The Groom Wanted Seconds: A Novella

by Shirley Jump

  Jeremy swallowed hard. “Did you say hiring?”

  George grinned, then reached forward and put out a hand. “Welcome to Griffin Engineering, Jeremy. Starting this week, you’re a paid employee of the firm.”

  Jeremy blinked. It took a good five seconds for the words to process in his brain, words he had worked for so long to hear. He shook with George, then sat back. “Thank you. I’m flattered and grateful and honestly, a little surprised.”

  “You shouldn’t be. You’re the smartest, hardest working intern I’ve had in this office in a long time. I’m looking forward to what you can bring to the team.”

  Jeremy thanked his boss again, then got to his feet, but the joy over the achievement had already dissipated. Why? This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? What he’d slaved towards, given up weekends, nights out.

  As he made his way to the door, he caught a glimpse of a photo on the bookshelf. Judging by the dark hair on George’s head, it was an older photo of him with his family, somewhere on a beach. George stood in the center, flanked by two little boys on one side, and his wife on the other. A half dozen other photos surrounded the first one, individual pictures of the kids, one of George on a fishing boat. No other happy family ones.

  That’s when it hit Jeremy. He didn’t care about the job offer because he couldn’t share the news with the one person who mattered. Rebecca was everything he’d ever wanted, and more, and without her, the achievement was hollow.

  He headed back to his desk. No pictures adorned the space, nothing but the tools of his job. Spreadsheets, goal lists, deadline notes, hung on the walls, sad décor accented by a computer, a stapler, a bunch of pens and pencils, and an assortment of paperclips.

  He’d concentrated on all these things, nose to the grindstone, and achieved his goal. He had the job. But without Rebecca, the job was just that—a job.

  Time for a new goal. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a long color photo strip, one of those silly things people did at the mall. Step into a booth, pull the curtain and immortalize four moments for two bucks.

  In the photos, Rebecca laughed and mugged for the camera, and he sat beside her, as stone-faced as Mt. Rushmore. Except for the last picture. Rebecca had turned just before the camera snapped, and planted a big, noisy kiss on his cheek. A big, goofy grin had spread across his face, and the camera had frozen that moment, that smile, forever. He used to hate that picture, the way he looked so…silly.

  Now he looked again and saw a man who had spent three-fourths of his time afraid to risk goofiness. Afraid to be the fool. Afraid to say the words that could change his future.

  I just decided I was tired of losing out on what mattered to me.

  Jeremy reached in his desk, pulled out a pushpin, then pressed it into the top of the photo strip and hung it on the cloth covered wall of his cubicle. The photo hung over the spreadsheets, the goal lists, the deadline reminders. He needed only one reminder now—picture number four.

  Goofy grin and all.

  2 teaspoons butter

  1 cup sliced celery

  1 cup chopped carrot

  1/2 cup chopped onion

  1 teaspoon thyme

  1 teaspoon poultry seasoning

  4 cups chicken broth

  4 ounces egg noodles or star-shaped pasta

  2 cups cooked chicken

  Parsley

  Salt and pepper to taste

  You gotta master the basics before you move on to the master course, and chicken soup is as basic as they get. So master this classic and you’ll have a way to cure the common cold, and keep your man at home where the fire’s already burning. In a large saucepan or Dutch oven, melt the butter over medium heat. Add the celery, carrots and onion, then add the thyme and poultry seasoning. Stir and cook for a few minutes, until the vegetables are as soft as your heart.

  Add the broth (add more if you want your soup more broth-y), then add the pasta and bring to a boil, then cook until pasta is done. Turn down soup to a simmer, add the chicken, parsley, salt and pepper. Cook until chicken is warmed through, and serve to the man you most want to keep in your life.

  CHAPTER 7

  The package caught her by surprise.

  Rebecca was heading out the door, off to a meeting with Candace and Maria to work on the twenty-gift basket order, when the delivery driver pulled into the driveway. “More Beanie Babies,” she called over her shoulder to her mother.

  “Not for me. This one must be for you.” Gloria came to stand by the door, and watched as the driver handed Rebecca a slim package and had her sign the form on his clipboard. “Who’s it from?”

