Worth the Wait (Kingston Ale House)

by A. J. Pine

  And the last time he checked, he wasn’t a jealous dickhead, so he swallowed back his irrational reaction and headed to the bar to make their drinks.

  He arrived several minutes later with Grace’s favorite—kale, apple, and lemon.

  “How’s everything going this evening?” Jeremy asked, setting the drinks down on the table.

  Grace bit her lip. “Splendid?” she answered, and he understood the question in her voice.

  “Great,” he said. “Can I get you two something from the menu, or is it just drinks tonight?”

  Gavin looked at his watch. “Just drinks tonight, but thanks. I’m heading to the airport for a business trip in a couple of hours.” His eyes met hers, and Jeremy watched as the guy’s gaze dipped to Grace’s chest.

  Grace smiled. “I’m so glad we were able to fit this in.” Then she looked up at Jeremy again. Who was still there.

  Why was he still standing there?

  Grace handed him her phone. “Take a picture?”

  Jeremy’s eyes narrowed.

  “For the Facebook page,” she added.

  Gavin cleared his throat.

  “This guy knows about your…uh…Facebook page?”

  Grace shrugged. “Kingston’s is sort of man-cleanse central. Everyone here knows.”

  Jeremy held up her phone and tapped the camera icon. “Say cheese,” he said, forcing his own smile as Grace and Gavin tilted their heads together.

  “Thanks,” she said as Jeremy offered her camera back. “I’ll upload it now. Keep things in ‘real time’ as Whitney likes to say.”

  “Real-time marketing is smart for this sort of thing,” Gavin said. “That’s what your followers want, to know what’s going on as it’s happening.”

  Jeremy crossed his arms. “You sure you two don’t want to rehash the last season of Game of Thrones?”

  Grace was sipping her smoothie and coughed as she swallowed.

  “I don’t have cable,” she said. “But thanks.”

  Gavin wasn’t even looking at him anymore, and because Jeremy wanted to maintain his dignity, he backed away.

  This was what he’d signed up for. He may have thrown his hat in the ring, but he’d also promised to support her search for Mr. Right…and to be her wingman if she needed. So he’d serve drinks and take pictures and whatever else she needed.

  And he wouldn’t let her smiling at another guy get to him. Because that wasn’t who he was.

  Shit did not get to Jeremy Denning.

  It was another forty-five minutes before Grace stood to shake Gavin’s hand as he got up to leave. She sidled up to the bar as soon as the guy was out the door. Jeremy was filling a pint for a customer but gave her a nod to let her know he’d be there soon.

  He slid the pint across the counter to the waiting patron.

  “Is that Grace Bailey?” the guy asked. “That chick doing the man cleanse?”

  Jeremy had only paid attention to the guy’s order a minute ago, but now he actually looked at him.

  Hipster beanie with his mess of dark waves coming out the sides and back. Black framed glasses and a shit-eating grin.

  “I think you already know it is,” Jeremy said, not hiding the hint of venom in his tone. “What, did you see her on Facebook and follow her over here?”

  The guy slapped a ten-dollar bill on the bar and picked up his pint.

  “That’s the way it works, bro. She’s an open book, and I’m here to sample the pages.” He nodded at the bill. “You can keep the change.”

  Before Jeremy could say anything else, beanie guy had already moved down to where Grace stood. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he sure as hell could read the blush on her cheeks and the smile that parted her lips. In seconds she was leading him back to the table where she’d just been with Gavin. His jaw clenched as beanie guy looked over his shoulder and gave Jeremy a knowing grin.

  “Fucking stalker,” Jeremy said under his breath. Then he laughed. Because new patrons at a table had to be greeted, right? And he was the only one around.

  He rounded the bar, with the pitcher of water and two fresh glasses, without another thought, which should have been his first internal warning. But when Jeremy put thinking on the back burner, well, warnings were hard to come by.

  He’d planned on just asking her if she wanted another smoothie or a club soda. But hipster dude’s hand was on hers, and just like that, his last shred of logic—and dignity—were out the door.

