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Craig scowled at Lucy, as though it was her fault, and she merely shrugged. “She has a point.”
“Can we, um, just get this over with?” Reece Sullivan asked, tugging at an ancient red bow tie that Lucy and Brandi had commandeered from their dad’s closet.
Brandi gave him a curious look, her crooked ponytail touching her shoulder as she studied him. “You don’t want to be the groom?”
Reece made a face. “I don’t want to get married. Ever.”
Brandi’s face turned red, the sure sign of a full-on tantrum, and Lucy rushed to mollify the birthday girl.
“Come on guys, let’s just get this over with. We’ll be quick, and it’ll make Brandi happy.”
“How come you’re not more annoyed?” Craig asked, giving Lucy a suspicious look. “You were supposed to ride bikes with Robin.”
“I wanted to do something nice for my sister,” Lucy said with a serene smile.
C
raig rolled his eyes, and Brandi beamed, both taking her answer at face value.
As Reece and Lucy stood before “Reverend Brandi” and pretended to exchange vows, she snuck a glance at Reece, saw him giving her a knowing look.
She broke eye contact, and bit her lip, wondering if he knew. Wondering if he knew as well as she did, that someday…
They’d be exchanging vows for real.
Chapter 12
Lucy
When I’d planned this road trip, I’d thought I’d be doing it alone—and I thought I’d prepared myself for a little jab of the loneliness of rolling through a strange city all by myself.
But sitting here at the cute Wilmington restaurant I’d bookmarked weeks ago, I realize that there’s something worse than traveling alone.
It’s worse to travel with someone who absolutely despises you. To be sitting all alone at a four-top table, not because of circumstance, but because your travel companion can’t stand the sight of you.
I suppose that’s not fair. The loathing is mutual. And I’m pretty sure I hate him for what he did more than he hates me. Which begs the question. Why does he hate me?
I’ve never quite understood that part.
He’s the one who messed up.
He’s the one who was making out with another girl within hours of getting in my pants for the first time.
Me: the wronged.
Him: the wronger.
But it hadn’t felt that way in the motel this afternoon. It had felt like he hated me.
I take a sip of my better-than-expected chardonnay and mentally kick myself for going there with him today. The stupid Someday game had just rolled off my tongue. Apparently the past six years of heartbreak weren’t enough to erase the ten that came before that. The decade of my life where Reece wasn’t just a part of my life, he was my life. My everything.
The server comes over, asks if I want to order another glass of wine, and well, what the hell, sure I do. The restaurant is walking distance to the motel; I can stumble home if necessary.
I hold off ordering my food, figuring I might as well stretch out the dinner since I’m not exactly dying to get back to the gross motel. Plus, I can sleep in a bit tomorrow, get a later start. Our next stop is Savannah, which is hardly some several days’ grueling drive from Wilmington.
I take a deep breath and try to settle down. And even as I order myself not to, I reach out for my cell, which I’ve purposely put facedown on the table so as not to look at incoming messages.
Or rather, the messages that aren’t coming.
