Three Little Words

by Jenny Holiday

  She didn’t hear the airline’s recording anymore. Maybe he’d given up for the night. Maybe he’d taken the phone off speaker and had it to his ear. She wasn’t going to look. Regardless, another day was not going to go by without a plan to get her ass to Florida, with or without the best man.

  Preferably without.

  But enough brooding. She needed to remember what was important, and it certainly wasn’t Bennett Buchanan, or even her wounded pride. No. Gia’s focus for the next week was that Wendy’s wedding go off without a hitch. Wendy was the third of their friend group of four to get married in as many years. Gia was the last woman standing. Before Wendy had been Elise and Jane. Elise’s and Jane’s weddings had both been sites of some serious bridesmaid drama. Not among themselves—they weren’t Mean Girls types. No, she was talking about Man Drama. Because her best friends, God bless them, had never quite been able to get on board with Gia’s motto.

  But that was okay. Just because love wasn’t in the cards for Gia didn’t mean she didn’t want her friends to be happy. Gia might not have a ton going for her, but no one would ever say she wasn’t a good friend. She valued her girls more than anything. Sometimes it felt like even though Gia’s face and body were plastered all over the world in ads and editorial spreads, the girls were the only ones who really knew her.

  So nothing was going to mess with Wendy’s wedding. Gia was going to do everything in her power—and possibly some stuff not in her power—to make sure that Wendy had the drama-free wedding of her dreams.

  There was some rustling as Bennett settled on the sofa. The sound of blankets being arranged and him shifting around. She’d wanted to protest earlier, when he’d announced his intention for her to sleep in his bed. It didn’t seem right that she, the interloper, should get to sleep in his big comfy bed while he contorted his long body to fit onto the sofa. But she hadn’t trusted her voice at that moment, and acquiescing had been the path of least resistance.

  He flicked off the light next to the sofa, and the room went dark.

  And silent. So totally, creepily silent. Maybe it was the snow blanketing everything. Maybe it was being so far off the beaten Manhattan path. Either way, it made Gia feel like she was in a mausoleum. Like she’d died but her stupid heart hadn’t gotten the memo and kept thundering along in the charged darkness.

  It was weird to be lying in the same room with a man but not with him. To be in a bed in close proximity to a man who had no interest in her.

  When was the last time that had happened?

  Never. It had never happened.

  Her cell service was still out. She wanted to ask Bennett if he had Wi-Fi here, so she could text Elise—but she didn’t trust her voice not to betray her. The insufferable bitch would come out tomorrow, but as of now, she hadn’t quite arrived.

  Instead she pulled the covers up over her head and typed a long text to her best friend, even though there was no way to get it to her.

  Chapter Three

  FIVE DAYS BEFORE THE WEDDING

  Gia Gallo was not a morning person. And that was an understatement.

  Bennett glanced at his watch for what felt like the hundredth time as he waited for her to come out of the bathroom. He’d given a moment’s thought to telling her he’d meet her at the restaurant, but it had snowed all night and it didn’t appear that the sidewalks were shoveled yet. He wasn’t enough of a dick to leave her to mush through all that alone.

  But Jesus Christ, she had been snippy this morning as they’d settled on a plan: go to the restaurant for breakfast and keep trying to call the airline. If they hadn’t gotten through by mid-morning, they’d go back to the airport and try to see an agent in person. Her cell service had been restored, so she’d spent the entire conversation madly texting. Gone was the joking, almost-companionable woman he’d dined with last night. Or, for that matter, the silly, laughing woman who’d started a snowball fight with him.

  This morning, she reminded him of the way she’d been at the airport.

  She was probably one of those people who needed a few gallons of coffee before they could function.

  Or, more likely, last night had been an aberration and she actually was an intolerable shrew.

