“Looks like they’re having troubles in Miami,” I say, jerking my chin toward the screen.
“Trying to change the subject, are we? You’re not going to make me beg for your story, are you?”
I swirl the ice in my glass. “Is this on the house?”
“On the house, along with the free advice.”
“All right. One ticket’s for San Francisco, the other one for Chicago. There’re two weddings today, and I need to choose which one to go to.”
“Two close friends?”
“You could say that.”
“Oh, okay. Let’s see, do you have a particular role in one of the weddings? I mean, do both your friends expect you to show up? Don’t you usually need to RSVP months in advance for this kind of thing?”
“Mmm, this wedding…” I push the Chicago ticket forward. “I’m supposed to be the maid of honor. This wedding…” I slide the San Francisco ticket next to its twin on the countertop. “I’m not invited.”
The bartender snorts. “Seems pretty straightforward to me. Why would you want to bail on a friend to go to a wedding you’re not invited to?”
I look him in the eyes. “To stop it from happening.”
“Woo-oh. And the plot thickens. My morning just got a lot more interesting than I was expecting. Is it about a guy? Is he the one who got away?”
“Yep.” I take another swig of Sambuca; it burns my throat as I swallow. “You don’t make burgers here, by any chance? I’m starving.”
“Burgers at seven in the morning?”
“I told you, I’m on U.K. time. And burgers are my favorite.”
“Sorry, but the kitchen’s closed. I can give you some tortilla chips.” He opens a new bag and pours them into a wooden bowl. “So, what’s his name?”
“Jake.”
“Jake.” The bartender pauses. “The name has appeal.”
“Not just the name.” I sigh.
“You want to tell me what happened?”
“We first dated in high school. After graduation, he wanted to go to Stanford, and I wanted to go to Harvard.”
The bartender whistles. “The war of the Ivy Leagues. What do you guys do?”
“I’m a lawyer. He’s a surgeon.”
“So what happened? You fought over schools, went your separate ways, and drifted apart during college?” he asks, his tone saying, “Same old, same old.”
“No. I went to Stanford instead, to be with him. He assured me we’d go to Harvard for grad school.”
“Oh. I sense that promise didn’t come true. So you stayed together through college as well. And…?”
“Stanford offered him a scholarship for Med School. Everything paid for. No student loans, no living expenses. It was an offer no one could’ve refused.”
“And that’s when you broke up?”
“No, not yet. I hadn’t applied to Stanford Grad School, so for me, it was either lose one year or move to Boston. Harvard was my dream, Stanford his. It wouldn’t have been fair for either of us to have to give up our dream school.”
“So you left?”
“Yeah. We spent the summer in California and I moved to Boston at the beginning of the fall term. We thought three years apart would be manageable. That’s when we found out why everyone says long distance relationships don’t work. School was demanding for both of us and catching a six-hour flight over the weekend became more and more difficult. We settled on leading different lives. We were used to sharing everything. Every day, every moment. Suddenly, we both had this huge chunk of life with different things in it. Things the other couldn’t understand or get excited about. It was hard. We started arguing, and…”
“And?”
“Depends who you ask. If you asked Jake, he’d probably tell you it was a miscommunication issue. He’d say I overreacted to him telling me about a job offer he’d received in San Francisco. If you asked me, I’d give you a slightly different version…”
“Was your career really that important?” the bartender asks.
“It wasn’t that I valued my career over my relationship with Jake. It was the sensation of always coming in second after his career. I’d given up my college dream for him. I’d waited all of graduate school… it was his turn to put me first. To put us first.”
“If he’s still in San Francisco, what’s made you change your mind now about being together?”
“I’m not sure I have changed my mind.”
“So why buy a ticket to San Francisco if you’re not even sure you want to try to work things out with him?”
“It was a rash, stupid decision. When I found out Jake was getting married, I panicked. My first thought was that I couldn’t let him do it.”
“So what’s changed?”
“I cooled off and thought about it.”
“And?”
“And I realized flying to San Francisco and confronting him was crazy. I mean, what are the odds, really, of us getting back together? I live in London, and he lives in San Francisco. I haven’t seen him in forever. I know nothing about his life. We ruined everything once already. How can we possibly make it work this time?”
“And yet here you are, staring at a ticket to San Francisco and contemplating crashing his wedding.”
“I can’t stop asking myself the ‘what if?’ question. I’m tired of living in a world of what ifs.”
“Meaning?”
“I might’ve been a tad unreasonable after our break up,” I admit.
“As in?”
“As in I moved to the other side of the world and ignored all his calls, emails, and messages. I wanted a fresh start, so I cut him out completely.”
The bartender grabs the now-empty wooden bowl and refills it with tortilla chips. “Why?” he asks.
“I was sure he could talk me into moving back to San Francisco if I gave him the chance.”
“And you didn’t want to quit your job for him?”
“I couldn’t. I owed it to myself to make the best choice for my career. But the fact remains that moving to the other side of the world didn’t help much in forgetting him. I’m still in love with him. He’s the only one I ever loved.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Three years.”
“And you haven’t seen him or spoken to him since then?”
“I’m a mess, I know.”
“How did you find out he was getting married?”
“Amelia told me—my best friend, the other one getting married today. Amelia, Jake and I are all from a small town near Chicago. She moved to London after getting her bachelor degree and she lives there with her soon-to-be-husband William. But she wanted to get married at home. Anyway, Amelia and Jake had some guests in common, they told Amelia about Jake’s wedding as they’d already RSVP’d ‘Yes’ to him.”
“Do you know the girl he’s marrying?”
