The Groom Wanted Seconds: A Novella

by Shirley Jump

  It wasn’t until she’d walked away that he finally noticed her. And heard what she’d been trying to say for months.

  Then she’d rushed to Indiana, and fallen head-first into a huge mistake. A guy with a smooth voice, a charming smile, who said all the right words and did all the right things, and then, in the end—

  Ran for the hills aas soon as he got what he wanted. She’d been stupid, blinded by a nice smile and soft eyes. By a dream that didn’t come remotely close to living up to the reality. Never again. She wanted a man who was real, who was committed, who loved her, and most of all, a man who truly connected, body, soul and mind.

  She glanced at the roses again. Clearly, that man was not Jeremy Hamilton.

  6 russet potatoes

  1 teaspoon olive oil

  1/2 teaspoon garlic herb mix

  1/2 teaspoon salt

  1/4 teaspoon pepper

  Aluminum foil

  I never was much of a cook, but the one thing I could do, on the rare night that I was home, was man the grill. Fire up the grill, get it hot, then turn down to medium. Tear the foil into squares large enough to wrap around the potatoes. Scrub potatoes and set on the foil squares. In a small bowl, mix the garlic herb mix, salt and pepper. Drizzle oil over the potatoes, sprinkle with the seasoning, then rub it all into the potato skin.

  Seal the foil, and—this is vital—poke holes in the foil, through the potato, so you don’t have exploding potatoes. Put on the grill, turning once or twice, and bake for 20-30 minutes. It’s good for a guy to be home often enough to do a few domestic chores—keep that in mind. Advice from one who has been there and not done that, and has the battle scars to prove it.

  CHAPTER 4

  Nothing.

  Not a single phone call, email, nothing. Jeremy hadn’t heard a peep out of Rebecca since he sent all those flowers. Red roses, white roses, and today even some pink ones, in case she liked roses better in pastels. Not a word.

  So he did what he did best—buried himself in work and told himself that he was better off without her. That this perpetual ache, as if someone had cut off his right arm, would ease. Someday.

  It didn’t help that every time he tried to work, his mind popped up with a memory of Rebecca. Reminded him of how she tasted, how her skin felt under his palms, how she sounded when they made love.

  Damn.

  “You’re still here?”

  Jeremy jerked his head up and swiveled around in his chair. He bit back his surprise at seeing George Griffin, the firm’s owner. He rarely saw George, and had only talked to him once, during the interview. The boss had become almost a mythical figure, a tall, thin man with a shock of white hair and a penchant for striped golf shirts, who strode through the office on a daily basis, greeting the long-time employees by name. If Jeremy got the job at the end of the summer, he’d be one of those who got the daily greeting. That, he told himself, would be worth everything he’d done to get here.

  Even losing Rebecca?

  Instead of answering that internal question, he focused on his boss. “I, uh, just wanted to get some more things finished up on this project. I know the design on these tanks for the Somerville water system project is critical—”

  “So is having a life.” He took a seat on the corner of Jeremy’s desk, one leg bent, foot resting on the trash bin, as if they’d been friends for years. “Listen, I admire dedication and all, but you’re here more than I am, and that’s saying a lot, considering how rarely I see the sun.”

  “I wanted to get ahead so the team can be ready to go on Monday.”

  “The team will be fine. You, however, need some time outside these walls. I remember working in a cubicle. Made me feel like a rat in a maze. So come on, let’s go get a bite to eat.”

  Jeremy hesitated. This was the boss talking, and a smart man said yes to whatever the boss wanted. Particularly when that boss owned one of the best engineering firms in the state. The same one Jeremy had worked his ass off to get into, even accepting an unpaid internship with no guarantee of a job at the end of the three months. The tank design project was spread out across his tiny desk, the first real chance to prove himself to the other engineers and to George. Jeremy weighed that against a chance to have a face-to-face with George.

  A no-brainer, even for an engineer. He rose and flicked off the computer. “Sure, I could eat.”

  They headed out of the office and over to a smoky pub on the corner. The scent of fried food and dark beer wafted in and out of the open door. Laughter, coupled with the undertow of announcers calling a baseball game, filled the air. George walked in, sent the bartender a wave, then headed for a table on the other side of the room. The pub had that authentic British feel, with thick wood paneling and deep red banquettes. A tall brunette waitress sashayed over to the table, sending George a flirting smile. “Back for more?”

  “Can’t get enough of the food here.”

  She laughed. “The food, or the company?”

  “Oh, definitely the company.” He grinned at her, then turned to Jeremy. “What do you want?”

  “Uh, Coke.”

  “It’s the end of the day. Have a beer with the boss.”

  The thought of an ice cold draft after a long, hot day made Jeremy’s mouth water. “Okay. You twisted my arm.” He turned to the waitress. “Sam Adams.”

  She nodded and jotted a note. “The usual, George?”

  “You know it.”

  She dropped a couple menus on the table, then crossed to the bar. By the time she returned with their beers, Jeremy had chosen a turkey sandwich, and George opted for fish and chips. “My doctor would tsk-tsk at this, but what he doesn’t see me eat never happened.” George winked. He leaned back in the chair, a man at ease in his own skin. “So, tell me, what made you want to work for me?”

