Page 53 of Holiday Wedding
“How?” he scoffs. “Are you going to do long-distance?”
I lift my chin. “I’m willing to try it.”
Eddie crumples up his napkin and throws it angrily on the table. “You really like that guy enough to stay with him?”
“Yes. Yes, I do,” I declare, half-rising from my seat. “What Dean and I have is—it’s special.” A detached part of myself raises her eyebrows at my theatrics, but hanging out with Caleb must have improved my acting abilities because I dramatically clutch my heart and turn away. “I won’t give him up, not for anything.”
“You’re making a big mistake.” He also half-rises, shaking his finger at me. At that moment, his phone goes off. We both stare down at it and see the name of Eddie’s boss, our editor-in-chief, flash on the screen. Eddie sends me one last burning glare, rearranges his face, and picks up with a happy sounding, “Hello.” He sits back down and begins a tedious conversation about the summer issue and who they should feature on the front page.
After a few minutes of this, my eyelids grow heavy. “I’m going to go get a cup of coffee,” I whisper. Eddie nods, waving me away. There’s a long line at the deli counter. By the time I return, Eddie’s off the phone and eerily calm.
He slides a couple sheets of paper my way. It’s my latest article about Caleb. The one that should run in this weekend’s edition. It has red ink slashed all over it, corrections Eddie has made to my work.
“This was boring,” he says. “Redo it and send it back to me later today.”
I check my watch. “It’s already past 2:00 p.m., and I have to do a feature on Caleb at his restaurant tonight,” I protest.
Eddie pushes himself up and dusts crumbs off his shirt. “Guess you better get working on it.” Without a good-bye, he turns and walks out of the door.
It’s only after he’s gone that I notice my phone is sitting face up on the table, though I could have sworn I left it face down.
19
Friday, December 20
4 days until the wedding
Jenny
At least Caleb cooked me a delicious meal at his restaurant. It soothed the fact that I spent all afternoon reworking the article for Eddie.
I’ve been on a stakeout with Dean for the past three hours. I thought he might mention the incident in the dressing room, but he’s barely spoken to me, only answering my questions with one-word grunts. He keeps his expression carefully schooled, but I sense a quiet rage beneath it.
Frustration, I assume, because we haven’t identified the culprit.
I think about telling him that I’m worried Eddie saw something on my phone, but I’m too intimidated. Too scared to admit that once again I’ve spilled my friend’s secrets. Dean has started to accept me. He lets me in right away when I knock on the car window. I don’t want to lose his trust, especially since I’m nottotallysure if Eddie knows about the stalker.
After midnight, we give up on finding the Secret Santa. Dean insists on driving me back to my hotel. The weather outside has worsened, snow falling in thick blowing clouds until we can’t see more than two feet in front of us. We pull up to the curb and park. Dean peers out his window, frowning with disapproval at the small four-story boutique hotel I had picked out.
“Why are you staying here?”
I bristle, leaning around him to inspect the brick building with maroonawnings. It had looked so charming online, but in reality, well, it does appear to be a bit shabby. Not that I’m going to admit that out loud.
“What? It’s quaint.”
“It’s old.”
“Everything here is old, especially to me, coming from the West Coast. Besides, that was what I was going for. This hotel was built over 100 years ago. That’s why I like it. I want to embrace the history of this city.”
“Yeah, typhoid was so fun back then,” he says dryly.
“It’s historic. It’s special.” I throw up my hands, frustrated.
Dean’s shaking his head at me. “You’re crazy. There’s nothing special about small elevators and cramped closets.”
Now he’s making me angry. I mean,shouldI have read the reviews before I booked this place? Probably yes, but I don’t own a time machine, so what’s done is done.
“Like you need a big closet since you wear the same outfit every day. I’m convinced you only have three of those and you rotate them.” I gesture to his standard-issue dark-blue suit and roll my eyes.