  He set the empty glasses down on the table and poured the first one without incident. But with the second he lost his grip—and, apparently, his mind—and dropped the entire pitcher into Grace’s lap.

  …

  Grace let her phone go to voicemail three times as she walked through the door. She didn’t do angry, but unsolicited ice water had a way of changing a woman’s outlook. She’d had to blast the heat for the car ride home just to stop from shivering. Peeling herself out of the cold, wet denim was equally as fun. Only now, as she lowered herself into the hot bath, did she finally reach for the phone as it vibrated with another incoming call.

  “This better be good,” she said, even as she sighed at the inarguable bliss the water provided.

  “I’m an asshole,” Jeremy said.

  She closed her eyes. “That’s a start.”

  “What’s that noise?” he asked. “Are you doing dishes or something?”

  She shook her head, then realized he couldn’t see her. “Taking a bath,” she said, then hummed in satisfaction.

  “Christ, Grace. You’re killing me. Can’t you be pissed at me while you’re doing something a little less sexy?”

  She bit back a laugh. There was no chance she was letting him off the hook that easily.

  “Not only am I in the bathtub,” she said, “but when we get off the phone, which is going to be very soon, I’m going to get myself off surrounded by lavender-scented bubbles.”

  He groaned, and she slapped a hand over her mouth, afraid she’d totally lose it.

  “So,” she continued, “let’s get back to the part where you were saying you were—”

  “An asshole. I don’t know what the hell got into me. I handled the suit, but then that second guy—”

  “Gulliver,” she interrupted.

  Jeremy made a choking sound. “Shut the fuck up.”

  “What?” she cried in defense. “It’s a name. It’s not like he chose it. His parents did. Who are we to judge?” She wouldn’t admit that the name had caught her off guard, too. “Anyway, he was perfectly nice, said he was a massage therapist, too. We were just about to compare work stories when my wingman decided to go against protocol and soak me with ice water.” She’d lost her playful tone. “That was a pretty awful thing to do.”

  He let out a breath. “I know. But the guy was a total douche the way he talked about you. Did you know he followed you there after he saw your Facebook post with Gavin? Then I saw his hand on yours, and I don’t know. I lost it.”

  The longer she soaked, and heard that regret in his voice, the harder it was to stay mad at him.

  “Of course I knew he followed me there from the post. It was the first thing he said to me.”

  “But—”

  “But I’m not some damsel in distress, Jeremy.” She blew out a long breath. “Okay, so I know I’m in this whole man-cleanse reality-show situation because of some large-ish distress in my life, but I’m handling it. That’s the point. And being my wingman doesn’t give you the right to make decisions for me.”

  There was a long beat of silence before she heard anything from him, even a breath. Finally he spoke.

  “Did I say I was sorry?”

  She let out a quiet laugh. “No. You didn’t.”

  “I’m sorry. I was jealous.”

  Despite the hot water, his words were enough to make heat rush to her cheeks, and she was glad for the few miles that separated them.

  “You know Gavin wasn’t really my type,” she admitted.

&nbs
p; “That’s what I said!” And he laughed.

  “And Gulliver…” She giggled. “Okay, the name might have thrown me a bit, but he was nice enough for the few minutes I got to know him. You know I need to do this, right? I have to give this my best shot until I’m sure who the right guy is.”

  “I know my track record doesn’t make me the safest bet, but my hat is still in the ring. In case you were wondering.”

  She grinned. “I’m glad. Good night, Jeremy.”

  She almost ended the call, but he interrupted.

  “Wait! I thought we were okay. You’re not going to let me stay on the phone for…you know?”

  She laughed. As much as she would enjoy him talking her through what came next, tonight was a night to set up a few boundaries. He’d crossed a line, and even though he knew it, she needed time to truly trust him if he was going to be the one in December.

  “Good night, Jeremy,” she singsonged.

  He groaned, but he didn’t push her, and she’d remember that. “Good night, Grace.”