  “Jeremy,” she said.

  “Are you going to open it?” her mother asked.

  She fingered the flap. “I’ll wait.” Coward. “I gotta go, Ma. Bye.” She kissed her mom on the cheek, then headed outside, tossing the white envelope onto the passenger’s seat of her car.

  She drove over to Candace’s Dorchester duplex, and pulled into the driveway. Candace’s grandma, who lied about her age and still lived like she was twenty-five, gave Rebecca a wave. Today, Grandma Woodrow had on bright pink stretch pants and an oversize white T, making her look like the Flashdance dancer—in retirement.

  “Here to take the first step on your corporate takeover of the gift basket world?” Grandma Woodrow asked.

  Rebecca laughed, then came around to the passenger’s side of her car to grab the pile of supplies she’d brought. “I don’t know about taking over the world, but we can at least grab a spot in our corner.”

  Grandma Woodrow waved a hand. “You’ll never get anywhere sitting in a corner. Let your star shine, Rebecca.” She gave a little pirouette in the driveway. “That’s what I’m off to do. Heading down to the senior center for some Tae-Bo. I keep trying to get them to fly in the real Billy Blanks, but so far, no go. If anything is going to get those old women out of their chairs and excited to do a few jabs, it’s a half naked man.”

  Rebecca laughed, then headed inside the other half of the duplex where Candace lived, sharing the house with her grandmother. The arrangement worked well for both women, especially for Grandma Woodrow, who liked the company and didn’t want to admit she might need someone to look after her once in a while.

  “I’ve got the supplies we needed,” she called as she opened the door. Candace’s half of the house was a diametric opposite to Grandma Woodrow’s zebra and tiger print house. Candace had decorated her rooms in soft earth tones, with a cream colored sofa and glass shelves. Candace, who made neat into an Olympic sport, kept every inch tidy and spotless, not so much as a postage stamp out of place.

  “Perfect timing. We’re almost ready to get started,” Candace said.

  “As soon as I finish mixing this sangria, we are,” Maria called from the kitchen. A second later, she emerged with a pitcher and three wine glasses. Orange slices and apple chunks danced in the red wine. She poured them each a glass, then set the pitcher beside a platter of brownies. “You gotta try these brownies Candace made,” Maria said. “All our customers are going to love them.”

  Rebecca laughed. “Customers plural? We have like four so far.”

  “They’ll multiply. Like rabbits.” Maria grinned, grabbed a brownie, and took a generous bite.

  Rebecca lowered the bags to the table, and began unpacking the contents. As she did, she spied the envelope, caught up in her rush to grab the supplies out of her car. Before she could tuck it away, eagle-eyed Maria spied the envelope.

  “Whoa, whoa. Does this say from Jeremy Hamilton?” Maria squeezed the package, then arched a brow. “Small box inside. Hmmm…like a ring box?”

  “Come on, Maria. Not even Jeremy would propose by FedEx.”

  Rebecca grabbed the envelope and shoved it into her purse. “He’s practical enough to think that would be a good idea. But I’m not opening it.”

  Both Candace and Maria had the same immediate response. “Why not?”

  “Because we’re over.”

  C
andace looked at Maria. Maria looked at Candace. “Sure you are,” Maria said.

  “We are.” Even to Rebecca’s ears, the affirmation sounded as weak as overcooked spaghetti. If they were so over, then why did she still think about him all the time? Why did she lie in bed at night and remember making love to him, the way his hands had known every inch of her body, his lips working in sweet concert to leave her satisfied, happy? Why did she still feel disappointed that he hadn’t stayed to talk at the coffee shop?

  Was Candace right? Was Rebecca choosing fear over reason?

  “Then I guess you won’t care if I look and see what he sent you. Right?” Maria reached for the envelope.

  Rebecca grabbed the basket closest to her and began stuffing the bottom with blue and white shredded paper. “Not at all.”

  But as Maria undid the Tyvek and reached inside, Rebecca’s movements slowed, then stopped, and she lifted her gaze to see what Jeremy had sent. Maria’s fingers closed over the contents. “Too big to be a ring box. Maybe a bracelet? Earrings? Keys to a condo in the south of France?”

