The Last

by Tawna Fenske

  I resist the urge to sigh like a surly teenager as I glance over at Junie. “Did you decide which dress?” I ask her. “The black or the purple?”

  “No,” Junie says.

  “No, you haven’t decided?”

  “No, you shouldn’t wear those dresses.” Junie walks past the pile of designer cocktail attire Lisa brought over for me. Instead, she reaches into my closet and pulls out a bright yellow dress. “Wear this one.”

  I do my best to keep from grimacing. I love Junie for wanting to be involved, but that dress? “I bought that at a thrift store last year when I was planning to go to the costume party as Big Bird.”

  I refrain from adding that I gave up on that costume idea when my date—who was supposed to be Oscar the Grouch—bailed at the last minute. It was the sixth time I went alone as a ninja.

  “I’ve been meaning to get rid of it,” I add, hoping Junie drops it.

  But she holds up the hanger so the garment shimmers and sways. Lisa stops swiping a foamy little sponge over my forehead and stares at the dress. “Where on earth did you get that?”

  “The Goodwill shop on Burnside.”

  “The one that gets all the castoffs from the wealthy West Hills ladies?” Lisa stands up and fingers the fabric, then peers at the label. “Does this fit you?”

  I shrug. “As far as I know. I haven’t gained or lost weight since I bought it. I just never wore it.”

  Lisa stares at me and shakes her head in disbelief. “This is a Victoria Beckham Heavy Fluid silk wrap dress with front slit detail. It’s real silk. Do you have any idea what this retails for?”

  I try to recall what I paid for it at Goodwill. “Ten bucks?”

  “Try twenty-five hundred,” she says. “The tags are still attached.”

  She dips a hand into the neckline and pulls up a pile of fancy-looking tags I probably would have noticed if I’d ever worn the dress. The original price is obscured by a series of clearance stickers marking it down to a cool seven hundred and fifty, but Lisa peels those back to prove her point. “See?” she says. “This dress sold out in days. It’s from last year, obviously—”

  “Obviously,” I mimic, earning myself a swat from Lisa.

  “Seriously, it’s a killer dress,” she says. “Why haven’t you worn it?”

  “Where was I going to wear it?”

  Junie fingers the hem. “It’s soft,” she says. “Ian will like touching it.”

  “That’s for sure.” Lisa’s smile turns sultry.

  “And it’s yellow,” Junie adds, giving a sharp nod like this decides it all.

  It pretty much does.

  “Okay, okay,” I mutter. “I’ll try it on.”

  “Careful with your hair,” Lisa cautions as I wriggle out of my yoga pants and cami to pull the dress around me. She hurries around behind me to help with the ties. It flows around my curves more fluidly than I remember it doing a year ago when I tried it on, and I wonder if all the sex I’ve been having has burned more calories than I realized.

  “There.” Lisa straightens the hem and steps back. “Wow.” She grabs me by the shoulders and turns me to face the mirror. “A perfect fit.”

  Holy shit, she’s right. I do look pretty hot. The dress slides cool and sleek around my curves, fluttering a little around my thighs.

  Junie beams at me in the mirror. “You look bangin’, mama.”

  “For crying out loud, Junie.” Lisa rolls her eyes. “Let me guess, Dax taught you that?”

  Junie laughs, clearly pleased with herself. “He told me to say that to you the next time you wear that red dress he likes.”

  A faint flush creeps into my friend’s cheeks, and I can tell she’s more pleased than annoyed. I ignore the stab of jealousy over Lisa’s loving relationship with her hot biker fiancé. That’s the kind of relationship I always thought I’d have. Or maybe what Cassie has with Simon.

  But no, that’s not in the cards for me. And I’m okay with that, I really am.

  “Well,” Lisa says. “You’re obviously wearing this dress.”

  I survey myself in the mirror again. The dress fits like a dream. The wrap style flatters my waist, while the strappy thing going on up top shows off my shoulders. “And the color is great,” I add, turning to study myself from behind. “It doesn’t look too much like a nightgown?”

  “Not a nightgown,” Lisa says. “A sexy negligée. That’s the allure.”