“No.” I shake my head decisively. “I don’t know anything about her, and I’ve forced myself not to search Google for intel.”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“Yes. But I can’t give her a face. I’d never be able to crash her wedding if I did. She has to stay a ghost.”
“When are the weddings?”
“This afternoon.”
“Whoa. What’s so special about June 10 that everyone wants to get married today? And you’re hard-core. Shouldn’t you have tried to talk to the guy a little sooner? Are you literally going to barge into the church and yell ‘STOP!’ in the middle of the ceremony?”
“I’d decided not to go at all.”
“But you brought the ticket all the way from London, just in case.”
“I did. Having the ticket, even if I knew I wasn’t going to use it, made me feel calmer.”
“And now you’ve changed your mind?”
“I don’t know. I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“When does the plane leave?”
“Which on
e?”
“Tell me both times.”
“San Francisco’s eight thirty. Chicago’s ten forty-five.”
“So you have less than…” He pauses to look at his watch. “Twenty minutes before they start boarding for San Francisco.”
“That’s correct.”
“What’s Amelia’s take on the situation?”
“She got mad at me at first for even thinking about ditching her wedding. But then again, she’s always been a huge fan of Gemma and Jake.”
“Gemma?”
“That’s me. We all grew up on the same street, and we’ve been friends forever. Anyway, she’s marshaled a back-up maid of honor and she told me to follow my heart.”
“And what does your heart say?”
“My heart’s telling me it loves Jake. But this is too big. As you said, I can’t run into the church and beg him to cancel the wedding.”
“What time’s the wedding?”
“Six p.m.”
“What time does your plane land?”
I look at the ticket. “Noon.”
“So you’d have plenty of time to get there before the ceremony starts.”
“Mmm, I’m not so sure. The wedding’s in some fancy winery in Napa.”
“That’s barely an hour’s drive. You’ll still have all the time you need to get there and talk to him before he goes to the altar.”
“But what am I going to say?”
“Say that you love him.”
“And?”
“Nothing else. If he’s in love with you, it’ll be enough.”
“Say he doesn’t laugh in my face and tell me to leave. Say he admits he still loves me. It doesn’t change anything. I’m still in London, and he’s still in San Francisco.”
“You’ll figure something.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“You said it yourself: you don’t want to live in a world of what ifs, right? So it seems pretty obvious you have to try.”
“But I’m so scared.”
“Do you have anything to lose?”
“No, not really.”
“Then why not go?”
“What if he doesn’t love me anymore?”
“Then he doesn’t, and it will suck, but at least you’ll have your answer. But if you don’t go, and you don’t ask, you’ll never know, and you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. If you love him, go.”
My face becomes suddenly hot and an electric prickle spreads from my heart to my fingertips. “Right. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“They could arrest you for crashing a private party. Or the bride could sue you for emotional damages. Or…”
“I’m a lawyer; I can take care of myself in the law department. Are you on my side or what?”
“Of course I am. So, what’s the next step?”
“A car. I’m going to need a car in San Francisco. I need to rent a car.” My pulse is racing. I pick up my phone and tap away frantically. “Uhhuuuhhhu. It’s done. I did it. I’ve booked a car. I’m really doing this. Oh gosh. I’m doing it! Is it too lame if I want to high five you?”
“No, not at all.” He raises his palm. “Shoot away.”
I slam my hand into his. “I have to tell Amelia so she can get her maid-of-honor-plan-B rolling.”
“All passengers. Flight UA 730, with destination San Francisco, is beginning boarding at gate B 25. We’re going to start boarding families with small kids and passengers with special needs. Then, we’re going to board first and business class passengers. And finally, all other passengers…”
“That’s your flight they just announced.”
“It’s my flight. I’m going.” I fumble with my bag and carry-on luggage and almost fall from the stool. “How much do I owe you?”
“It’s on the house.”
“Everything?”
“Yeah. You go tell your man you love him. Go catch your love connection.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much.” I hurry toward the gate.
“Hey,” the bartender calls after me. “Let me know how it goes! I’m on Facebook.”
“What’s your name?” I shout back without stopping.
“I’m Mark Cooper. And you?”
“Gemma Dawson.”
Grab your copy of Love Connection!
Also by Camilla Isley
Romantic Comedies
Stand Alones
I Wish for You
A Sudden Crush
First Comes Love Series
Love Connection
I Have Never
New Adult College Romance
Just Friends Series
Let’s Be Just Friends
Friend Zone
My Best Friend’s Boyfriend
I Don’t Want To Be Friends
About the Author
Camilla is an engineer turned writer after she quit her job to follow her husband on an adventure abroad.
She’s a cat lover, coffee addict, and shoe hoarder. Besides writing, she loves reading—duh!—cooking, watching bad TV, and going to the movies—popcorn, please! She’s a bit of a foodie, nothing too serious. A keen traveler, Camilla knows mosquitoes play a role in the ecosystem, and she doesn’t want to starve all those frog princes out there, but she could really live without them.
Connect with me:
My Website: www.camillaisley.com/
Twitter: @camillaisley
Facebook
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Or just drop me an email: [email protected]
Acknowledgments
The first huge thank you goes to my street team. I’ve only just created this group a few months ago, and your support has already been overwhelming.
Thank you to all my readers. Without your constant support, I wouldn’t keep pushing through the blank pages.
Thank you to my editors and proofreaders, Michelle Proulx, Helen Baggott, and Jennifer Harris for making my writing the best it could be.
And lastly, thank you to my family and friends for your constant encouragement.
Cover Image Credit: Created by Freepik
I Don't Want to Be Friends Page 18
