Didn't Mean To Love You (Serendipitous Love Book 2)

by Christina C Jones

  “Wow,” Carter said, leaning against his own door. You got in trouble enough that your super liberal French mom sent you away. I’m…. not surprised,” he finished with a teasing chuckle.

  “Oh whatever.” I shook my head, looking down at the slightly scuffed toes of my boots as I traced a line of the deep brown hardwood floor. “But yes… I came to the US seven years ago. I finally earned my own shop two years ago.”

  “Earned?”

  “Yes. My parents are generous, but they give me nothing, not now that I’m an adult. I had to submit a business plan, budgets, all of that. Convince my parents that a more youthful, modern chocolate shop could be a success. My fancy Ecole Normale Supérieure education came in handy, I guess.”

  “I have no idea what that is, but it sounds seductive.”

  I laughed, shaking my head as I brought my gaze back up to meet his. “Ecole Normale Supérieure — ENS, Paris. The university I attended… nothing titillating about it.”

  “Oh, I disagree,” he said, grinning as he lifted a finger. “I happen to think that a gorgeous woman with an education is very sexy.”

  Our gazes held for a moment, and something… perhaps a deep, mutual attraction, passed between us until I finally tore my eyes away, clearing my throat. “Um… have you been into the shop before? I am sure I would have seen you if you had.”

  “I haven’t, actually,” he admitted, with a slight grimace. “I don’t have a big sweet tooth.”

  “Oh. Too bad.”

  “Yeah.”

  A few moments passed with neither of us saying anything. I don’t know what was holding him in the hallway, but I was in no hurry to be alone with thoughts that would surely turn to Darren.

  “Well… I’ll see you later Frenchy.”

  I smiled at his insistent use of the nickname he’d given me as I turned to open my door. “Bye Carter.”

  “Hey,” he said, eyes shining with mischief as he poked his head out just before he closed his door behind him.

  “Yeah?”

  “You don’t sound like the skunk.”

  I rolled my eyes as I laughed, pushing open my door. “Gee, thanks Carter.”

  “You’re welcome. Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  As soon as I locked the door, overwhelming loneliness swept over me, bringing a fresh wave of tears to my eyes. They fell on the aluminum bat I’d tossed onto the couch earlier, bringing a layer of shame to merge with my seclusion. I pulled a bottle of water from the fridge, draining it to soothe my suddenly dry mouth.

  Engaged. Darren was engaged, and even though I’d seen it with my own eyes, I could still barely believe it.

  —

  I couldn’t breath.

  A wave of cold settled over my skin, causing goosebumps to spring up on my arms as I shook my head, shutting down my Instagram app and opening it again, knowing that I’d misread the caption on the picture filling my screen. No way I was seeing that right.

  But… Eddie would not have sent this to me if he wasn’t sure. And… there it was again, with 313 “likes”.

  “The future Mr. & Mrs. Blake. I LOVE black love! So happy for these two! I know this wedding is gonna be thebomb.com! #BlakeEngagementTurnUp.”

  Engagement… what?

  What?

  I let the tablet fall to the floor with a clatter as I stood, walking on shaky legs to the bathroom to splash cool water on my face.

  Getting… married.

  “Awww, congrats Kelly and Darren! I’ll be on the lookout for my invite! #blacklove”

  “Whhaaaa! Girl you got Darren to “put a ring on it”?! I see you!”

  “Look at my big sister and future bro in law! Beautiful black couple!”

  “Kelly, girrrrrllll he FAHN! And that ROCK?! Gon’ head then! Congratulations!”

  “Darren reunited with his queen, how beautiful!”

  “Glad to see you guys put the foolishness behind you to focus on your love. Congratulations, this is wonderful!”

  It went on like that, for upwards of fifty comments, congratulating them on their engagement. Kelly and Darren. Kelly and Darren. My Darren.

  You mean… her Darren?

  I tossed the tablet in the general direction of the coffee table, not really caring if it landed there or not. In another second, I would have launched it across the room.

  Married.

