“It’s your wedding,” Darlene said.
“Actually, it’s Emily’s,” Summer pointed out. All three sisters ignored her.
“I’ve got plans tonight, anyway,” Georgia said. “My date’s picking me up in half an hour.”
“That explains the shoes.” Summer laughed and pointed out Georgia’s fringed magenta booties.
“What? These are my camping shoes,” Georgia said. “They’re rugged. They have fringe.”
“Yeah, you’re practically Davy Crockett.” Summer took another nip from her flask and gathered up an armful of blankets.
“But we’ll have to get started early in the kitchen,” Bev warned. “Melanie and I planned a bachelorette party for Emily, and we want to leave plenty of time.”
“Wait.” Emily didn’t dare look at Summer. “I thought we weren’t having a bachelorette party.”
“Oh, it’s nothing fancy,” Bev said. “Just a fun little get-together.”
“Will this fun little get-together involve naked men?” Georgia asked.
“Goodness, no.”
“I don’t get up before nine a.m. unless there’s a naked man involved,” Georgia declared, then strutted back toward the Lodge, cursing as her heels sank into the lawn.
Rose shook her head. “Oh, my.”
“Don’t worry, Emily.” Darlene brushed off her twill capri pants. “We don’t hold you accountable for your mother.”
“You go on to bed, Bev.” Summer linked her arm through Emily’s. “We’ll get started on the cookies tonight.”
“I don’t know.” Bev fretted. “I think it might be better if I were there to supervise.”
“We’ll be fine.” Summer said this in her most authoritative flight attendant voice. “You showed us the pictures and told us exactly how to make the icing. We’ll frost for an hour or two and that way, we won’t have to rush tomorrow.”
“But I—”
“Nighty-night.” Summer smiled brightly. “Remember, you’re the mother of the groom and you need to save your strength. Big weekend coming up.”
As Bev headed back to the hotel along with Melanie and the girls, Summer jabbed her finger at Caroline and Emily. “Beverly Cardin has no business planning your bachelorette party.”
Caroline turned up her palms. “This is the first I’m hearing of it.”
“Me, too,” Emily said.
“I’m the maid of honor. Planning the bachelorette party is my job.” Summer’s expression grew positively mutinous. “Fine. If she’s going to be that way, I’m going to raid Georgia’s closet beforehand. I’m going to find something sequined, leopard print, and obscenely low-cut.”
“Please don’t give the three musketeers any more ammunition,” Emily begged. Then she turned to Caroline. “Hey, I watched the first few episodes of Buffy last night.”
“And? What’d you think?”
“I think I’m going to have to reconsider my anti-vampire stance.”
“Buffy is a gateway drug.” Ryan’s voice startled all of them. “Next thing you know, you’ll be hitting the hard stuff: True Blood, Shadow of the Vampire, ’Salem’s Lot….”
Emily whirled around, dropping the empty marshmallow bags she’d collected. “You’re still here?”
In the shadows cast by the fire, his eyes looked darker than usual. His teeth flashed white and even. “I’m always here.”
“So I’ve noticed.” She leaned down to retrieve the plastic bags.
“Well, we better get cracking on those cookies!” Summer grabbed Caroline and dragged her into the woods. “Adios, you two!”
“Hotel’s that way,” Ryan pointed out.
“Of course it is!” Summer did a one-eighty and tramped off with a bewildered Caroline asking, “What just happened?”
“You guys are the worst bridesmaids ever!” Emily called after them.
She listened to the rustle of snapping twigs for a moment, then gave Ryan her full attention.
“Okay.” She held out her arms. “You did it. You got me here, all alone.”
“I did.” He sounded pleased, but not surprised. “It’s just me, you, and the campfire.” He prodded the glowing red embers with a stick. “Old flame’s still burning.”
She rolled her eyes. “Where’s your trusty sidekick?”
“Ripley? Poor pup OD’d on fresh air. She’s sleeping it off in my room.”