  When she finally came out of the bathroom, she looked completely different than she had when she’d gone in, which only added to his sense that any softness he’d seen in her last night had been an anomaly. There was no sign of the fresh-faced, freckled beauty with the sleep-mussed hair. She had been replaced by Gia Gallo: Model. It was weird, because when he tried to delineate it, it wasn’t like there was that much objectively different. She wasn’t wearing a lot of makeup, or at least she’d thoroughly mastered the natural look that was not actually natural at all. Her hair, which had been made curly from air-drying after her bath last night, had been scraped back into a severe bun almost on the top of her head. She was wearing jeans and a loose, short-sleeved gray T-shirt that wasn’t nearly warm enough.

  None of those things should have been enough to change her entire look, her very essence, but somehow she had completely transformed herself. It was like she was wearing a hyperrealistic mask. Or, again, maybe he had it backward. This was the real her, and the softer, more vulnerable woman who had seemed, for one astonishing moment, to want him was the aberration.

  Then he noticed she was still wearing the tiny ladybug earrings. It was the one accessory that spanned both versions of her.

  “Ready to go,” she said flatly.

  “Great.” He rummaged around in the armoire for something warmer for her to wear. It had temporarily stopped snowing, but the forecast said it was only a lull, and it was still freezing out there. He emerged with his old beat-up leather jacket. He hadn’t worn the thing for years. Fourteen to be precise. He wasn’t even sure why he held on to it. Everything else from that period, and certainly from that specific night, he’d gotten rid of. Hadn’t wanted any of it—wished it had gone up in flames along with the car.

  Except the jacket. He hadn’t been able to make himself throw it out, even though he never wore it. It was like he needed one souvenir to torture himself with, to remind him of who he used to be.

  She fingered the soft, distressed leather but made no move to actually don the jacket.

  “I don’t keep a lot of shit around here, so it’s all I have to offer you that even remotely passes for a winter coat, unless you want to wear that sucker again.” He nodded at the parka hanging over one of the stools at his kitchen island. He didn’t know what he’d do if she wanted the parka. That would leave him with the leather jacket, and that was not acceptable.

  “I packed for Florida,” she said.

  Which explained the short-sleeved shirt. And the tiny pajamas.

  But she said it self-righteously, defensively, like he had accused her of something a lot more severe than being caught unaware by a storm.

  She put on the jacket. It was too big in the chest, but she was so tall that it fit otherwise.

  It looked good on her. Well, anything would look good on her. This looked…really good.

  They made the short trudge to the restaurant in silence, Gia with her phone to her ear, presumably on hold with the airport. It took a lot longer than it should have thanks to all the snow. It was hard to imagine they’d get out of town today.

  “What time do you open?” she asked as he cleared enough snow from the front door to allow him to swing it open.

  “Eleven normally, but we’re closed on Mondays.”

  There was a homeless guy huddled on the sidewalk outside. Bennett dug out his wallet and handed him a ten-dollar bill. “The back door to this place is really snowed in. If you want to help me clear it, I’m good for breakfast and coffee.”

  “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

  “I’ll meet you out back in ten. There’s a shovel out there.”

  Feeling Gia’s eyes on him, he glanced at her as he unlocked the door. Her head was cocked like she was confused. Then she switched her gaze to w
atching the homeless man, who was plodding away, presumably heading for the alley behind the restaurant.

  “What?” he said.

  She turned back to him, still with that quizzical look. “That was really nice.” When he didn’t answer right away—he was uncomfortable being praised for meeting minimum standards of human decency—she added, “I mean, he doesn’t have to be out here. There are all kinds of emergency shelters open in weather like this. You gave him ten bucks. Most people would not be that generous.”

  Bennett shrugged and gestured for her to precede him inside. “I’m not sure nice is the word.”

  “What’s the word then?”

  “Responsible,” he said without hesitating.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that people should take care of each other. Take care with each other. I don’t ever want to be the kind of person who puts my own convenience ahead of other people’s well-being.” Or at least I don’t want to be that kind of person ever again.

  He was aware that he probably sounded like some kind of goody two-shoes, but he didn’t care. It was his truth—his hard-won truth. And Gia was not going to be a permanent fixture in his life, so he didn’t care what she thought of him.

