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I choke on my bagel. “Okay. Okay, calm down.” I glance around, to make sure Thomas hasn’t entered the room. “We did sleep together. But,” I add before she can squeal. “It was a one-time thing. He’s not going to become my boyfriend, much less my husband.”
“But—”
“No,” I say, lifting my hand and making a shush motion. “I love you, I’d do anything for you, but not give my life away to a guy. Especially not that guy.”
She sighs. “You’re still anti-matrimony? Even seeing how happy Jon and I are?”
“I’m not anti-matrimony,” I correct her gently. “I’m anti-matrimony for me. There’s a big difference.”
“Huh.” She lifts the string of her tea bag and bounces it in her mug as she watches me. “So you guys are just . . . boink buddies?”
“One-time boink buddies. Scratching an itch. Now that it’s scratched, we’ll go back to being just friends for the remainder of the weekend, and then civil acquaintances in the future.”
Collette is smiling, more to herself than at me, and I narrow my eyes. “Why are you smirking?”
“Nothing,” she says, all sweet innocence. “Just really looking forward to watching this day unfold.”
Determined to prove Collette wrong, I make sure to talk to Thomas at the first possible moment so awkwardness doesn’t have a chance to form.
The hotel has a free shuttle to the wineries, and I can tell he’s surprised when I plop down beside him.
“You weren’t at breakfast,” I say.
“I was, just late. I wanted to get in a run first.”
I stare at him, aghast. “A run. You are the worst.”
“If it makes you feel better, it wasn’t my best run. For some reason, I had a little less energy than usual.”
“Hmm.” I suck in my cheeks. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“Yes. You sound devastated,” he says, a smile in his voice.
“Collette knows about last night,” I whisper, scrunching down a little in the seat and lowering my voice.
He doesn’t look as surprised or dismayed as I expected. Instead, he shrugs. “Jon knows as well. He saw me on my way out to my run, and without me saying a word, he just grinned his shitty face off.”
I laugh at the description. “Collette says she thinks I had Fancy Sex.”
He looks down at me, interested. “Did you?”
I peer up at him. “No.”
His gray gaze narrows, and I grin. “Maybe?”
I nearly add a sassy retort about needing a repeat to know for sure, until I remember that we’re not doing repeats, that a do-over would make things . . . complicated.
“Can I see your phone?” I ask, extending a palm.
“Um, no.”
“Please? Just for a sec. I want to look something up.”
He shakes his head. “No, you want to change my alarm song to something terrible to get back at me.”
My laugh is startled. “Wow. Maybe you know me better than I thought. Quick, what’s my favorite color?”
Thomas glances at my hair. “Blue?”
I touch the colored part of my hair, though today I’ve interspersed the blue with the blonde in a French braid, rather than style it in its own way.
“Yes. But, I like to think the fact that my hair is colored in something other than blonde or brown that makes the statement, not the color itself.”
“And what statement is it making?”
I consider his question seriously, because I guess I’ve never had to answer it aloud before. “I suppose, it says that I may have the office job, and have lived in the same building for years, but that I’m still me.”
“And who are you?”
I scowl at him. “You ask annoying questions.”
“Annoying, because you don’t know how to answer?” he challenges.
“I know who I am,” I shoot back.
But as I say it, I wonder if it’s true. Because even when talking to Thomas drives me crazy, I find I never want our conversations to end.
And that doesn’t sound like me at all.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Saturday, October 8
The wine at the tasting is mediocre, at best, but nobody seems to mind, and by the time we get to lunch at an artisanal pizza place, everybody is in jovial moods. Everyone easily seems to find their spot around the long wooden table, and I’m not sure if I find him, or he finds me, but somehow Thomas and I are seated beside each other, just as we’d been on the bus, and again at the winery.
Math, I tell myself. It’s simple math, that we are the only non-couple, and us pairing up makes sense.
For logistical reasons. Of course.
Collette’s and Stephanie’s smirks say exactly what they think of my logic, so I ignore them.
The restaurant is an excellent pick by Thomas. Lots of windows, an open-concept kitchen with a huge pizza oven. It’s the kind of place that puts artisanal honey on their specialty pizzas and serves cocktails in mason jars.
“Now, see,” I mutter to myself, as I peruse the menu. “This is why people have boyfriends.”