  Jeremy straightened in his seat. “You have the best engineering firm on the Eastern Seaboard, sir, and have worked on projects that—”

  George waved that off. “I don’t want to hear the interview speech. I want to hear the in-your-gut reasoning. Working for me means long hours, weekends, and right now, no pay. So you’re giving up a life at what, twenty-four?”

  “Twenty-three, sir.”

  “Existing on ramen noodles and generic bread?”

  “Pretty much, though I worked extra shifts at a fast food place during the school year to have enough money to pay the bills this summer. I put enough aside so I could take this internship.”

  “Smart thinking.”

  Jeremy shrugged. “I like to plan ahead. For everything.”

  Rebecca had hated that about him, he remembered. She’d wanted him to be more spontaneous, to step away from his schedule and his lists and his plans. She’d told him he held too tight to the leash on his life, and one day, it was going to get away from him.

  He thought of her face just before she shut the door. Maybe it already had.

  “I’m only hiring one engineer at the end of the year,” George went on, “and there are five of you interns. So you have a twenty percent chance of doing this and ending up unemployed anyway.”

  “It’s a risk I’m willing to take, sir.”

  “And if you get the job, are you willing to put your personal life on hold? Spend so much time at the office your wife leaves you, the kids forget who you are, and you’re spending Saturday nights with a dog and a beer?”

  Jeremy chuckled. “Well, I don’t know if—”

  “Son, I’ve been at this a long time, and I have spent those Saturday nights with just the dog. The wife left me after year five, the kids stopped spending time with me after year seven, and when the dog died, all I had was work. I don’t want to see you do the same thing.” He paused to accept the food from the waitress, then turned back to Jeremy. “I like you, kid, a lot. You’re smart, you’re dedicated, you’re engaged. That idea you had on the tank design saved us a hell of a lot of money. And because I like you, I don’t want to see you end up the same place as me. So take my word for it.
You don’t want to work here. We work too many hours and take too few breaks.”

  “I…I…” The vowels sputtered and stalled, like a car with a bad air filter. He’d spent years working toward a job at Griffin Engineering. There was no way he was letting that go just because the boss thought he’d be better off somewhere else. “I do. More than you know.”

  George chuckled and shook his head. “You sound like me. Okay, I won’t try to talk you out of the field or out of working for me, but I want you to take my advice. When you find the right woman, don’t let work come between you. Walk out the door of that office, and put the job out of your mind until you go back in the morning. And when you’re with that right woman, make sure she knows she is the only thing your mind is focused on. That dedication you have to your job? Leave it behind at the end of the day and put it on your wife, your family. Most of all, have a life, son, and be there for your kids.” George’s gaze went to someplace far away, and his features softened. “Always be there for your kids. The people you love are more important than anything you’re ever going to work on. Trust me.”

  “Thank you, sir. I will.” Jeremy thought about George’s words as they finished their sandwiches and the topic shifted to typical guy chatter—the price of tickets at Fenway, the Pats chances of making it to the Superbowl, the newest trucks on the market.

  Had Jeremy ever really done that with Rebecca? Put the projects out of his mind and given her a hundred percent? Given her the same attention he’d given to objects made out of steel and concrete?

  He thought he had. He’d thought he was doing just fine, even prided himself on his juggling act. Turned out, he’d been wrong.

  He hadn’t juggled well at all. If anything, he’d dropped the most important balls on the floor. Throw him an engineering problem and he’d have a solution worked out before the sun went down. But give him a relationship problem and the answer eluded him like mercury on glass.

  3 raspberries

  1 sprig mint

  1 slice lime

  1 jigger Rose's grenadine

  8 ounces lemonade

  1 jigger Vodka or Rum, whichever you use for your Mojitos (optional)

  Nothing like a sweet little drink to distract you. This one is easy and fast—best of both worlds. If you could just get a cute guy to mix it, you’d have Nirvana in a glass. Put the raspberries and mint in a 12-ounce glass. Mush raspberries with spoon, along with the mint (don't break the mint, just press it enough to release the fragrance and flavor). Break up the raspberries all the way so they'll be little enough to drink. Squeeze lime juice into glass, and leave the lime slice in glass.

  Add remaining liquids and stir. Done...drink! Whatever problems you keep dwelling on are guaranteed to feel gone after one, or two, of these!

  CHAPTER 5

  Rebecca fiddled with the forms before her, ignoring the long To Do list that sat beside the yellow order sheets. This was Gift Baskets to Die For’s first order, the thing she and her friends had worked so hard to achieve, and she just couldn’t get into the right frame of mind. She spent another ten minutes doodling instead of working, then finally gave up and pushed away from the little desk tucked in the corner of her room.

  Outside, she could hear the voices of her mother and two of her friends, who were exclaiming over the Sunday circular from Linens 'n Things. From the sound of things, there’d be new bath mats and towels before day’s end. Her mother had already asked her twice to join them for the home goods shopping extravaganza, but Rebecca didn’t feel up to that, either.