They stood side by side in silence, watching the ash and flame overtake each other.
Finally, Ryan reached down to scavenge through the remaining box of graham crackers. “Have a s’more.”
She watched him assemble layers of cracker, chocolate, and warm marshmallow.
“I can’t. If I gain so much as half a pound, my wedding dress is going to cut off my circulation.”
“Don’t be that girl.” After a minute, he picked up the s’more and lifted it to her lips. The warm glow of the fire reflected in his eyes. “Take a bite.”
She looked at him and realized that one way or another, she was going to give in to temptation tonight, and the s’more was by far the lesser of two evils.
So she leaned forward and nibbled, closing her eyes as she savored the crunch of the graham cracker, the sticky sweetness of the marshmallow, and the gooey richness of the chocolate. She took another bite, then another.
When she opened her eyes, she found him closer than ever, watching her with an intensity that made her throat go dry.
She swallowed hard and put the rest of the treat down. “This s’more has zero nutritional value.”
“That’s what makes it so good.” He stepped closer, gaze fixed on her mouth, and she knew he was going to kiss her.
She waited, barely breathing, while he reached up and brushed his thumb along her lower lip.
“You had some chocolate there,” he said.
Her lips parted of their own accord and when he took his hand away, her tongue traced the path his thumb had taken. She tasted chocolate, along with a hint of smoke. She tasted danger. She tasted possibility.
She forced herself to take a sip of water.
As the cool liquid washed her mouth clean, she edged back until her heel collided with a fallen log. Never taking her gaze from his, she crossed her arms and made her stand.
“What are you doing, Ryan? I want to know. What is it, exactly, that you’re trying to accomplish?”
He stopped trying to charm and cajole her. His voice dropped and his expression changed. “I’m asking you if you still love me.”
She had no idea what to say to that, and so she clung to the only thing she knew for sure. “I’m getting married in three days.”
His eyebrows shot up. “So?”
“So, it doesn’t matter how I feel about you.”
“Yeah, it does matter. It’s the only thing that matters.”
“No, Ryan. No.” She drew a ragged breath and hugged herself tighter. “You can’t just show up out of the blue and sweep me off into the sunset. That’s not how real life works.”
“You’re the expert on ‘real life’ now?”
“Yes. And here’s what else: I am not the girl you married. I have a completely different life, and a lot of responsibilities. I have a great man who loves me.”
He took a single step toward her, his hands in his pockets. “You have two great men who love you. Just for the record.”
She started to tremble. “If you really loved me, you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t make this hard for me. You’d let me go on with my life.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because…” She trailed off, her brow creasing. “Because that’s the noble thing to do—to walk away and let the person you love be happy.”
“I don’t walk away from things, Emily. Never have, never will.” His tone hardened, and she remembered how she’d run from their old apartment, slamming the door on him midsentence. “And I want you. Always have, always will.”
“You don’t want me.” She was almost pleading with him now. “Y
ou just think you do.”
“You’re right. I think we’ll be happy together. I think you owe it to yourself to give us another shot. And I think, if you loved Grant as much as you say you do, you wouldn’t be standing here arguing with me. You’d be curled up in bed, watching Buffy and having phone sex with him.”
“Stop it.”
He continued toward her until she could hear the creak of his old leather jacket. “I’m not saying Grant’s not a good guy. But the bottom line is he’s not the right guy for you.”
“How can you say that? How can you possibly know?” she demanded. She needed to hear his answer, because she didn’t have one of her own.
“He can move on. I can’t.”
She half laughed, half choked. “You’re going to have to move on, because I’m marrying Grant. It’s too late for us. Years and years too late.”
He didn’t argue, just kept studying her with total, unwavering intensity. “Do you love him?”
“Of course I do.”
“Do you love him as much as you loved me?”
Emily couldn’t answer. She did love Grant—she was sure of that. Their love was the kind of relationship she had always aspired to. Mutual trust and respect. No drama, no surprises, no secrets.