  “You look like a fairy princess,” Junie says. “Ian will love you.”

  My heart pinches tight in my chest. That’s so not the point, but I don’t have the heart to explain that to Junie. Or to anyone, for that matter.

  I take a few breaths to regain my composure as Lisa fusses with my hem. “I can’t believe you had this dress right in front of you the whole time and never knew it.”

  “I’m clueless sometimes,” I admit.

  Lisa studies me for such a painfully long moment that I have to glance away. She goes back to fussing with my hair, and I wonder what the hell I’m doing making plans for a marriage of convenience.

  A marriage to Ian.

  Something stirs deep in my belly, and suddenly this arrangement doesn’t sound so scary.

  Chapter Eight

  Ian

  I tug at my necktie with one hand and grasp Sarah’s fingers with my other as we make our way into the restaurant.

  “Need me to fix that?” she asks.

  I stop walking and adjust the tie again. “What’s wrong with it?”

  She steps closer and gently pushes my hand from my throat. “Nothing, except you’re going to strangle yourself if you keep yanking on it like that.” She adjusts the knot, and I inhale deeply enough to make myself dizzy with the spicy-sweet scent of her perfume.

  “We haven’t signed the paperwork for the life insurance yet, so we can’t have you dying on me,” she says.

  “I’ll try to survive through dinner.” I’m only half joking. The thought of walking in there terrifies me.

  Sarah’s smile eases some of the tension in my shoulders, and so does the gentle pressure of her fingers moving against my throat. She’s wearing her hair loose around her shoulders but wavier than normal and held back over one ear with a sparkly clip. She looks amazing. If Wyeth Airways were deciding this job based solely on the loveliness of my date, we’d be signing the contracts right now.

  Thinking about the job has me tensing up again, worrying about the countless ways I could blow it.

  “Relax,” she says. “You’ll do great in there, I promise.”

  She must see the anxiety on my face. I saw it when I studied myself in the mirror while getting ready this evening. This job means a lot to me. More than anyone knows.

  “I’ve wanted to work with these guys for years,” I admit. “Remember how Shane always wanted to fly an airplane?”

  “That’s right, I’d forgotten.” Sarah drops her hands and pats the tie into place. When her eyes meet mine, I see a familiar glow of compassion. “He had that whole collection of model planes.”

  “His favorites were all the Wyeth Airways ones. I always told him I’d help him get his pilot’s license someday. That I’d help him learn.”

  But that never happened. So many things never happened the way I’d hoped they would.

  A lump forms in my throat that has nothing to do with my necktie. I take a few deep breaths, willing it to go away. Nothing good will come from me going into this dinner all raw and emotional. I need to focus. I need to bring my A game.

  “You okay?” Sarah asks softly. “If you want, we could walk around the block a bit. We’re early.”

  “No, it’s fine.” I take a couple more breaths, then reach for her hand. “I’m good. Let’s head in.”

  I walk her to the entrance of the restaurant, then hesitate with my hand on the door. I turn back to her, so damn grateful to have her by my side.

  “Have I mentioned you look fucking amazing in that dress?”

  She laughs and tosses her hair. “
Only eighteen times on the drive here. But thanks.”

  “Yellow is definitely your color.”

  “Thank you. Junie picked it out.”

  “I love Junie.”

  “Me, too.” Sarah smiles, and it gives me that last little bit of bravery I need to reach for the door.

  I open it and let her walk through first. It’s partly to be a gentleman, but mostly to savor another breath filled with her perfume. Something about it gives me courage, and I follow close behind her as we make our way past the hostess stand. Linking my fingers through hers, I lead her toward the private room at the back where the rest of the group is waiting.

  Pausing in the doorway, I take in the scene. There’s one long table covered by a white tablecloth, and I’m relieved to see little name cards in front of each setting. Good. My first test won’t be deciding where to sit.

  As Sarah squeezes my hand, the CEO looks up and spots me. Dana Peschka doesn’t smile, but her expression warms as she makes her way elegantly across the room.

  “Ian,” she says, shaking my hand with a firm grip. “It’s so good to see you. Thank you for coming.”