  She changed her clothes, then slipped on a pair of running shoes and swung her hair up into a ponytail. She headed out the door, then hit the pavement, weaving her way through her neighborhood and over to the Charles River. She passed the curved Hatch Shell at the Esplanade, the famous venue silent in the middle of the day. The lush green of the Esplanade lawn stretched beside her, but she kept going, looping up to the running path that ran along the sparkling blue river. A crew team rowed past her, the boat barely slicing the water as it slid along with the team’s precise, coordinated efforts.

  Rock music filled her ears, and she concentrated on the rhythm playing in her MP3 player. A classic Stones tune gave way to a fast-paced Christina Aguilera singing “Genie in a Bottle.” Sweat beaded on Rebecca’s forehead, and her lungs began to burn, but she ran on, trying to get this...tightness out of her system.

  She knew the problem. She’d been running from it, and ignoring it, ever since she got home from Indiana. Her hand strayed to her stomach, then away, her eyes burning. She’d dodged a bullet, and she should be grateful instead of sad.

  If she hadn’t miscarried, she’d be pregnant with Mr. Wrong’s baby, all her life plans thrown a huge curveball. God, she’d been so stupid.

  One crazy night. Caught up in flowery words that had nothing to back them up. She’d fallen for the stereotype—a summer fling. He’d been gone and out of her life before the sun rose.

  When the pregnancy test came back positive, Rebecca had been horrified. Excited, then devastated. Pretty much any adjective that could capture the tangle of emotions running through her.

  Then a few weeks later, the pregnancy had ended, a sad blessing that sent her into a second emotional tailspin of both grief and relief. By the end of the summer, she’d taken the whole thing as a hard-learned lesson and a second chance to get it right and make smarter choices. Ones where she thought with her head, not her hormones, and definitely not some silly romantic notions about Mr. Right.

  The problem? Her head kept sending conflicting messages about what she really wanted. So she ran, concentrating on her breathing, her pace, and prayed she’d find clarity by the end of her route.

  She passed under Mass Ave., the constant Boston traffic a roar overhead. Her music player shifted to J. Lo’s “If You Had My Love,” and Rebecca’s steps slowed. The song, coupled with the reminder that this had been the path she and Jeremy had jogged a hundred times over the past year, made her steps stutter. She crossed to the grassy banks of the river and took a seat, watching the crew team and other boaters, while the music played in her ear, and she realized she couldn’t outrun anything.

  She hadn’t found any answers. If anything, she’d created more questions. Rebecca ripped out the earbuds and let them hang around her neck.

  A pair of familiar Nikes appeared in her peripheral vision. Rebecca jerked her head up. Jeremy stood beside her, his dark hair lit by the sun behind him. He had on shorts and a T-shirt, baring the muscles in his legs and arms. God, he was a sexy man. No doubt about that. She’d been attracted to him since the first day.

  “Hey, what are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Same thing as you, I bet. Running off some stress.”

  “You still run this path?” she asked. Like she hadn’t been looking for him. Like she didn’t care.

  He nodded. “Several times a week.”

  She wanted to ask if he did it because he loved the Esplanade or because he missed running it with her. She could have chosen one of a million routes in Boston, but today, she had chosen the one that had been their favorite. A subconscious move? Or just a need to be near the water? Or because she secretly hoped to run into him?

  “Mind if I sit down?” He gestured toward the grassy space beside her. She nodded, and he sat down, not too close, but not too far away either. For a long moment, the two of them just watched the water ripple, the boats pass.

  If she didn’t think about it too much, it was like they were still together, sitting in comfortable silence. But she didn’t want comfortable anymore. She didn’t want predictable. She wanted—

  Real.

  There’d been moments when she’d been with Jeremy where she thought they had that, then he would retreat into work or his lists, and the sparks would get lost in his insistence on logical order, the romantic moment swept away before it even really began.

  She cursed the fact that she still felt that same rush of sexual tension when he was near, t
hat craving for his kiss, his touch, the way he knew her body like no one else. But that wasn’t enough to build a future on, and she needed to remember that, even as a part of her ached to reach out, to touch him.

  “We, ah, got our first order,” she said, focusing on the impersonal, asexual. Not on how close he sat, how it wouldn’t take much effort at all to brush against his skin, to be curled under his arm and pressed into his chest. How tempting the thick grass seemed, how it urged her to lay down with Jeremy and soak up the last rays of sun for the day. She cleared her throat. “So I guess that means we’re in business now.”

  A smile filled his face. “That’s great, Rebecca. Really great. I’m proud of you.”

  She shrugged. “I owe it to you. You’re the one who introduced me to your cousin’s wife, you know, the one who’s a realtor? She ordered twenty baskets to give to her top clients.”

  “I’m glad that worked out.”

  “Me too. It’s a start.” She fiddled with the grass by her ankles, wanting to stay, but knowing it would only lead them down a path she didn’t want to take. Hadn’t she learned her lesson this summer? Acting without thinking caused her to make very, very bad decisions, as did forming a relationship that was never going to have real love at its core. The logical side of her knew that Jeremy was never going to change, and hoping for more just because of the way he kissed her or because she craved his touch, wouldn’t make it so.