Well, almost no secrets.
Her love for Ryan, on the other hand…that had been all-consuming and overwhelming. All highs and lows with no happy medium. Bliss and despair and screaming and sex and never a moment of clarity.
She turned her face away, gazed into the starlit patches of sky between the trees, and said, “I can’t compare you and Grant. You two are completely different. And I’m completely different than I was back then.”
Ryan laughed softly. “So you can never do anything exciting again?”
She lifted her chin. “I’m not saying that.”
“What are you afraid of, Emily?”
Her voice faded into a whisper. “I’m not afraid.”
“Then prove it. I dare you.” He held out his hand to her. “Let’s take a walk.”
She turned and ran the other way.
Emily sat on the edge of the dock with one foot tucked underneath her leg and the other dipping in and out of the cool lake water. She felt the wooden boards beneath her sway as someone approached.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Summer said. “Mind if I join you?”
“I thought you got lost in the woods after you deserted me.”
“I did. And then I ended up here. You know I have no sense of direction. So what’re we doing”—the dock creaked as Summer sat down—“howling at the moon?”
“Whimpering at the moon, maybe.” Emily turned to her best friend. “We’ve known each other for a long time, right?”
“Since the days of permed hair and pegged jeans,” Summer agreed.
“So I need you to tell me what to do.”
“About…?”
“Everything.” Emily summed up the conversation she’d just had with Ryan. She left out the part about the s’mores. And the lips. And the tingling. “I’m not thinking clearly right now. I’m not thinking clearly and I’m not seeing clearly, and I need you to straighten me out and tell me what to do with the rest of my life.”
“But no pressure,” Summer deadpanned.
“Oh, there’s pressure. Time pressure, financial pressure, social pressure. Planning this wedding has sucked me dry. And now Ryan shows up, thanks to you.”
“I told you, it was entrapment. Entrapment at the Four Seasons.”
Emily shook her head. “Why am I letting him get to me? I’m decisive. Fix it or forget it. No second-guessing. So how could I even consider…?” Emily decided it was unwise to finish that sentence. “I am marrying Grant this weekend.”
Summer nodded. “So it says on the fancy engraved invitation I got.”
“I love Grant and he loves me, and we are good together.” Emily clutched the weathered wooden planks with both hands. “Perfect together.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“That’s a statement, not a question.”
“I’m not arguing with you.”
“Is this a private party, or can I join in?” The dock swayed again as Caroline arrived.
Emily gestured for Caroline to take a seat. “Aren’t you two supposed to be decorating cookies?”
“We’re waiting for you.” Summer folded a piece of gum into her mouth, then handed a piece to Caroline. “We’re telling her what to do with the rest of her life.”
Caroline looked at Emily. “You’re deciding the rest of your life by committee?”
“Yes. My judgment is faulty. Especially when it comes to men.”
“So this is about Ryan,” Caroline said.
Emily groaned. “Is it that obvious?”
“Yes.” Caroline held up her index finger while she gathered her thoughts. “Here’s what I know: I did all the things I was supposed to do. Went to the right schools, landed a high-paying job, found a house in the most desirable neighborhood, married a guy I love.”
“And your life is wonderful and you’re living the dream?” Emily asked hopefully.
“Wrong. I’m…well, you know what I’m dealing with. And I can accept that. I made a choice, and I have to live with it. But do you know what I really want?”
Summer leaned forward, eyes huge. “What?”
“I want what Andrew and I had in the beginning. The looks, the butterflies. Making up any excuse to see each other and touch each other.” Caroline sighed. “These days, we barely see each other at all. Sometimes, I’ll be stuck in traffic or waiting in line at the grocery store, and I’ll think to myself: This is it. I’ll never have another first kiss. I’ll never have that feeling you get when a guy holds your hand for the first time.”
Summer clapped her hand to her heart. “I love that feeling.”