  I was sitting at home, wondering why he hadn’t returned a call or text in two days and this man was getting married? Heat rushed through me, and my heart throbbed in my ears as I snatched up my purse, emptying the contents on my counter to find my cell phone. I was shaking as I unlocked the phone, found his number in my favorite contacts, then hit the “call” button. A few seconds later, I pulled the phone away from my ear, staring in awe at the screen as his voice, dry and formal, directed me to leave a message.

  He’d declined my call and sent me to voicemail.

  Okay.

  O. Kay.

  I jabbed angrily at the screen as I wrote out a message and hit send.

  “You are getting married now, Darren? WHAT IS GOING ON?”

  Pacing the kitchen as I waited for a response, I tried unsuccessfully to calm myself down.

  “You’re stalking me or something now, Viv? What’s going on with YOU? - Darren.”

  Did he just… I know he didn’t say … breathe, Viv. Just… breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

  “Nobody is stalking you. Stop it. My friend is apparently friends with a friend of one of YOUR friends. They reposted a picture you were tagged in, my friend sent me a link, and there YOU are, grinning in some woman’s face while she lugs around that big-assed ring. I’m confused.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say to you. I mean… it’s not like we were official or anything. -Darren”

  It’s not like we were…

  I slammed my fists on the counter, fighting back the urge to scream before I picked up the phone again to respond.

  “When has that ever been an issue, Darren? No labels, remember? We both know what this was, what we were doing. Are you telling me now that we were just… screwing? After the promises you’ve made, you can actually say to me “it’s not like we were official”?! ”

  “Calm down with that shit, Viv. We were just… talking, you know? I didn’t mean anything by that, it’s just… the stuff you’re supposed to say. You didn’t think we were serious, did you? - Darren”

  “Are YOU serious right now, Darren? You can’t be. No. You’re not serious about this.”

  “That’s just the stuff you’re supposed to say.”

  Is that what he was doing? Was he actually telling me that he was just saying what he needed to for me to… for me to do what? He couldn’t pretend that what we were doing was just sex. We’d cuddled together, bought groceries, shared our fears and dreams, we had keys to each other’s places! But he wanted to say we weren’t serious? And he couldn’t give me the courtesy of talking to me?

  What the hell was he trying to pull? Pretending that he hadn’t talked about a future together with me. A house. Kids. Darren was supposed to be the “safe” choice. A good man, with a good job, who — as my mother advised — cared for me more than I cared for him. It didn’t matter that he did nothing for my soul, the bare minimum for my body, and scarcely more than that for my mind. He was the kind of man who would not break your heart.

  “We had a good time, Viv. Made a few memories. Let’s just leave it at that and move on. - Darren.”

  Leave it at that and move on.

  “Wow, Darren. That’s where we are? That’s what I get from you now? I guess this answers my question about the distance over the last few weeks. But you were here two days ago. We made love… two days ago. You could have just told me you did not want me anymore. This is how I had to find out you were ENGAGED?”

  “Viv… I’m sorry. I’m blocking this number. Don’t call/text again. -Darren.”

  What!? Blocking my number? As if I was harassing him by try
ing to figure how the hell we went from whispered words of love to him being engaged — to somebody else — in two days?

  Okay.

  He wanted to treat me like I was nothing, like I was a problem to be solved, okay. I could oblige that. I stomped into my bedroom to pull on a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt, both his. Lacing my feet into a pair of Nikes, I glanced up at the full length mirror across the room. A little voice whispered “what are you doing, Vivienne?” into my ear, but I shook my head, clearing the thought from my mind.

  I shoved my cell phone into my pocket, grabbed my keys and wallet from the discarded contents of my purse on the counter, and headed for the door. I stopped by my hall closet for the aluminum bat I kept there in case of an emergency. This certainly qualified.

  With the bat resting on my shoulder, I pulled my door closed behind me and locked it.

  Then… I couldn’t take another step. An overwhelming mix of guilt, shame, and anger had me paralyzed as I stood there in the hall, simultaneously trying to convince and talk myself out of going to Darren’s house and destroying everything I could find — Darren included. Let him explain that to his pretty little fiancé.