  As they made their way through the dark restaurant, he snagged a bar stool, and once inside the kitchen, he set it up at a metal worktable that had a bit of an overhang.

  “Oh! Hello!” Her eyes lit up as she sat. “I was on one of yesterday’s canceled flights, and I’d like to rebook, please.”

  She’d gotten through. Good. It wasn’t urgent, in theory. They had plenty of time. But he was starting to feel kind of claustrophobic being cooped up with her. Gia had a way of taking up way more space than her slender frame should have been capable of occupying. At least she was being polite as she explained their situation to the agent on the phone, so maybe she would manage to get them on a flight.

  “Thursday!” she shrieked. “Thursday is way too late!”

  So much for polite.

  She held the phone away from her ear for a moment and said to him, in an only slightly lower tone, “Nothing’s going today. They say the next flight with room is on Thursday.”

  “Yeah. I got that.” He rolled his eyes, and he didn’t even try to hide it. He grabbed a French press, dumped some of the restaurant’s prepared coffee mixture into it, and set a kettle to boiling.

  She rolled her eyes back as she returned to the phone. “Thursday is not acceptable.”

  Thursday, while not ideal on the whole “get the hell out of this winter nightmare” front, seemed reasonable enough, given that the wedding wasn’t until Saturday.

  “What about bumping someone?”

  Jesus Christ. Was she actually suggesting the airline bump a booked passenger in favor of her?

  “No, I am not transporting organs,” she snapped.

  Yup. She was suggesting that.

  Of course she was.

  “Listen.” Her voice had taken on a conspiratorial quality as she changed tactics. “I’m a bridesmaid, and I have to get to a wedding. I have the bride’s dress with me. She needs to get it sooner than Thursday. So it is kind of an emergency.”

  He cringed as he slowly lowered the plunger in the coffee press, embarrassed on her behalf.

  “Fine,” she snapped. “I’ll just be taking my business to your competitors, then.”

  She jabbed an angry finger at the phone to disconnect the call, and he poured her a cup of coffee.

  “Cream? Sugar?”

  “Black.”

  Of course. Just like her heart.

  He moved to the fridge to get the jug of sweet tea—the restaurant served it, but they also kept a personal jug for him back here.

  “Oh my God.”

  He smiled. He couldn’t help it. They made amazing coffee, if he did say so himself—and he wasn’t much of a coffee drinker to begin with.

  And, damn, he loved how every time she put something he’d made into her mouth, her response was “Oh my God.”

  “What is in this coffee?” she demanded, and leave it to Gia to be angry over being fed something delicious.

  “It’s got chicory in it, some cinnamon—New Orleans style.” He decided to play dumb. She hadn’t actually said she liked it, after all. “I can make you some regular coffee if you don’t like it.”

  “Are you kidding me? This is the best coffee I’ve ever had. I might have to take a picture of this coffee.”

  He shouldn’t need her praise. He didn’t need her praise. But his body must not have gotten that message, because her words heated him from the inside.

  He sipped his tea to try to cool himself off. “Aww, don’t do that. It’s only eight in the morning. Don’t waste today’s photo on coffee.”

  She’d grabbed her bag, but she must have agreed with him, because she set it back down. “Why are you drinking iced tea?”

  “I’m not much of a coffee drinker. I sometimes have a cup after a meal, but that’s about it.”

  “But it’s freezing outside.”

  He shrugged. Weather didn’t really factor into it for him—it wasn’t a day unless he’d had a good half gallon of sweet tea.

  “There’s not enough caffeine in tea.”

  “That’s why I made you this.” He slid the French press toward her. “It’s all yours. You can slit open a vein and mainline it for all I care.”

  She snorted. “I’m going to call another airline.”