  She ended the call. And though he might not have been on the other end of the phone, when she closed her eyes and slid her hand between her legs, it was Jeremy’s face she saw. It was his hand she imagined.

  And it was a good night after all.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mom: When are we going to reschedule? It’s been a month, darling.

  Grace stared at the text, trying to formulate an answer that would appease her mother yet at the same time prolong the inevitable.

  Grace: You’re the one who canceled, Mom. And I have evening appointments, too.

  She worried her lip. Maybe petulant teenager wasn’t necessarily the way to go.

  Mom: I saw Mark today. He looked absolutely dreadful. Have you two worked it out yet?

  Grace exhaled loudly. Just when she was about to crumble under the guilt, her mom had that amazing knack for reminding her why she’d been avoiding her family in the first place.

  Grace: I gotta go, Mom. I have a thing. And then I’m working all weekend. Call you Sunday. Love you.

  Okay. So she still felt guilty, but this was all for the best. If she exposed Mark’s personal money matters, he’d expose her dad to the whim of the public’s fickle opinion. It was as simple as that.

  Someone slid into the booth across from her, and Grace looked up from her phone with a start.

  “Whitney,” she said. “I was expecting coffee shop Derek, but not for another fifteen minutes.”

  Whitney Gaines pressed her cherry-red painted lips into a smile and tossed her head back with a laugh, her shiny blond locks swaying as if she were in a shampoo commercial.

  “I know,” she said. “I’ve been reading your Facebook posts, keeping up, informing the public. Blah blah. But we have a little issue.”

  The other woman leaned forward, resting her hands on the table between them. Grace’s brow furrowed.

  “Issue?” Grace asked nervously. “I’ve been doing the dates every week, sometimes even more than one a night. I’ve been posting and interacting.”

  Whitney waved a hand in the air. “Of course you are. You’re doing exactly what we asked. It just feels a little…lackluster.”

  Grace swallowed. She’d had a lovely conversation last week with Ted, the guy from the produce section at Whole Foods. They’d bonded over a love of kale, and he’d even given her a recipe for chipotle kale chips, which she’d made the next day and added to her weekly post. How was that lackluster?

  Whitney steepled her fingers in front of her, and if she weren’t so damn pretty, she would have looked like some sort of James Bond villain. But she was just a weather girl who almost got engaged to Jeremy. No big deal.

  Grace sipped her club soda.

  “It’s okay,” Whitney said, her tone sweet and forgiving, though Grace still wasn’t sure what she’d done wrong. “I know,” she added. “About Jeremy.”

  If Grace were a cartoon, her eyes would have popped out of their sockets, dangling from springs. Instead she held in the near spit-take and coughed as she forced her drink down her throat rather than through her nostrils.

  She knew. About Jeremy.

  What the heck did that mean? She knew she met Jeremy in Madison three weeks ago? She knew they saw each other on a regular basis? Or maybe she knew Jeremy had come to her open dating call, claiming he wanted to be in the running for that first kiss for all of Chicagoland to see. But for all that was lovely and good in the universe, if Whitney knew about their phone call on the same night in question…? No, Jeremy wouldn’t have told her.

  Would he?

  She shook her head, realizing that the last several seconds had been nothing more than a conversation with her own inner monologue, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to elicit further speech from Jeremy’s ex-love-of-his-life because life as she knew it might change forever if Whitney answered any of her questions.

  “You…you know?” was all Grace could muster after several seconds more.

  Whitney nodded, grinning triumphantly. Then she laid her palm on Grace’s hand.

  “Well, I wasn’t sure,” she said. “But now I am!” She clapped her hands together. “God, I love it when I’m right.”

  Grace’s eyes narrowed at her. “Sure about what, exactly?” she asked, though she was pretty confident where this was going.