  “Dana.” I return the handshake and hope like hell the first-name basis we established around the office is still in effect tonight. Maybe I should have erred on the side of formality. “Thank you for planning this. I’m eager to get to know everyone more personally.”

  “Likewise.” She turns to the tall guy behind her who bears an alarming resemblance to The Rock. “I’d like you to meet my husband, Kellan Mueller.”

  “Pleasure to meet you.” Kellan and I shake hands before I gesture to Sarah. “This is Sarah Keating.”

  “Just Sarah is fine,” she says, exchanging handshakes with Dana and Kellan. “I’m Ian’s fiancée.”

  Dana’s brows lift as she glances at me in surprise. “I didn’t realize you were engaged, Ian.”

  “It literally just happened,” I tell her, doing my best not to grin like an idiot. I wonder why Sarah decided to use the title. I don’t know, but I’m damn grateful, and not just because Dana seems pleased. “We’ve known each other since college, but I wasn’t brave enough to ask her to marry me until just a few days ago.”

  “Well, congratulations,” Dana says. “I’ll ask the server to bring some champagne.”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary.” I glance at Sarah, wondering if that was the right answer. Should I have just let them get into the celebratory zone?

  “We’re keeping it fairly low-key.” Sarah offers a genuine smile as she rests a hand on my arm. “Ian keeps wanting me to have an engagement ring, but it’s just not my style.”

  Thank God. I wouldn’t have thought of that, the possibility that people would notice Sarah’s bare finger and think I’m a cheap asshole. I’m glad she’s two steps ahead in this conversation.

  A dark-haired guy in an immaculate Brooks Brothers suit approaches with CFO Walter Williams on his heels. “I’m Trevor Williams, it’s great to meet you, Sarah.” He shakes Sarah’s hand and then mine as his husband sidles up next to him and gives me a nod of greeting. “Walter and I were just talking about you before you got here. You’re not related to the Lake Oswego Nolans by any chance, are you?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.” I smooth down my tie, not sure what else to do with my hands.

  The CFO gives his husband a fond eyeroll and rests a hand on his back. “I told you it’s a common name.”

  “Well I had to ask,” Trevor says. “Imagine if he was John and Tracey’s boy. That would give him a leg up, right?”

  “That’s not how we do our hiring.” Walter shakes his head, but I can tell he’s not really annoyed. That this is one of those familiar interactions between long-married couples, and part of me envies them.

  “You said your sons might be joining us for dinner?” I prompt.

  “Unfortunately, they can’t make it,” Trevor says. “Joel has a football game, and Gabe has a date.”

  Sarah fiddles with her necklace. “Your son isn’t Joel Williams from Roosevelt High, is he?”

  Michael smiles. “The one and only.”

  “Wow, you must be very proud.” Sarah looks at me with a sort of reverence in her eyes. “He was the All-State quarterback last year. The kid is a legend. He’s had recruiters watching him since his freshman year and he’s still only a junior.”

  “How do you know so much about high school football?” I’m grateful she does. I can see from the pride in Walter and Trevor’s faces that we just scored major brownie points.

  “I manage a group home for adults with disabilities,” Sarah says for the benefit of Walter and Trevor. “A lot of our residents are fans of prep sports, and we even have a guy who serves as team manager for Roosevelt.”

  “Logan Murphy, that’s right,” Walter says. “Great guy. Always has a smile for everyone, and a great attitude. The kids on the team really admire him.”

  I’m so grateful for Sarah right now I could kiss her. But it’s time to find our spots at the dinner table, so I keep my lips to myself and take a seat across from Dana Peschka. In the weeks I’ve been working this contract with Wyeth Airways, she’s always been friendly and warm and engaging. Still, I’ve never seen her smile, and I’m not sure if there’s something about me that’s prompting the chilliness. The fact that she’s watching me now with renewed interest seems hopeful.

  “You said you two were college friends?” Dana prompts as the server begins filling our water glasses.

  “That’s right,” I tell her. “We met in Introduction to Economics our freshman year.”