  “Let me ask you something.” He held his palms toward her like she was a spooked horse he was trying to tame. She raised her eyebrows at him impatiently from behind the rim of her mug. “Just for the sake of argument. The wedding is Saturday. There’s some kind of dinner on Friday. I know it’s a disappointment to be here in snowmageddon instead of on the beach, but realistically, what’s wrong with Thursday?”

  “I. Have. The. Dress.” Gia spoke slowly, like she was talking to a child, and a simple one at that.

  “Which is for the wedding on Saturday,” Bennett replied, deploying the same tone.

  “Wendy has a tailor lined up to do a final fitting on Wednesday at four.”

  “But I thought she had it tailored here?” Bennett had hung out with Wendy and Noah when they’d dropped in to New York for ring shopping and dress fitting. Wasn’t that the whole reason those objects were here now and in need of transport to the wedding?

  Gia sighed, and some of the fight left her. “She came to New York to have some work done on the dress. She’s wearing her mom’s dress, but she wanted to have the sleeves changed, which isn’t a minor operation. She went to a bridal salon that I recommended. That I got her into, because you have to know someone for this place. In fact, I’m the one who insisted she get the dress altered here rather than in Toronto. These people are the best in the world, I said. So she had the work done here, and left me with the job of picking up the dress and delivering it.”

  Okay, so she felt responsible. Not that that excused her rudeness. But at least it contextualized it.

  “Anyway, you don’t just get one fitting on a dress done. You need tweaks at the end.” She performed an exaggerated sniff.

  “Excuse me for not knowing how wedding dress fittings work,” he snarked, hating that she could bait him sufficiently that he’d rise to it. With Gia there seemed to be a disconnect between the things she made him say and his rational mind. He had a lot invested in there not being a disconnect. He’d worked hard to ensure that his rational mind ruled over impulse. But that sniff had set him right off. It reminded him of his mother. It took a pretty good dose of arrogance to just assume that everyone knew the ins and outs of the high-fashion world—or, in his mother’s case, of old-money southern etiquette.

  He was also pretty sure Gia was making this into a much bigger deal than it needed to be. Wendy wasn’t the kind of person who was going to freak out over circumstances that were beyond their control, and surely if a tailor could make “tweaks” on Wednesday, he or she could just as
easily do it on Thursday or Friday. But Gia clearly felt responsible. Irrationally so, maybe, but, to be fair, he understood the suffocating weight of responsibility.

  Breakfast. That was what they needed. An infusion of calories might make them both less cranky. “What can I make you for breakfast?”

  She paused in poking away at her phone. “Can you do a soft-boiled egg?”

  “I can. I can also make you an omelet, eggs Benedict with or without our famous crab cakes, the best croque-monsieur you ever had. And of course I can do boudin in various incarnations. You name it.”

  “Just the egg, please.”

  “Waffles,” he went on, realizing that he’d forgotten to list the restaurant’s sweet brunch items. “No beignets as it’s Monday, but I can do cinnamon sugar French toast in a sort of beignet style.”

  “I’m good with an egg, thanks.”

  “An egg. As in one egg?” She had an award-winning chef—hey, Bennett didn’t do false modesty—at her fingertips, and she wanted a single egg?

  Well, whatever. Time for him to calm the fuck down. It wasn’t like he had any investment in what she consumed.

  “Yes, thanks.”

  He got out a pot, filled it, and set it to boil. Then he paid a visit to the refrigerator to find something for himself. He would have made her anything to order, but for himself, he’d eat whatever needed to get used up. Today that was…

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  Gia’s tone was alarmed, which he felt bad about, so he tried to modulate his tone as he answered. “Oysters.”

  “Oysters?”

  “Yup.” He pulled out the tray. At least the mollusks had been properly stored—they were resting on damp newspaper and covered with moist towels. “The idiots who closed up last night should have eaten them, or taken them home. They won’t keep until tomorrow.” He prodded one to make sure it was still tightly closed and therefore alive and edible.

  “Curse those losers for leaving you a tray of oysters,” Gia teased.

  “They didn’t know I’d be here. As far as they know, I’m en route to Florida.”