  “On Jeremy’s pay?” Rebecca laughed. “I don’t think so.”

  Maria opened the envelope wider and peeked inside. “Hmmm. Very interesting. Very interesting indeed.”

  “What is it?”

  Maria jerked her head up and grinned at Rebecca. “I thought you didn’t care.”

  “I’m just…curious.” Rebecca glanced at her friends, then sighed. “Okay, I do care. Just because I broke up with him doesn’t mean I don’t still care.”

  Candace shot Maria a grin. “You owe me ten bucks.”

  “You two bet on my feelings for Jeremy?”

  “Hey, you were out of town. We had to keep ourselves entertained.” Maria handed over the envelope, then sat back with a Cheshire cat smile.

  Rebecca pulled out the box inside. White rectangular cardboard, six, maybe seven inches long, the kind used for jewelry, but Rebecca doubted Jeremy would send such an expensive item through the mail. She tugged off the lid, and inside the box, nestled on a thick square of cotton, was…

  A pen.

  “Is it gold? Are there diamonds?” Candace asked.

  “Not exactly.” Rebecca held up the pen. “More like glitter and feathers.” She clicked a button on the side. “With a handy-dandy built in flashlight at the end.”

  The other two gaped at the clear barreled writing instrument, filled with glittery snowflakes and topped with bright pink and purple feathers.

  “He overnighted a pen?” Maria shook her head. “Is there at least a note? Something more in the envelope? Like a Nordstrom’s card with unlimited available credit?”

  Rebecca reached inside again and came up with a square of paper, one of the hundreds on Jeremy’s mile high Post-it note cube that sat on the corner of his desk and got used for everything from grocery lists to call logs. “Every successful business person needs a great pen for signing checks, and a way to remember to have fun at the same time. Congratulations on the sale. Jeremy.”

  She fiddled with the pen, the feathers tickling against the table. At its core, it was a great pen, heavy, with a thick nub that ensured smooth, even writing. Smart and silly all at once—and completely out of the realm of Jeremy.

  “I thought for sure it was jewelry,” Candace said.

  “Jeremy only buys practical gifts. Or at least, that’s what I thought. This…this is a surprise.” What was he trying to tell her? Had she been wrong about who she thought he was?

  Tears welled in her eyes, and for a moment, she couldn’t tell if they were tears of disappointment or tears of regret. God, she was a mess. First she had fallen for a guy who was sweet but distracted, who proposed to her like it was another item on his agenda. Then she’d gone and fallen for a guy who gave her everything she’d thought she’d been missing with Jeremy, and still had her heart broken. Now, Jeremy kept trying to win his way back into her heart, but that damned fear kept her from leaping back into his arms. What if she was wrong again? Or what if—

  He didn’t want her, once he knew the truth about their summer apart?

  That, she knew, was what lurked at the core of it all. Rebecca Wilson had screwed up her life, but good. And finding her way out of the mess she’d created was going to take a lot more than a pen light.

  *~*~*

  Desperate times called for desperate measures.

  That night, Rebecca stood in the line outside of The Spotted Cow, a crumpled five in her hands, and waited, as anxious as a three-year-old, for the server to take her order. After leaving Candace’s, she’d gone home and finished off the Thin Mints then proceeded to work her way through a package of Ho-Hos and a box of Pepperidge Farm Milanos. She’d debated baking her own cookies, and opted instead for a trip to the ice cream shop down the street from her mother’s house. The walk, she reasoned, would do her good, and help undo some of the sugar impact.

  The customer in front of her left with his triple chocolate cone and Rebecca stepped forward to place her order. “One scoop of coconut almond with a drizzle of hot fudge, in a dish. Two spoons.” Then she remembered and shook her head. “One spoon. Sorry.”

  A moment later, she had the ice cream, but her appetite for the treat had deserted her. She pulled out her cell phone and scrolled through the contacts, pausing on Jeremy’s name. Before she could think better of it, she pressed Send. The phone rang once, twice, and just as she was about to hang up, he answered.