  But how crazy did I look, walking around in sweats with a bat? How would my mugshot look after I got myself arrested? How would I explain this nonsense to my father? I could see it now, “Local chocolatier Vivienne Lambert was arrested this evening for assault and battery, destruction of property, and in a disturbing turn of events, forcibly removing the testicles of her former lover, Darren Blake.”

  I cringed.

  This was stupid.

  Shaking my head, I re-entered my apartment, tossing the bat onto the couch before I sat down. Not giving myself a chance to settle into sadness, I hopped up and got in the shower, determined that I wasn’t going to wallow in misery. I was going to let Eddie get me drunk, and dance this mood away.

  —

  But now, I had to make a choice. Alone, in my bed, no distractions, I had to decide if I wanted to unpack the emotional baggage of finding out that someone who I really thought I had a future with… saw it with somebody else.

  No.

  No, I didn’t.

  Despite the many privileges afforded to me in my life, the luxury of a guarded heart was something I’d never been granted. I gave it freely, without reservation, but I would just as easily take it back, after doing my usual work of burying my heartache.

  That’s what I wanted to do now.

  I wanted to pack it away, and never address it again, just like every other failed relationship before it.

  I wanted to pretend it never happened.

  So… I did.

  “So… Carter asked about you.”

  I lifted an eyebrow, but didn’t otherwise respond. Schooling my features into an impassive mask, I ignored Simone’s probing stare as I uncorked the bottle of wine.

  “Specifically, about your relationship status.”

  Shoot.

  I wasn’t expecting that. My hand slipped, and I nearly dropped the bottle, catching it just before it hit the counter and spilled everywhere. Carefully placing it on the counter, I turned to glare at Simone, who was barely containing a smile. “Are you happy?” I asked, pulling the wine glasses in front of me.

  “That depends on why just the mention of Carter has you all… butter-fingered.” She raised her eyebrows, nodding impatiently like she was waiting for me to divulge some deep secret, but it wasn’t happening — mostly because there was no deep secret. Only two days had passed since my breakup — if you could call it that — with Darren, and there hadn’t been any great strides in my relationship with Carter.

  Not that I was looking for progress in my relationship with Carter.

  Not that I had a relationship with Carter.

  “This is your damned fault,” I said, pointing an accusing finger at Simone, who laughed in response. “It is not funny, you’ve got my head all messed up now.”

  “Like you and Eddie did to me the first night we met?”

  Simone smiled sweetly, tilting her head to the side as if she were daring me to offer a rebuttal. I opened my mouth to do just that, then quickly closed it when I couldn’t think of one, because she was absolutely right.

  “Wait a minute,” I said, raising a finger as something occurred to me. “I was the one trying to ease your nerves, it was really Eddie saying all of that inappropriate stuff to you about Roman’s… equipment.”

  “Damned traitor.”

  I cringed as Eddie’s voice carried into the kitchen as he turned the corner from using the bathroom. He took a seat at the bar beside Simone, reaching to grab a handful of cheese cubes from the bowl I’d placed on the counter.

  “Isn’t she?” Simone asked, playfully sticking out her tongue at me before snagging a toasted baguette slice. “And she’s trying to change the subject, really.”

  The corners of Eddie’s mouth pulled up into a smirk. “The subject? What are we talking about?”

  “Nothi—”

  “We’re talking about the fact that gorgeous, gainfully employed, college educated but still maintained a little ‘hood swagger, Fine Ass Carter… asked about Vivienne’s relationship status,” Simone said, talking over me.

  “Oh really now?” Eddie’s smirk spread into a grin. “Just what kind of roots did you put on the barber after you left Urban Grind with him the other night? I told you they walked in holding hands, right?” he asked Simone.

  Her mouth dropped open. “No, you did not, and she didn’t either.” Simone turned to me, eyes wide as she reached for another slice of bread. “You told us all about Darren’s silly ass and the breakup, but nothing about you getting cozy with Carter, who you’ve been crushing on. You go from barely wanting to be in the same room with the man so you don’t jump his bones, to holding his hand? Get to talking, missy.”