  Dana keeps looking at me expectantly, and I fish around in my brain for some detail more interesting than that. “I—uh—took International Econ concurrently with the introductory class, but ended up focusing more on intermediate microeconomic analysis as I progressed through the curriculum.”

  Lame, Nolan. Super lame.

  I pick up my water glass and take a big drink so I can’t say anything else that’ll make everyone at the table look at me like I’ve just stuck the butter knife up my nostril.

  Sarah puts a hand on my knee under the table. It’s warm there, and I feel another burst of courage. “Ian’s being modest,” she says. “He actually sort of rescued me that day in Econ class.”

  “Rescued you?” Dana’s head tilts with intrigue, and I remember how good Sarah is at this. We had a group of friends in college who’d go camping together, and Sarah was always the designated storyteller. Sitting around the fire with twigs crackling and imaginary bad guys prowling the woods, she could spin a story packed with excitement and emotion and suspense that had everyone on the edge of their seats.

  I notice it now as Walter moves forward a bit in his. “How did Ian rescue you?”

  “Well, I moved from this really small town to go to college in Portland,” Sarah says. “I didn’t know anyone, and I was self-conscious about whether I belonged there at all.”

  “The classes were huge,” I put in, resting my hand on hers and giving a small squeeze. “Several hundred in each lecture hall.”

  “So it was easy to end up feeling lost,” she says. “I was sitting there at the front of this big lecture hall with hundreds of people around me, but no one was sitting down near me and I started wondering if I smelled bad or something.”

  That gets a laugh from around the table, and Sarah tucks her hair behind her ear and takes a sip from her water glass. “My paranoia started spiraling,” she continues, “so I’m sitting there before class begins and I start thinking about how I’d never have any friends and maybe I should just drop out and go back home and work in the diner where my mom’s been a waitress for the last twenty years.”

  My memory floods with the image of that day. Sarah sitting there with her dark hair flowing around her shoulders, lonely and nervous and so incredibly beautiful. Sunlight was streaming in from the windows to her left, and I swear to God she looked like an angel.

  “She was wearing this bright yellow sweater,” I b
lurt. All eyes swing to me, and I have a flash of panic that I’ve said the wrong thing.

  But Sarah squeezes my knee, so I keep going.

  “It was cool back then for everyone to wear gray or black, but there was Sarah in this bright yellow sweater.” I swallow hard and keep going. “I remember thinking, ‘Whoever that girl is, she’s lighting up the whole room. I need to sit by her.’”

  “Wow.” Sarah blinks, and for half a second, I see surprise in her eyes. “I—that’s right. I’d forgotten about that sweater.” She recovers her composure so fast that I’m guessing the others didn’t see it at all. Didn’t realize I’d never told her the reason I sat beside her that day.

  Why the hell didn’t I?

  “That’s sweet,” Dana says. “So did he talk to you?”

  She’s addressing Sarah, not me, which is a relief. Letting Sarah shine is the best way to go for all of us.

  “He did,” Sarah says. “He asked me where I was from and what I liked about school and how I was liking my classes. By the time the professor started talking, I was feeling more at ease, and I ended up staying at Portland State until I graduated.”

  “I love that.” Dana smiles, and I feel like I’ve won a fucking medal. “You’re a good guy, Ian Nolan.”

  “He is a good guy.” Sarah beams, and I put an arm around the back of her chair. It feels good there, and I think I could get used to this whole fiancée thing.

  Walter is busy conferring with the waiter about the wine list, but Trevor looks intrigued by our conversation. “So if you started dating way back in college, how come you’re just now tying the knot?”

  “We were actually just friends in college,” I say. “Study buddies.”

  “Ian had a long-distance girlfriend, and I always seemed to be dating someone,” Sarah adds. “So we really were just friends.”

  “But you hoped for more, Ian?” Dana Peschka’s question socks me right in the chest, and I need a few breaths before I can answer.

  “Can’t say the thought never crossed my mind.”

  Sarah blinks at me. I have to glance away, to scan the other faces around the table. There’s that expectant look again. Like they’re hoping for more. Expecting more intimate details in this get-to-know-you chatter. I’m at a loss. I’m no good at this sharing stuff.