  His deep voice sent a thrill through her. Every time she had talked to him, it had been like that, as if she was talking to him for the first time. Even with the weeks apart, her hormones reacted the same, as if they hadn’t gotten the memo from her brain. “It’s me,” she said.

  “I’m glad.”

  “Thank you for the pen.” Yeah, that’s why she was calling. Not because she wanted to hear his voice. “It was sweet. Unexpected.”

  “That’s what I wanted.”

  “Well, thanks.” Then she paused, her throat thick. The connection hissed with tension. “Anyway, I was just sitting here on the bench at the Spotted Cow, and having a coconut ice cream…” Oh, what was she doing? She shouldn’t have called him. But every time she looked at the dish of slowly melting ice cream, this choked up feeling overtook her and her eyes burned. “And it just made me think of you and I and…”

  “Are you still there? At the Spotted Cow?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Give me ten minutes. I’ll be there before the ice cream melts.”

  She hesitated. “Jeremy, I shouldn’t have called, I—”

  “Wait for me, Rebecca.” Then he was gone, the call disconnected before she could respond.

  Seven minutes went by, with Rebecca hemming and hawing, berating herself for calling him, then looking at the uneaten ice cream and knowing why she had pressed the button. Her stomach knotted, and she had just gotten up to throw the ice cream away when Jeremy swung his car into an empty parking space with a screech of tires and a jerk of brakes. He hopped out, slammed the door, and crossed the lot in fast strides. She stood there by the trash, like an idiot, watching him approach.

  He was wearing jeans that hugged his thighs and a pale blue button down shirt that glided over the hard chest and strong arms she remembered well. The sight of him made her warm, deep, deep inside. His hair was getting a little long, and one dark lock kept dropping over his brow. He looked…amazing.

  When he reached her, he grinned that lopsided grin that still melted her heart. “I was afraid you’d leave.”

  “I was about to.”

  “What, and waste this?” He stepped forward, putting his hand under hers and raising the dish between them. “Such a delicious treat. It would be a shame to let it go without at least one taste.”

  Temptation rolled across the deep syllables in his voice. She raised her gaze to his, and for a second, she forgot to breathe. Her insides melted, and heat unfurled in her womb. The faces and chatter of the other customers disappeared, and the world closed
in to just the two of them. “You’re right,” she said, the words almost a whisper. “It would be a shame to waste that.”

  The grin lit his blue eyes. “Oh, and look. Only one spoon.”

  “I, uh, can get another one.”

  He shook his head. Slow, sure. A more confident, sexy Jeremy than she had ever known before. It thrilled her and scared her and intrigued her, all at once. “This one will be perfect.” He scooped up a bite of ice cream and raised the treat to her lips. Cool, sweet, tempting. “You first.”

  Rebecca inhaled, her gaze locked on his. Then she parted her lips, tasted the ice cream, and swallowed the bite. “Mmm…”

  He watched her lips, desire darkening the blue of his eyes. “You missed a little bit right…here.” Then he leaned in and kissed her.

  No, not quite kissed her. More like he tasted her. A whisper of his lips against hers, then along the corner of her mouth. He drew back, then slowly, very slowly, took the ice cream from her, placed it on the fence post behind them. He reached up with both his hands, cupping her jaw, then just as slowly, he leaned in, his blue eyes locked on hers, until the very last second when their lips met again. It was a tender, sweet kiss, with undertones of heat, like a spicy chocolate cake, that surprised her and captivated her.

  She leaned into him, craving, needing, wanting. She wasn’t thinking about ice cream or cookies or choices, she was thinking only of him, of the sweet agony of being with a man who knew her body so well, who could send her hormones into a frenzy with a kiss, a touch. He knew her, and oh, that was a delicious thing.

  “More?” he said.

  Her eyes still closed, she nodded. “Mmm, yes. Please.”

  Instead of another kiss, she felt the cool shock of ice cream. She opened her eyes, grinned and took the bite. “What about you?”

  “Oh, I got the dessert I wanted.”

  When he came up with another spoonful, she pushed his hand away. “What are we doing?”

  “Seeing if we want another taste.”

  And, oh, how she did right now. But she drew back, even as her hormones screamed a mutiny. “I don’t know what I want, Jeremy.”