day. I spent several hours this morning trying different angles to figure out who Caleb’s stalker is, with no success. My computer program glitched, and I had to restart it from the beginning. A check-in with Ron and Bradly revealed they have no leads.
I’m on my way to have lunch with Eddie, who’s back in town for the day. This time there’ll be no Dean to save me. He’s with Caleb, who has a matinee performance. Eddie and I are supposed to meet at a local deli. I get there first and grab a booth by the window. It’s snowing even harder today, with gusts of wind that blow flurries across the sidewalk.
On the corner, a man dressed up like Santa Claus rings a large brass bell rhythmically. People passing by drop cash into a bucket that hangs swinging from a pole. Even though I’m inside, I can hear that faint repetitive chiming.
Eddie’s late. Bored, I pull up the list of suspects that Dean sent me. In another tab, I open Caleb’s Secret Santa website. I flip back and forth between the two, trying to figure out who the stalker might be. When a voice clears loudly next to me, I jump, startled. It’s Eddie, standing over me. Guiltily, I place my phone face down on the table.
“Hi,” I greet him brightly, hoping this meeting will go better than the last.
He shoves a brown paper–wrapped sandwich at me. “Here, got yourfavorite. Grilled cheese made with marble rye.” He sits down and unwraps his tuna salad on white.
I grab it and tear open the packaging. The smell of toasted bread hits me, and I close my eyes, inhaling it. “Yum. Gwen’s mom is the best at making these sandwiches, but this comes in second place. I’ll give you some money for it,” I tell Eddie, knowing what a cheapskate he can be. When he got lunch for our department meetings in L.A., he’d make everyone pay for their own meal, down to the taxes and tip. It was always a nightmare, reporters grumbling as they opened the calculator apps on their phones. Nine times out of ten, I’d pitch in extra cash at the end because we were short.
“No need,” says Eddie as I take my first bite.
I almost spit my food out. “Really?”
“It’s fine.” He gives me a benevolent smile, which I don’t buy for one second.
“Why are you being nice?” I ask, my mouth twisting with suspicion.
He holds up his hands, like I’m about to rob him. “We can be friends, Jenny. Maybe something more?”
I put down my sandwich, quickly losing my appetite. “What?”
He swallows his food and takes a drink of soda, drawing out the silence.
“Eddie,” I warn, wishing I could throw the salt shaker at him.
“It’s just that seeing you with your new boyfriend got me thinking,” he says with his mouth full.
I almost laugh when he calls Dean my boyfriend. What a ludicrous idea. We could never be more than friends.
Then why can’t you stop obsessing over when you were in the changing room together? About how warm his hands were?My annoying inner voice asks questions.
“Well, quit it. There’s nothing to think about,” I say to Eddie and to myself.
Eddie leans over the table, closer to me. His expression sincere, he says, “We were good together, Jenny. It’s hard for me to admit it, but I was wrong to break up with you. I want you back.”
“I’m sorry. What?” I sputter.
“I mean it.” He argues, “We make sense. You and this Dean guy, what’re you thinking? You’ll be home in L.A. in a couple of weeks.”
I suck in a breath, offended he doesn’t have faith in my fake relationship. “Dean and I can do it,” I tell him, with no idea where those words are coming from. He’s right. I will leave New York in less than a week. A relationship with Dean would be doomed from the start.