“It cuts both ways, though,” Emily argued. “I left Ryan for a reason. And now that ten years have gone by, it’s easy to gloss over all the crap and just focus on the good times. But eventually, every marriage gets to the point you’re describing. What if I did get back together with Ryan, and then, in another ten years, all I can think about is Grant and how I should’ve stayed with him?”
“I would kill for a dirty weekend in Vegas.” Caroline wasn’t even pretending to listen to anybody else. “In a swanky hotel with nice linens, expensive champagne…”
“So basically, you want a fling,” Summer said.
“A love affair,” Caroline corrected. “With my husband. I want him to actually notice me. I don’t claim to know everything about love, Em, but I will tell you this: Ryan notices you. He can’t take his eyes off you.” She paused. “And also? He’s hot like fire.”
Emily laughed. “Caroline!”
“What? I’m not supposed to notice? The man is hot. It’s an indisputable fact.”
“Truth,” Summer agreed. “Aren’t you attracted to him?”
“I plead the fifth,” Emily muttered.
“Oh, come on, you can tell us,” Caroline said. “I just sat here and admitted I want to have an affair with my own husband.”
“Fine, I’ll say it: I’m attracted to him. I get all blushy and my tender little heart goes pitter-pat when he walks by.” Emily shrugged one shoulder. “But so what?”
“Well.” Summer snapped her gum. “Surely that means something.”
“No, it doesn’t. Just because I’m attracted to him doesn’t mean we’re good for each other. It doesn’t mean we’re soul mates. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“But you can’t deny that chemistry’s important,” Caroline said. “You can’t have a real relationship—even a friendship—without it.”
“Ha. You know what chemistry is? It’s a combination of hormones and delusion that strings you out like street drugs and makes you do stupid, stupid things like tattoo some guy’s name on your finger.” Emily held out her left hand. “Behold—the result of great chemistry.”
“Wow.” Caroline craned forward for a cl
oser inspection. “That’s really carved right in there.”
“But you can’t read what it says anymore,” Summer added helpfully. “It’s just a mass of scar tissue.”
“Oh, the manicurist at the spa can read it just fine. So can Melanie. So can Grant.”
“Do you feel this way about all chemistry? Or just the kind you have with Ryan?” Caroline wanted to know. “Because I feel like you and Grant have chemistry, too.”
“We do,” Emily said. “But our chemistry isn’t all crazy-making and raging out of control. I would never get Grant’s name tattooed on my finger, and he would never want me to.”
“And that’s a good thing?” Summer asked.
“A very good thing. Grant makes me want to be a better person. He helps me focus. He believes in me.”
Summer stopped snapping her gum and got serious. “How’s the sex?”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just ask that question.”
“Then I’ll ask it again: How’s the sex?”
“You’ve seen the man. He’s brilliant, he’s sensitive, he’s great with his hands. How do you think the sex is?”
“I don’t know.” Summer reached into the water and splashed Emily. “That’s why I’m asking you.”
“Well, it’s great. Amazing. Mind-blowing. Next topic?”
“Is it better than the sex with Ryan?” Caroline pressed. Summer gave her a thumbs-up.
“I…” Emily dropped her head into her hands. “I cannot believe I’m having this discussion.”
“Well?” Summer and Caroline waited.
“Ryan and I were twenty-two years old. You can’t compare sex at twenty-two to sex in your thirties.”
“Sure, you can. We’ll help.”
“You’ve done enough already.” Emily got to her feet, officially ending the interview. “Now get your minds out of the gutter and let’s ice some cookies.”
Piping icing onto dozens of sugar cookies turned out to be even more tedious—and way more painful—than Emily had anticipated.
“Ow.” She took a break after she added the petals to a tiny pink flower. “My hand keeps cramping.”
“Push through it,” Summer advised. “Eventually, it’ll go numb and you’ll lose all feeling in your fingers. Sweet relief.”
The Week Before the Wedding Page 16
