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“Let’s focus on the things you do like about your future wife …”
His mouth forms thin line and he shoves his laptop aside. “I don’t know … it’s hard to think of those things right now.”
“I see that. Give it a try anyway.”
It takes a concerning moment longer than it should, but he throws his hands in the air before knitting his fingers behind his neck. “Okay, fine. She speaks French. Fluent. When we go to La Fontaine, it’s kind of hot listening to her order for us. And she does this little thing with her nose when she laughs, like it crinkles a bit. And she’s always making our house feel like a five-star hotel. Fresh flowers. Egyptian cotton sheets. Little candles everywhere. She makes everything into an occasion … which was annoying at first, but then I realized it was her love language. She likes to give gifts. It’s her way of showing she cares.”
“Good,” I say. “What else?”
He shrugs. “She always lets me pick the music when we’re driving somewhere.”
“And?”
“And her parents love me—so that’s a plus,” he adds. “I don’t know. I feel like I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel here. None of these things change the way I’m feeling.”
The sliding door slicks open and Paul steps in.
“Why the long faces, guys?” He ashes his cigar into his empty bourbon tumbler. “Cheer up, it’s happy hour.”
Moving for the fridge next, he cracks himself a beer and grabs two more, placing one in front of each of us.
“Jude’s still hellbent on talking himself out of marrying Stassi,” I say.
“For fuck’s sake.” Paul slams the beer opener on the counter. “Are we really back to this? She’s a nice young lady and you could do a hell of a lot worse.”
Jude’s silence is deafening.
“What is it with you and walking away from perfectly good women? First there was that girl back in college … Jovie I think was her name … she was a real catch … probably didn’t realize she could do better than you but loved you anyway … and then you tossed her to the side as soon as Stassi came along. Stassi made you grow up a bit. She got you a big boy job and made a man out of you. But here you are backtracking and God only knows why.” Paul shakes his head and chugs his beer. “You need to do some soul searching, Jude. And you don’t have much time to do it.”
“Does Stassi even want you back?” I ask, realizing our conversation took a left turn before we could get to that. “What’d she say last night?”
“She’s on the fence,” Jude says.
Ah.
There it is.
“Said she’s been feeling this way for a while now,” Jude adds. “I think it all came to a head after she looked at my search history.”
This isn’t about Jovie or cold feet: it’s about Stassi’s indifference and Jude’s inability to be alone.
He doesn’t want Jovie because he misses her or he’s suddenly grappling with unresolved feelings … she’s nothing more than his Plan B.
I leave my beer untouched. I don’t think I could drink it anyway—my jaw is clenched tight and my head is throbbing.
“I’ve got a client dinner to get ready for,” I say. “Rain check on the beer, Paul.”
I head upstairs, change, and exit through the garage to avoid seeing Jude again.
I don’t know where I’m going to go, just that I can’t be under the same roof as him right now or I might say something we’ll both regret.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Jovie
* * *
“Hi, stranger,” I say when Stone shows up at my door just past six. Exhaustion colors his handsome face, and he looks every bit the part of a man who’s had a day.
A few minutes ago, he called and said he was in the area. I didn’t hesitate to invite him over. I don’t know what this is yet. It’s all so new and confusing and wonderful. And labels only ever seem to ruin things. Whatever it is, I just know I haven’t stopped grinning for days and sometimes I get so caught up in a daydream I can’t feel the floor beneath my feet.
He greets me with a biting kiss, pinning me against the wall.
His hands run down my hips, sliding behind my thighs as he scoops me into his arms and lifts me up. I wrap my legs around him and lace my fingers around the back of his neck. Stone kicks the door closed with his foot then carries me to the couch.
His five o’clock shadow is rough against my neck as he tastes my flesh, and his fingers tug at my shirt as if he’s half-tempted to rip it off me again. I pull it over my head this time. If this is the rate we’re going, I’ll be out of a wardrobe this time next month.