  “There is nothing to talk about,” I insisted, shaking my head as I began to pour the wine. “Why are you all pushing so hard on this anyway?”

  “Because Darren was wack.” Eddie reached forward, grabbing the first glass I poured. “You need somebody with some… swagger.”

  “And you think Carter is the one?” I poured the second glass, lifting it to drink in one gulp at the prospect of that. “Carter isn’t the type for a long commitment. He’s more the type to get you… addickted.”

  Eddie lowered his glass, giving me a slight scowl. “I don’t see the problem.”

  Rolling my eyes, I proceeded to refill my glass. “So you are suggesting I do what… have a one night stand with him?”

  “I’m suggesting you get your back broken in… you can call it what you want.”

  “Eddie,” Simone interjected, “Does it have to always be about sex with you?”

  “Not at all,” Eddie replied. “I just know that great sex is part of a great relationship, so I encourage checking the merchandise as soon as possible. I mean, look at you and Roman. I told you he was probably slanging that thang, and I see I was right, cause you’re still around.”

  “Eddie!”

  “What?” he asked, eyes wide as though he was confused about why he was being scolded. “The man walks like his dick is heavy, anybody with eyes can see that. So Simone, I’m right about it, aren’t I?”

  “Umm… I don’t think Roman would really appreciate me discussing his penis size.”

  Eddie lifted an eyebrow. “Simone.”

  “He would kill me.”

  Eddie rolled his eyes, then took another swig from his glass. “Okay, Okay. I understand you want to respect your man’s privacy. You don’t have to give any details, just nod your head yes — I’m right— or shake your head no — I’m wrong.”

  I couldn’t help it. When Eddie turned to stare at Simone, I did too, and her coppery skin turned a little richer as heat rushed to her cheeks. Then… she gave a very subtle nod, and Eddie and I both burst into laughter, shortly followed by Simone.

  “Told you!” Eddie bellowed, slapping the counter in triump
h as I lifted the wine bottle again to fill a glass for Simone.

  “None for me,” she said, waving her hand.

  What? Record-scratch.

  “You don’t want any wine? Why…”

  My eyes narrowed, taking in her sheepish grin and the hand clutched protectively over her belly. A sudden tightness gripped my throat, bringing tears to my eyes as her mouth spread into a full-on smile. “Simone, oh my God!”

  Eddie embraced her first, since he was right beside her. “Yep, slanging, just like I said!” I laughed as I rounded the counter to her to pull her into a hug. Before I knew it, we were both crying. Simone and Roman had suffered a miscarriage seven, maybe eight months ago, so I knew this had to mean a lot to them. In their own way, they had both been a mess, but I know Simone was particularly heartbroken. Now, however, she radiated happiness as she relayed the news that she was fifteen, almost sixteen weeks along, and that Roman knew, and was thrilled about it.

  We talked late into the night, and I had a smile on my face long after they were gone, thinking about Roman and Simone having a baby. I bit back the onset of something akin to jealousy as I went into my bedroom, dumped my laundry hamper, and sat down on the floor to sort the clothes. As I did so, unpleasant thoughts of never settling with someone that could give me a baby of my own filtered into my mind. Silently, I cursed Darren’s name. I knew it was only because of him that I was in this unshakable melancholy mood. The breakup with him had been the worst in a long time.

  Though it didn’t compare to what happened in France, the whole “Surprise, I’m engaged, you’re dumped!” thing was a lot harder to shake than I expected. Granted, not even a week had passed since the breakup, but still.

  I finished sorting the laundry and packed it into my collapsible hamper, grabbed my detergent and dryer sheets, shoved my phone into the pocket of my terry-cloth lounge shorts, and headed out, locking the door behind me. The laundry room for our floor held three washers and three dryers. All three washing machines were occupied when I walked in, but the timers on the front said that there were only a few minutes left in the cycle. I sat down to wait, not realizing that I’d closed my eyes or fallen asleep until the clanging of the washing machine door jarred me awake.