  “Oh, please,” Whitney said. “I see how you look at him. And it’s not like he’s hard to fall for. I certainly did. Once,” she said wistfully. But then she sighed and waved her hand in the air. “Anyway, that’s ancient history. College sweethearts. We’re all grown up now. Even Jeremy.” She sighed. “You know, all these years I thought he didn’t have enough ambition or drive, that all he ever aimed for was whatever fell into his lap. But look at him now. Committing to partner. If I’d have known then…”

  She didn’t finish the thought. Instead she stared pointedly at Grace again while it sank in what this meeting was really about. Whitney had tricked her into admitting her feelings about Jeremy, but she was also making it clear that her history with Jeremy might not be as ancient as she claimed.

  It was fine. Jeremy chose her. Even without sex on the table, he’d thrown his hat in the ring. Heck, the pitcher of water in her lap… As much as it was bad judgment on his part, he’d admitted to jealousy. He didn’t like seeing her with other men.

  She had to trust her gut on this—on him.

  “Anyway,” Whitney said. “If Jeremy is the guy for December sixteenth, great. Wonderful. All the happiness to you both. But between now and then, your encounters with the other contenders need to be more believable. We need—and by we I mean your fans—to have people to root for. We need to see more interaction from them on the Facebook page, which means you need to give us a little more. Make us think these guys have some sort of a chance so the competition feels real.”

  Grace shook her head slowly. “Competition? I thought this was about the cleanse and me connecting with someone without a physical relationship. I thought it was about me,” she said, realizing as soon as the words were out of her mouth how wrong she was.

  Whitney leveled her with a gaze.

  “Oh, sweetheart. Welcome to television. It’s about whatever gets us ratings. And I can tell you just from our weekly teaser spots, the feedback we’re getting is that the bystander type viewer—the one not hoping to date you—wants the will she or won’t she? of a show like The Bachelor. And the men who want to date you? They want to believe they have a chance with the beautiful, celibate hippie girl.”

  Grace opened her mouth to protest, but Whitney didn’t give her chance.

  “Just give them what they want, and you’ll get what you want when this is all over, okay?” She slid out of the booth just as coffee shop Derek made eye contact with Grace and started heading her way. “Something believable in your post tonight. Ooh, and how about a selfie of the cute couple?” Whitney winked at her and was gone as quickly as she came.

  Grace glanced at the bar as he
r date approached the table. Jeremy was there, pouring Whitney a pint.

  Excellent.

  Her date was going to be chaperoned by the guy she wished were sitting across from her and the woman he once wanted to marry—who knew Grace wanted him.

  Jeremy had sworn she could trust Whitney, but what if he was wrong? What if he’d misjudged her all over again, and she was back not just for her career but for him? If that was the case, Whitney’s knowing how Grace felt could cost her the twenty-five grand…and Jeremy.

  Something sank in her gut, and for a second she felt like she was drowning.

  “Hi, Grace.”

  She blinked, Derek’s voice bringing her back above water, but only barely. Her date. Poor guy. He looked actually happy to see her, and she was viewing the next few hours as something to check off her to-do list.

  “Hi, Derek,” she said, smiling. It wasn’t hard to do. Derek had her soy chai latte down to an art, and he always had it ready for her before she walked in. And it’s not like he wasn’t good-looking.

  He slid into the booth across from her, his short dark hair a perfect complement to the deep chocolate eyes that stared back at her. It was strange to see him like this, out of his apron and without his ever-present backward baseball cap. He looked like…a man.

  And just like that, Grace relaxed. Maybe Jeremy was going to be the one in December, but right now he was pouring a beer for his ex. She could enjoy a meal with a good-looking man who was a whiz with a steam wand.

  She giggled.

  “What?” Derek asked, but Grace just shook her head. She didn’t think steam wand innuendo was first-date conversation.

  Oh no. She’d never be able to look at her latte the same way again. For the love of chai, this was bad. So were her giggles.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’m actually starting to get a complex. Most women don’t laugh until much later in the evening when I’ve had a few drinks and start making stupid steam wand jokes.”

  Grace yelped with laughter and then snorted. Her hand flew over her mouth, but the catharsis of letting that pent-up emotion out was so freeing, she just let it go.